'That I am neither vain enough to believe,' answered Mr. Trueworth, 'nor ambitious enough to desire, such a thing should be real.'—'How!' cried Sir Bazil, in some surprize; 'why, she is reckoned one of the finest women in town; has wit, good-nature; is of a good family, and an unblemished reputation. Then, her fortune! Though I know your estate sets you above wanting a fortune with a wife, yet I must tell you a fortune is a very pretty thing: children may come; and a younger brood must be provided for.'
'You argue very reasonably indeed,' replied Mr. Trueworth: 'but, pray,' pursued he, 'as you are so sensible of this lady's perfections, how happened it that you never made your addresses to her yourself?'—'I was not sure she would like me so well as she does you,' said he; 'besides, to let you into the secret, my heart was engaged before I ever saw her face, and my person had been so too by this time, but for an unlucky rub in my way.'
'What! Sir Bazil, honourably in love!' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'Aye, Charles! There is no resisting destiny,' answered he; 'I that have ranged through half the sex in search of pleasure; doated on the beauty of one, the wit of another, admired by turn their different charms, have at last found one in whom all I could wish in woman is comprized, and to whom I an unalterably fixed, beyond, even, I think, a possibility of change.'
'May I be trusted with the name of this admirable person', said Mr. Trueworth, 'and what impedes your happiness?'—'You shall know all,' replied Sir Bazil: 'in the first place, she is called Miss Mable.'—'What! Miss Mable of Bury Street!' cried Mr. Trueworth hastily. 'The same,' replied Sir Bazil: 'you know her, then?'—'I have seen her,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'in company with a lady I visited some time ago; and believe she is, in reality, the original of that amiable picture you have been drawing.'
'It rejoices me, however, that you approve my choice,' said Sir Bazil: 'but her father is, without exception, the most sordid, avaricious wretch, breathing; he takes more pleasure in counting over his bags than in the happiness of an only child; he seems glad of an alliance with me—encourages my pretensions to his daughter—is ready to give her to me to-morrow, if I please: yet refuses to part with a single shilling of her portion till he can no longer keep it; that is, he will secure to me ten thousand pounds after his decease; and adds, by way of cajole, that, perhaps, he will then throw in a better penny; but is positively determined to make no diminution of his substance while he lives. These,' continued he, 'are the only terms on which he will give his consent; and this it is which has so long delayed my marriage.'
Mr. Trueworth could not here forbear making some reflections on the cruelty and injustice of those parents who, rather than divide any part of their treasures with their children, suffer them to let slip the only crisis that could make their happiness. After which, Sir Bazil went on in his discourse.
'It is not,' said he, 'that I would not gladly accept my charming girl on the conditions the old miser offers, or even without any farther hopes of what he promises to do for her; but I am so unhappily circumstanced as to be under a necessity of having ready-money with a wife: old Sir Bazil, my father, gave my elder sister six thousand pounds on her marriage with Mr. Wellair; and, I suppose, to shew his affection to both his daughters was equal, bequeathed at his death the same sum to Harriot, and this to be charged on the estate, notwithstanding it was then under some other incumbrances. She can make her demand, either on coming of age, or on the day of marriage, which ever happens first: the one, indeed, is three years distant, she being but eighteen; but who knows how soon the other may happen? It is true, she seems at present quite averse to changing her condition: but that is not to be depended upon; all young women are apt to talk in that strain; but when once the favourite man comes into view, away at once with resolution and virginity.'
Mr. Trueworth now ceased to wonder at the little satisfaction Sir Bazil had shewn on any discourse, that casually happened concerning love or marriage, to Miss Harriot; and nothing could be more lucky for him than this discovery of the cause: he found by it that one obstacle, at least, to his hopes, might easily be removed; and that it was in his own power to convert entirely to his interest that which had seemed to threaten the greatest opposition to it.
A moment's consideration sufficed to make him know what he ought to do, and that a more favourable conjuncture could not possibly arrive for his declaring the passion he had so long concealed. 'Methinks, Sir Bazil,' said he, after a very short pause, 'there is not the least grounds for any apprehension of the inconvenience you mention: whoever has in view the possession of Miss Harriot, must certainly be too much taken up with his approaching happiness to think of any thing besides.'
'Ah, friend!' cried Sir Bazil, 'you talk like one ignorant of the world.'—'I talk like one who truly loves,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'and is not ignorant of the merit of her he loves; and now,' continued he, perceiving Sir Bazil looked a little surprized, 'I will exchange secrets with you; and, for the one you have reposed in me, will entrust you with another which has never yet escaped my lips: I love your charming sister; the first moment I beheld her made me her adorer; her affability—her modest sweetness—her unaffected wit—her prudence—the thousand virtues of her mind—have since confirmed the impressions that her beauty made, and I am now all hers.'