What weather is it, Dorcas? said she, as regardless of me as if I had not been present.
A little lowering, Madam—The sun is gone in—it was very fine half an hour ago.
I had no patience. Up I rose. Down went the tea-cup, saucer and all— Confound the weather, the sunshine, and the wench!—Begone for a devil, when I am speaking to your lady, and have so little opportunity given me.
Up rose the saucy-face, half-frighted; and snatched from the window her gloves and fan.
You must not go, Madam!—Seizing her hand—by my soul you must not—
Must not, Sir!—But I must—you can curse your maid in my absence, as well as if I were present——Except—except—you intend for me, what you direct to her.
Dearest creature, you must not go—you must not leave me—Such determined scorn! such contempts!—Questions asked your servant of no meaning but to break in upon me—I cannot bear it!
Detain me not [struggling.] I will not be withheld. I like you not, nor your ways. You sought to quarrel with me yesterday, for no reason in the world that I can think of, but because I was too obliging. You are an ungrateful man; and I hate you with my whole heart, Mr. Lovelace!
Do not make me desperate, Madam. Permit me to say, that you shall not leave me in this humour. Wherever you go, I will attend you. Had Miss Howe been my friend, I had not been thus treated. It is but too plain to whom my difficulties are owing. I have long observed, that every letter you received from her, makes an alteration in your behaviour to me. She would have you treat me, as she treats Mr. Hickman, I suppose: but neither does that treatment become your admirable temper to offer, nor me to receive.
This startled her. She did not care to have me think hardly of Miss Howe.