“And let these tears, my dearest Caroline,” continued Lady Jane, “be converted into tears of joy: for my sake—for your whole family—for your own sake, my sweet girl, be advised, and don’t throw away your happiness for life. Here’s a note from Lord William—he waits my commands—that’s all. Let me only desire to see him.”
“On my account? I cannot,” said Caroline—the tears streaming down her face, though she spoke calmly.
“Then it is your pride to refuse the man for whom every other young woman is sighing.”
“No, believe me that I do not act from pride: I feel none—I have no reason to feel any.”
“No reason to feel pride! Don’t you know—yes, you know as well as I do, that this is the man of men—the man on whom every mother’s—every daughter’s eye is fixed—the first unmarried nobleman now in England—the prize of prizes. The most excellent man, you allow, and universally allowed to be the most agreeable.”
“But if he be not so to me?” said Caroline.
“That can only be because—you are conscious of the cause, Caroline—it is your own fault.”
“And therefore I said, that I felt I had no reason to be proud,” said Caroline.
“Then have reason to be proud; conquer this weakness, and then you may have cause to be proud. You pique yourself on being reasonable: is it reasonable to leave your affections in the possession of a man, of whom, in all human probability, you will never hear more?”
“Too probable,” said Caroline.