She had set it down in her mind, from what the lawyer had said, as a sure fact, that Mr. Trueworth, since his desisting his courtship to her, had loved another; and also, that her rival in his affection was now no more. 'He need not,' said she to herself, 'be at the trouble of sitting a second time for his picture in compliment to her; nor can what I have done be a subject of disquiet to either of them.'
She then would take his picture out of the cabinet, where she had concealed it, and examine it attentively. 'Good God!' cried she, 'how uncertain is the heart of man! How little dependence ought we to place on all the professions of love they make us! Just so he looked, with all this tenderness in his eyes, when his false tongue protested he never could think of marrying any woman but myself.' But these uneasy, and, indeed, unjust reflections, lasted not above a minute. 'Mrs. Blanchfield,' said she, 'had a large fortune; it was that, perhaps, he was in love with, and finding no hope of gaining me, he might be tempted, by his ambition, to make his addresses to her; but whatever were his thoughts on her account, she is now dead; and who knows what may happen? That he once loved me is certain; if he should return to his first vows, the obligation I have received from him would not permit me to treat him with the same indifference I have done. I am not in love with any man,' continued she; 'but if ever I marry, he certainly, exclusive of what he has done for me, deserves, in every respect, to have the preference; and I should, with less regret, submit to the yoke of wedlock with him than any other I have seen.'
Thus she went on, forming ideal prospects all that night, and part of the ensuing day; when the elder Mr. Thoughtless came in, and gave her the most unwelcome interruption she could receive.
He told her that he had just received an account, to his entire satisfaction, in every thing relating to Mr. Munden; and that no reasonable objection could be made, either as to the family, the estate, or the character of that gentleman. 'Therefore,' said he, 'as you have thought fit to encourage his pretensions, and he has continued them a sufficient length of time to defend you from the censure of a too quick consent, you cannot, I think, in honour, but reward his passion without delay.'
Miss Betsy was, at present, in a disposition very unfit to comply with her brother's advice; but, after all that had been urged by him, and by Mr. Francis, she could not assume courage wholly to refuse.
She hesitated—she began a sentence without ending it—and when she did, her answers were not all of a piece with that ready wit which she had always testified on other occasions.
Mr. Thoughtless, perceiving she was rather studious to evade giving any determinate answer, than willing to give such a one as he desired she should, began to expostulate with her on the capriciousness of her humour and behaviour; he conjured her to reflect on her late adventure with the impostor, Sir Frederick Fineer; and how ill it became her to countenance the addresses of a wretch like him, and, at the same time, trifle with a man of fortune and reputation.
She suffered him to go on in this manner for a considerable time, without giving him the least interruption; but by degrees recovering her spirits, 'I shall take care, Sir,' said she, 'never to fall into the like adventure again; neither do I intend to trifle with Mr. Munden: but marriage is a thing of too serious a nature to hurry into, without first having made trial of the constancy of the man who would be a husband, and also of being well assured of one's own heart.'
Mr. Thoughtless then told her, with some warmth, that he found she was relapsing into a humour and way of thinking which could not in the end but bring ruin on herself and disgrace to all her family; and added, that for his part he should meddle no more in her affairs. The tender soul of Miss Betsy was deeply affected at these words: she loved her brothers, and could not bear their displeasure; the thought of having any disagreement with them was dreadful to her; yet the putting a constraint on her inclinations to oblige them was no less so. In this dilemma, whether she complied, or whether she refused, she found herself equally unhappy.