'Alas!' exclaimed I, 'can'st thou suppose the poor orphan Cherubina so destitute of principle and of pride, as to intrude herself unknown, unowned, unfriended; mysterious in her birth, and degraded in her situation, on the ancient and illustrious House of Montmorenci?
'Here then I most solemnly vow, never to wed, till the horrible mystery which hangs over my birth be developed.'
You know, Biddy, that a heroine ought always to snatch at an opportunity of making a fatal vow. When things are going on too smooth, and interest drooping, a fatal vow does wonders. I remember reading in some romance, of a lady, who having vowed never to divulge a certain secret, kept it twenty years; and with such inviolability, that she lived to see it the death of all her children, several of her friends, and a fine old aunt.
As soon as I had made this fatal vow, his lordship fell into the most afflicting agonies and attitudes.
'Oh!' cried he, 'to be by your side, to see you, touch you, talk to you, love you, adore you, and yet find you lost to me for ever. Oh! 'tis too much, too much.'
'The milliner is here, Miss,' said the maid, tapping at the door.
'Bid her call again,' said I.
'Beloved of my soul!' murmured his lordship.
'Ma'am,' interrupted the maid, opening the door, 'she cannot call again, as she must go from this to Kensington.'
'Then let her come in,' said I, and she entered with a charming assortment of bonnets and dresses.