Exalted goodness! said he,—approaching her with rapture: take my heart;—do with it as you please;—it is devoted to your generosity.
Well then, said she, I command it,—I command it instantly to be laid open before me.—Now let it speak,—now let it declare if I am not the bar to its felicity:—if—
No, my good angel, interrupted he, dropping on his knees,—and pressing her hand to his lips;—I see it is through you,—through you only,—I am to expect felicity.
Before Lady Mary could prevail on Mr. Powis to arise, Sir James, whom they did not expect,—and who they thought was retir'd for the night, came in quest of his snuff-box;—but with a countenance full of joy retir'd precipitately, bowing to Lady Mary with the same reverence as if she had been a molten image cast of his favourite metal.
In this conversation I have been circumstantial, that you might have a full view of the noble, disinterested Lady Mary Sutton:—you may gather now, from whence sprang her unbounded affection for the incomparable, unfortunate Miss Powis.
You will not be surprised to find a speedy marriage took place between Mr. Powis and Miss Whitmore, to which none were privy but the Dean of H——, who perform'd the ceremony,—Lady Mary,—Mrs. Whitmore (the mother of Mrs. Powis),—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings.—Perhaps you think Lady Powis ought to have been consulted:—I thought so too; but am now convinc'd she would have been the wretchedest woman in the world, had she known her son acting diametrically opposite to the will of his father in so material a point.
To put it out of the power of every person intrusted with this momentous secret to divulge it,—and to make Mr. Powis perfectly easy,—each bound themselves at the altar where the ceremony was perform'd, never to make the least discovery 'till Mr. Powis thought fit to declare his marriage.
What an instance have I given you of female friendship!—Shew me such another:—our sex are a test of their friendships.
How many girls have I seen,—for ever together arm in arm,—whispering their own, perhaps the secrets of all their neighbours;—when in steps a young fellow of our cloth,—or any other, it signifies not the colour,—and down tumbles the tottering basis.—Instead of my dear and my love, it is sly creature, false friend, could any one have thought Miss Such-a-one possess'd of so much art?—then out comes intrigues, family-affairs, losses at cards,—in short, every thing that has been treasur'd up by two industrious fair ones seven years before.
Don't think me satyrical:—I am nice;—too much so, perhaps.—The knowledge of such as constitute this little narrative, and some other minds like theirs, has made me rather too nice, as I said before;—a matter of little consequence, as I am situated.—Can I look forward to happy prospects, and see how soon the fairest felicity is out of sight?—This afflicted family, Molesworth, has taught me to forget,—that is, I ought to forget.—But no matter;—never again let me see Lady Sophia;—never lead me a second time into danger:—she is mortal; like Miss Powis.—Lord Darcey! poor Lord Darcey!