“My dear, these things do not admit of logical proof.”
“Well—moral, sentimental, or any kind of proof you please.”
“Have you no pity? and is not pity akin to love?”
“Akin! Oh, yes, ma’am, it is akin; but for that very reason it may not be a friend—relations, you know, in these days, are as often enemies as friends.”
“Vile pun! far-fetched quibble!—provoking boy!—But I see you are not in a humour to be serious, so I will take another time to talk to you of this affair.”
“Now or never, ma’am, for mercy’s sake!”
“Mercy’s sake! you who show none—Ah! this is the way with you men; all this is play to you, but death to us.”
“Death! dear ma’am; ladies, you know as well as I do, don’t die of love in these days—you would not make a fool of your son.”
“I could not; nor could any other woman—that is clear: but amongst us, I am afraid we have, undesignedly indeed, but irremediably, made a fool of this poor confiding girl.”
“But, ma’am, in whom did she confide? not in me, I’ll swear. I have nothing to reproach myself with, thank God!—My conscience is clear; I have been as ungallant as possible. I have been as cruel as my nature would permit. I am sure no one can charge me with giving false promises—I scarcely speak—nor false hopes, for I scarcely look at the young lady.”