At last, remembering that they were all to dine at her brother's that day by appointment, she rouzed herself as well as she was able, and started from the posture she had been in; 'I see I am at the end of all my happiness,' said she, 'and that my whole future life is condemned to be a scene of disquiet; but there is no resisting destiny—they will have it so; I have promised, and must submit.'
On opening a little cabinet, in which she always kept those things she most valued, in order to take out some ornaments to put on that day, the picture of Mr. Trueworth stared her in the face. 'Ah!' said she, taking it up, and looking attentively upon it, 'if my brother Frank and Lady Trusty had been in town when the original of this made his addresses to me, I should then, as now, have been compelled to have given my hand. It is likely, too, I should have yielded with the same reluctance. Blinded by my vanity—led by mistaken pride—I had not considered the value I ought to have set upon his love. He had not then done any thing for me more than any other man, who pretended courtship to me, would have done. I know not how it is, I did not then think him half so agreeable as I now find he is. What a sweetness is there in these eyes!' cried she, still looking on the picture. 'What an air of dignity in every feature!—wit—virtue—bravery—generosity—and every amiable quality that can adorn mankind, methinks are here comprized.
'But to what purpose do I now see all these perfections in him?' went she on. 'He is the right of another; he has given himself to one, who knows better than my unhappy self to do justice to such exalted merit: he thinks no more of me; and I must henceforth think no more of him!'
She ended these words with a deep sigh, and some tears; then laid the picture up, and endeavoured to compose herself as well as she could.
She was but just dressed when Mr. Munden came to wait on her, and conduct her to her brother's, where they were to dine: he told her he had been with the elder Mr. Thoughtless at the lawyer's, about the writings; 'So that now, my angel!' said he, 'I flatter myself that my days of languishment are near a period.'
He took the freedom of accompanying these words with a pretty warm embrace.—'Forbear, Mr. Munden,' cried she, with the most forbidding coldness; 'you have yet no right to liberties of this nature.'
'Cruel and unkind Miss Betsy!' resumed he; 'must nothing, then, be allowed to love, and all be left to law?' He then went on with some discourses of the passion he had for her, and the joy he felt in the thoughts of his approaching happiness: to all which she made very short replies; till at last it came into her head to interrupt him in the midst of a very tender exclamation, by saying, 'Mr. Munden, I forgot to mention one thing to you; but it is not yet too late—I suppose you design to keep a coach?'
This a little startled him; and, looking upon her with a very grave air—'Madam,' said he, 'you are sensible my estate will not permit me to oblige you in this point.'—'And can you imagine I will ever marry to trudge on foot?' cried she.
'I should be both sorry and ashamed,' replied he, 'to see you do that; but there are other conveniences, which will, I hope, content you, till fortune puts it in my power to do otherwise.'
He then reminded her of the expectations she had frequently heard him make mention of, concerning his hopes of soon obtaining both an honourable and lucrative employment; and assured her, that as soon as he had procured a grant of it, he would set up an equipage accordingly.