Isa. I thought he embraced me with the utmost Tenderness.
Mart. But were you pleased therewith?
Isa. You know, Father, a Lye now would be the greatest of Sins. I was not displeased I assure you. But I have often heard you say, there is no Sin in Love.
Mart. No, in Love it self there is not: Love is not Malum in se. Nor in the Excess is there sometimes any: but then it must be rightly placed, must be directed to a proper Object. The Love a Daughter bears her Confessor is no doubt not only innocent, but extremely laudable.
Isa. Yes, but that—that is another sort of Love, you know.
Mart. You are deceived, there is but one sort of Love which is justifiable, or, indeed, desirable.
Isa. I hope my Love for Laroon is that.
Mart. That I know not, I wish it may; however, I have some Dispute as yet remaining with me concerning it; 'till that be satisfied, it will be improper for you to proceed any farther in the Affair. All the Penance, therefore, I shall enjoin you on this Confession, is to defer your Marriage one Week; by which time I shall have resolved within my self whether you shall marry him at all.
Isa. Not marry him at all? Sure, Father, you are not in earnest.
Mart. I never jest on these Occasions.