My heart, struggling between duty and warmth of temper, was full. You know, my dear, I never could bear to be dealt meanly with!—How—how can you, Sir! you my Papa-uncle—How can you, Sir!—The poor girl!—for I could not speak with connexion.
Nay, my dear, if you cannot be all duty, all resignation—better stay where you are.—But after the instance you have given—
Instance I have given!—What instance, Sir?
Well, well, Child, better stay where you are, if your past confinement hangs so heavy upon you—but now there will be a sudden end to it—Adieu, my dear!—Three words only—Let your compliance be sincere!—and love me, as you used to love me—your Grandfather did not do so much for you, as I will do for you.
Without suffering me to reply, he hurried away, as I thought, like one who has been employed to act a part against his will, and was glad it was over.
Don't you see, my dear Miss Howe, how they are all determined?—Have I not reason to dread next Tuesday?
Up presently after came my sister:—to observe, I suppose, the way I was in.
She found me in tears.
Have you not a Thomas a Kempis, Sister? with a stiff air.
I have, Madam.