“Are you sorry for that, my Lord?”
“No, I am extremely glad; and I was going to congratulate you upon the change. But give me leave to enquire, to what lucky accident we may attribute this alteration?”
“Your Lordship then thinks all my commendable deeds arise from accident, and that I have no virtues of my own.”
“Pardon me, I think you have many.” This he spoke emphatically; and her blushes increased.
He resumed—“How can I doubt of a lady’s virtues, when her countenance gives me such evident proofs of them? Believe me, Miss Milner, that in the midst of your gayest follies, while you thus continue to blush, I shall reverence your internal sensations.”
“Oh! my Lord, did you know some of them, I am afraid you would think them unpardonable.”
This was so much to the purpose, that Miss Woodley found herself alarmed—but without reason—Miss Milner loved too sincerely to reveal it to the object. He answered,
“And did you know some of mine, you might think them equally unpardonable.”
She turned pale, and could no longer guide her needle—in the fond transport of her heart she imagined that his love for her, was among the sensations to which he alluded. She was too much embarrassed to reply, and he continued,
“We have all much to pardon in one another: and I know not whether the officious person who forces, even his good advice, is not as blameable as the obstinate one, who will not listen to it. And now, having made a preface to excuse you, should you once more refuse mine, I shall venture to give it.”