“That, my Lord,” cried I, “I will tell you honestly. Mr. Macartney had some particular business with me, and I could not take the liberty to ask him hither.”
“And why not?-Mr. Beaumont, I am sure-”
“I could not, my Lord, think of intruding upon Mrs. Beaumont’s complaisance; and so, with the same hasty folly I promised your Lordship, I much more rashly promised to meet him.”
“And did you?”
“No, my Lord,” said I, colouring, “I returned before he came.”
Again, for some time, we were both silent; yet, unwilling to leave him to reflections which could not but be to my disadvantage, I summoned sufficient courage to say, “There is no young creature, my Lord, who so greatly wants, or so earnestly wishes for, the advice and assistance of her friends, as I do: I am new to the world, and unused to acting for myself;-my intentions are never willfully blameable, yet I err perpetually!-I have hitherto been blessed with the most affectionate of friends, and, indeed, the ablest of men, to guide and instruct me upon every occasion:-but he is too distant, now, to be applied to at the moment I want his aid:-and here,-there is not a human being whose counsel I can ask.”
“Would to Heaven,” cried he, with a countenance from which all coldness and gravity were banished, and succeeded by the mildest benevolence, “that I were worthy,-and capable,-of supplying the place of such a friend to Miss Anville!”
“You do me but too much honour,” said I, “yet I hope your Lordship’s candour,-perhaps I ought to say indulgence,-will make some allowance, on account of my inexperience, for behaviour so inconsiderate:-May I, my Lord, hope that you will?”
“May I,” cried he, “hope that you will pardon the ill-grace with
which I have
submitted to my disappointment? And that you will permit me (kissing
my hand) thus to seal my peace?”
“Our peace, my Lord!” said I, with revived spirits.
“This, then,” said he, again pressing it to his lips, “for our peace: and now,-are we not friends?”