“No matter who comes in,” said Cecilia, “reflect for a moment upon my proposal, and, at least, if you disapprove it, suggest something more eligible.”
“Oh, it's a very good proposal, that I agree,” said Mrs Harrel, looking very weary, “but only the thing is it's quite impossible.”
“Why so? why is it impossible?”
“Why because—dear, I don't know—but I am sure it is.”
“But what is your reason? What makes you sure of it?”
“Lord, I can't tell—but I know it is—because—I am very certain it is.”
Argument such as this, though extremely fatiguing to the understanding of Cecilia, had yet no power to blunt her purpose: she warmly expostulated against the weakness of her defence, strongly represented the imprudence of her conduct, and exhorted her by every tie of justice, honour and discretion to set about a reformation.
“Why what can I do?” cried Mrs Harrel, impatiently, “one must live a little like other people. You would not have me stared at, I suppose; and I am sure I don't know what I do that every body else does not do too.”
“But were it not better,” said Cecilia, with more energy, “to think less of other people, and more of yourself? to consult your own fortune, and your own situation in life, instead of being blindly guided by those of other people? If, indeed, other people would be responsible for your losses, for the diminution of your wealth, and for the disorder of your affairs, then might you rationally make their way of life the example of yours: but you cannot flatter yourself such will be the case; you know better; your losses, your diminished fortune, your embarrassed circumstances will be all your own! pitied, perhaps, by some, but blamed by more, and assisted by none!”
“Good Lord, Miss Beverley!” cried Mrs Harrel, starting, “you talk just as if we were ruined!”