SCENE VII
Austin, Dorothy
Dorothy. I am told, Mr. Austin, that you wish to see me.
Austin. Madam, can you doubt of that desire? can you question my sincerity?
Dorothy. Sir, between you and me these compliments are worse than idle: they are unkind. Sure, we are alone!
Austin. I find you in an hour of cruelty, I fear. Yet you have condescended to receive this poor offender; and, having done so much, you will not refuse to give him audience.
Dorothy. You shall have no cause, sir, to complain of me. I listen.
Austin. My fair friend, I have sent myself—a poor ambassador—to plead for your forgiveness. I have been too long absent; too long, I would fain hope, madam, for you; too long for my honour and my love. I am no longer, madam, in my first youth; but I may say that I am not unknown. My fortune, originally small, has not suffered from my husbandry. I have excellent health, an excellent temper, and the purest ardour of affection for your person. I found not on my merits, but on your indulgence. Miss Musgrave, will you honour me with your hand in marriage?
Dorothy. Mr. Austin, if I thought basely of marriage, I should perhaps accept your offer. There was a time, indeed, when it would have made me proudest among women. I was the more deceived, and have to thank you for a salutary lesson. You chose to count me as a cipher in your rolls of conquest; for six months you left me to my fate; and you come here to-day—prompted, I doubt not, by an honourable impulse—to offer this tardy reparation. No; it is too late.