“Bingley,” said a gentleman, after they had been some time at the table, “you are certainly the most changeable fellow in the world. About three weeks ago you were hurrying everything for a journey to Ireland, as if life and death depended on your expedition, and here I still find you loitering about the town.”
“I deny the imputation of changeableness,” replied the baronet; “all my actions are regulated,” and he glanced at Amanda, “by one source, one object.”
Amanda blushed, and caught, at that moment, a penetrating look from Lord Mortimer. Her situation was extremely disagreeable. She dreaded his attentions would be imputed to encouragement from her; she had often tried to suppress them, and she resolved her next efforts should be more resolute.
Sir Charles reached Pall Mall the next morning just as Lady Greystock was stepping into her chariot, to acquaint her lawyer of Rushbrook’s visit. She informed him that Miss Fitzalan was in the drawing-room, and he flew up to her.
“You find,” said he, “by what you heard last night, that my conduct has excited some surprise. I assure you my friends think I must absolutely be deranged, to relinquish so suddenly a journey I appeared so anxious to take. Suffer me,” continued he, taking her hand, “to assign the true reason for this apparent change.” “Sir Charles,” replied Amanda, “’tis time to terminate this trifling.”
“Oh, let it then be terminated,” said he, with eagerness, “by your consenting to my happiness, by your accepting a hand, tendered to you with the most ardent affections of my heart.”
With equal delicacy and tenderness, he then urged her acceptance of proposals which were as disinterested as the most romantic generosity could desire them to be.
Amanda felt really concerned that he had made them; the grateful sensibility of her nature was hurt at the idea of giving him pain. “Believe me, Sir Charles,” said she, “I am truly sensible of the honor of your addresses; but I should deem myself unworthy of the favorable opinion which excited them, if I delayed a moment assuring you that friendship was the only return in my power to make for them.”
The impetuous passions of Sir Charles were now all in commotion. He started from his chair and traversed the apartment in breathless agitation. “I will not, Miss Fitzalan,” said he, resuming his seat again, “believe you inflexible. I will not believe that you can think I shall so easily resign an idea which I have so long cherished with rapture.”
“Surely, Sir Charles,” somewhat alarmed, “you cannot accuse me of having encouraged that idea?”