"Thus," said Father Morris, smiling, "do we deceive ourselves; you are ambitious whilst you think that you are only just. Believe me, if you consult Elvira's real happiness, you will not impose upon her the troublesome duties of a crown: she will make a better wife than a queen; for her gentle nature is less fitted to command than to obey. Rosabella has more firmness."
"I do not agree with you, Father," said Sir Ambrose; "in my opinion Elvira is infinitely better fitted to be a queen than Rosabella, for her passions are more under the control of reason."
"That is to say," resumed the monk, sneeringly, "they have not yet been called into play."
"What do you mean, Father?" began the duke.
"Nothing that could give you offence, my Lord," returned the priest. "Disgusted myself with the world, I naturally thought the princess most likely to find happiness where I seek it myself—viz. in a life of quiet and retirement."
"Enough," said the duke: "but where is Edmund? Let us seek him; no doubt he is with Elvira—poor things! we must spoil their billing and cooing."
Edmund was with Elvira, and was passionately urging his suit, whilst she, engaged with her embroidery frame, listened with a half abstracted mind, and Emma duteously waited behind her chair.
"You do not love me," said he, "or you could not answer with such provoking coldness."
"Indeed I do, Edmund, but you are so unreasonable. I have already told you I have no idea of that passionate overwhelming love you appear to feel, it absolutely terrifies me, and I am sure it is not natural to my character.—This silk is too dark, Emma—and so, Edmund, if you feel you cannot be happy with such love as it is in my power to bestow, we had better determine at once to separate."
"Good God!" exclaimed Edmund, striking his forehead violently with his clenched hand; "how coldly you talk of our separation!"