"Emma, I was wrong—" said he, softening his voice, but instead of releasing her hand, clasping it in both of his, "I ought to know you better—I understand your heart and feelings—"
"You do no such thing, sir,—or you would not detain me here, or compel me to listen to such language. Let me go—I command you."
"Emma, your heart is no longer your own—am I not right?—you love!"
"And if I do—what concern is that of yours?" retorted she.
"Of mine, it is everything in the world to me—you love me—deny it if you can."
"Insolence!" exclaimed Emma, "unmanly insolence."
"No, it is not insolence, Emma, you look beautiful in scorn, but you need not scorn me; I am your equal in birth and education—aye! and in taste and mental qualities too—and happily possessed of the fortune which you want. And I love you, and tender all to you. You have done what no other woman ever did—for your sake I would even stoop to the yoke of matrimony; so great is my love and admiration for you. Now have I said enough—now you may venture to confess the feelings long treasured in your heart—the love which I have long read in your downcast eye, and averted smile—maiden modesty need no more compel you to silence—speak, my Emma—bless me with the words I am longing, panting to hear."
He advanced one step nearer as he spoke, and seemed about to pass his arm round her waist, but Emma availed herself of the movement to snatch her hand from his, and stepping back, whilst she cast on him a look of withering scorn, she replied,
"Yes, you have said enough, Mr. Morgan, to warrant my speaking plainly—and I will speak—from what extraordinary perversion of reasoning, you have persuaded yourself I loved you I cannot tell, but I trust you will believe me once for all—when I say my feelings are entirely the reverse of yours—and when I add—I love and am engaged to another."
Mr. Morgan stepped back in his turn with an air in which disbelief and bitter mortification struggled, with an attempt at indifference and contempt.