'It is very unlikely I should find any lover there. I assure you I desire none; nor have I any other wish than to pass the remainder of the winter tranquilly with my friend.'
'If then you really never wish to encourage another, and if you have any sensibility for the pain I feel from uncertainty, why will you not solemnly engage yourself to me, by a promise which cannot be broken but by mutual consent?'
'Because we are both too young to form such an engagement.—You are not yet quite one and twenty; a time of life in which it is impossible you can be a competent judge of what will make you really happy. I am more than two years younger: but short as has been my knowledge of the world, I have already seen two or three instances of marriages made in consequence of early engagements, which have proved so little fortunate that they have determined me never to try the experiment. Should you bind yourself by this promise, which you now think would make you easy, and should you hereafter repent it, which I know to be far from improbable, pride, obstinacy, the shame of retracting your opinion, would perhaps concur to prevent your withdrawing it; and I should receive your hand while your heart might be attached to another. The chains which you had yourself put on, in opposition to the wishes of your family, you would, rather than own your error, rivet, tho' your inclination prompted you to break them; and we should then be both miserable.—No, Delamere—let us remain at liberty, and perhaps—— '
'It is impossible, Madam!' cried Delamere, suddenly and vehemently interrupting her—'It is absolutely impossible you could argue thus calmly, if you had any regard for me—Cold—cruel—insensible—unfeeling girl! Oh! fool, fool that I am, to persist in loving a woman without an heart, and to be unable to tear from my soul a passion that serves only to make me perpetually wretched. Cursed be the hour I first indulged it, and cursed the weakness of mind that cannot conquer it!'
This new instance of ungovernable temper, so contrary to the promises he had given her at Hertford, extremely provoked Emmeline, who answered very gravely—
'If you desire, Sir, to divest yourself of this unfortunate passion, the task is already half accomplished. Resolve, then, to conquer it wholly: restore me to that tranquillity you have destroyed—vindicate my injured reputation, which your headlong ardour has blemished—give me back to the kindness and protection of your father—and determine to see me no more.'
This spirited and severe answer, immediately convinced Delamere he had gone too far. He had never before seen Emmeline so much piqued, and he hastened to appease her.
'Pardon me!—forgive me, Emmeline! I am not master of myself when I think of losing you! But you, who feel not any portion of the flame that devours me, can coolly argue, while my heart is torn in pieces; and deign not even to make any allowance for the unguarded sallies of unconquerable passion!—the phrenzy of almost hopeless love! Sometimes, when I think your coldness arises from determined and insurmountable indifference—perhaps from dislike—despair and fury possess me. Would you but say that you will live only for me—would you only promise that no future Rochely, none of the people you have seen or may see, shall influence you to forget me—I should, I think, be easier!'
'You have a better opinion of yourself, Mr. Delamere,' answered Emmeline, calmly, 'than to believe it probable. But be that as it may, I have told you that I will neither make or receive any promises of the nature you require. I have already suffered too much from your extravagant passion to put it farther in your power to distress me. But I shall be better able to reassume this conversation to-morrow—to-night I am fatigued; and it is time for us to separate.'