Gwin. Come, this is kind of you—nay, it is more than I deserve.
Lucy. What is kind or more than you deserve?
Gwin. Why coming to meet me through this lone road!
Lucy. Meet you—what vanity—not I indeed, I was merely taking my morning’s walk, thinking of—of—
Gwin. Come, come, confess it.
Lucy. Well then I do confess, I wished to meet you, to tell you that—
Gwin. You have spoken to your uncle?
Lucy. On the contrary—to desire you to defer—
Gwin. Why, do you fear a refusal? Why should he refuse—have I not every prospect—will not my character—
Lucy. Yes, more than satisfy him, but—