I began to apprehend he was a madman, and stared at him with the utmost astonishment. “I see you are moved, Madam,” said he; “generous creature!-but don’t be alarmed, I am cool again, I am indeed,-upon my soul I am;-I entreat you, most lovely of mortals! I intreat you to be easy.”
“Indeed, Sir,” said I very seriously, “I must insist upon your leaving me; you are quite a stranger to me, and I am both unused, and averse to your language and your manners.”
This seemed to have some effect on him. He made me a low bow, begged my pardon, and vowed he would not for the world offend me.
“Then, Sir, you must leave me,” cried I. “I am gone, Madam, I am gone!” with a most tragical air; and he marched away at a quick pace, out of sight in a moment; but before I had time to congratulate myself, he was again at my elbow.
“And could you really let me go, and not be sorry?-Can you see me suffer torments inexpressible, and yet retain all your favour for that miscreant who flies you?-Ungrateful puppy!-I could bastinado him!”
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear,” cried Mrs. Mirvan, “who is he talking of?”
“Indeed-I do not know, Madam,” said I; “but I wish he would leave me.”
“What’s all that there?” cried the Captain.
The man made a low bow, and said, “Only, Sir, a slight objection which this young lady makes to dancing with me, and which I am endeavouring to obviate. I shall think myself greatly honoured if you will intercede for me.”
“That lady, Sir,” said the Captain coldly, “is her own mistress.” And he walked sullenly on.