Loveyet. Esteem! What a cold epithet!—And am not I entitled to something more than esteem?
Harriet. Excuse the poverty of the expression; and be assured, my heart dictated a more exalted word;—let this confession atone for the fault.
Loveyet. And yet I would fain attract your esteem too; for, I have heard connoisseurs in the science of Love say, it is possible to love an object, and that to distraction, without having a particle of esteem for it.
Harriet. I have assured you that my esteem is at least equalled by a more passionate affection:—but how strangely you talk!—First you acknowledge yourself unworthy of my favour;—then you are alarmed that I should only esteem you; and when I talk of a passion, superior to mere Platonic love, you are afraid, on the other hand, it is a blind, enthusiastic impulse, not founded on esteem.—How inconsistent are lovers!
Loveyet. Your reasoning, like your person, surprises, charms and subdues:—I will be more consistent;—but our contention is only for pre-eminence in love;—delightful emulation! Agreeable inconsistency!
Harriet. I am now ashamed of my childish suspicions; but I should not have been so credulous, had it not been for an affection, which rendered my better judgment blind to the fallacy, and made me more apprehensive of your inconstancy, than satisfied of your innocence; and this disposed me to misinterpret every thing you said.
Loveyet. And your apparent indifference, in consequence of that misinterpretation, excited similar suspicions in me; and thus, mutual distrust produced mutual misapprehension.
Harriet. But you have not told me the particulars of your interview with old Mr. Loveyet.
Loveyet. Were you to hear those particulars, they would only afford you pain;—'tis sufficient for me to tell you, he has turned me out of his house, only because I told him, I was a friend to the new Constitution, forsooth.
Harriet. He is a strange character:—when I call'd on my father, I was alarmed to find them at high words;—and he abus'd me most unmercifully.