“Does Miss Anville so soon repent her goodness?”
“I scarce know what I do, my Lord,-I am quite bewildered!”
“One hour’s conversation,” cried he, “will, I hope, compose your spirits, and confirm my happiness. When, then, may I hope to see you alone?-shall you walk in the garden to-morrow before breakfast?”
“No, no, my Lord; you must not, a second time, reproach me with making an appointment.”
“Do you then,” said he, laughing, “reserve that honour only for Mr. Macartney?”
“Mr. Mccartney,” said I, “is poor, and thinks himself obliged to me; otherwise-”
“Poverty,” cried he, “I will not plead; but, if being obliged to you has any weight, who shall dispute my title to an appointment?”
“My Lord, I can stay no longer,-Mrs. Selwyn will lose all patience.”
“Deprive her not of the pleasure of her conjectures,-but tell me, are you under Mrs. Selwyn’s care?”
“Only for the present, my Lord.”