Mrs. Rack. Then you return it like a wife of fifteen months, and be as indifferent as he.
Letit. Aye, there's the sting! The blooming boy, who left his image in my young heart, is at four and twenty improv'd in every grace that fix'd him there. It is the same face that my memory, and my dreams, constantly painted to me; but its graces are finished, and every beauty heightened. How mortifying, to feel myself at the same moment his slave, and an object of perfect indifference to him!
Mrs. Rack. How are you certain that was the case? Did you expect him to kneel down before the lawyer, his clerks, and, your father, to make oath of your beauty?
Letit. No; but he should have look'd as if a sudden ray had pierced him! he should have been breathless! speechless! for, oh! Caroline, all this was I.
Mrs. Rack. I am sorry you was such a fool. Can you expect a man, who has courted and been courted by half the fine women in Europe, to feel like a girl from a boarding-school? He is the prettiest fellow you have seen, and in course bewilders your imagination; but he has seen a million of pretty women, child, before he saw you; and his first feelings have been over long ago.
Letit. Your raillery distresses me; but I will touch his heart, or never be his wife.
Mrs. Rack. Absurd, and romantic! If you have no reason to believe his heart pre-engaged, be satisfied; if he is a man of honour, you'll have nothing to complain of.
Letit. Nothing to complain of! Heav'ns! shall I marry the man I adore, with such an expectation as that?
Mrs. Rack. And when you have fretted yourself pale, my dear, you'll have mended your expectation greatly.
Letit. (pausing.) Yet I have one hope. If there is any power whose peculiar care is faithful love, that power I invoke to aid me.