'That heart,' said he, rudely, 'is already bestowed upon another.'
'Certainly not, Mr Montague; if it were, I would frankly tell you.'
He pronounced the name of Mr Francis—
'Mr Francis is a man for whom I feel a sincere respect and veneration—a man whom I should be proud to call my friend; but a thought beyond that, I dare venture to say, has never occurred to either of us.'
He knew not how to conceive—that a woman in my situation, unprepossessed, could reject so advantageous an establishment!
This, I told him, was indelicate, both to me and to himself. Were my situation yet more desolate, I would not marry any man, merely for an establishment, for whom I did not feel an affection.
Would I please to describe to him the model of perfection which I should require in a husband?
It was unnecessary; as I saw no probability of the portrait bearing any resemblance to himself.
He reddened, and turned pale, alternately; bit his lips, and muttered to himself.—'Damned romantic affectation!'
I assumed a firmer tone—methought he insulted me.—'I beg you will leave me, Sir—I chuse to be alone—By what right do you intrude upon my retirements?'