She is thrown upon the wide world! Now I own that Hampstead-heath affords very pretty and very extensive prospects; but 'tis not the wide world neither. And suppose that to be her grievance, I hope soon to restore her to a narrower.
I am the enemy of her soul, as well as of her honour!—Confoundedly severe! Nevertheless, another fib!—For I love her soul very well; but think no more of it in this case than of my own.
She is to be thrown upon strangers!—And is not that her own fault?—Much against my will, I am sure!
She is cast from a state of independency into one of obligation. She never was in a state of independency; nor is it fit a woman should, of any age, or in any state of life. And as to the state of obligation, there is no such thing as living without being beholden to somebody. Mutual obligation is the very essence and soul of the social and commercial life:—Why should she be exempt from it? I am sure the person she raves at desires not such an exemption; has been long dependent upon her; and would rejoice to owe further obligations to her than he can boast of hitherto.
She talks of her father's curse!—But have I not repaid him for it an hundred fold in the same coin? But why must the faults of other people be laid at my door? Have I not enow of my own?
But the grey-eyed dawn begins to peep—let me sum up all.
In short, then, the dear creature's letter is a collection of invectives not very new to me: though the occasion for them, no doubt is new to her. A little sprinkling of the romantic and contradictory runs through it. She loves, and she hates; she encourages me to pursue her, by telling me I safely may; and yet she begs I will not. She apprehends poverty and want, yet resolves to give away her estate; To gratify whom?—Why, in short, those who have been the cause of her misfortunes. And finally, though she resolves never to be mine, yet she has some regrets at leaving me, because of the opening prospects of a reconciliation with her friends.
But never did morning dawn so tardily as this!—Neither is the chariot yet come.
***
A gentleman to speak with me, Dorcas?—Who can want me thus early?