What says Miss Byron?
She says, madam, that she reveres Lady D——, and will answer any questions that she puts to her, however affecting—Sir Charles Grandison has not.
Once I thought, proceeded she, that I never would make a second motion, were the woman a princess, who had confessed a prior love, or even liking: but the man is Sir Charles Grandison, whom all women must esteem; and the woman is Miss Byron, whom all men must love. Let me ask you, my dear—Have you any expectation, that the first of men (I will call him so) and the loveliest and most amiable-minded of women, can come together?—You sighed, you know, when you mentioned, that Sir Charles was soon to leave England; and you own that he has not made addresses to you —Don't be uneasy, my love!—We women, in these tender cases, see into each other's hearts from small openings—Look upon me as your mother— What say you, love?
Your ladyship compliments me with delicacy and frankness—It is too hard a question, if I have any of the first, to answer without blushes. A young woman to be supposed to have an esteem for a man, who has made no declarations, and whose behaviour to her is such only as shews a politeness to which he is accustomed, and only the same kind of tenderness as he shews to his sisters;—and whom sometimes he calls sister—as if—Ah, madam, how can one answer?
You have answered, my dear, and with that delicacy and frankness too, which make a principal part of your character. If my son (and he shall not be encouraged in his hopes, if he sees you not, mind as well as person, with his mother's eyes) should not be able to check himself by the apprehensions he has had reason for, of being but a second man in the favour of the object of his wishes [We, my dear, have our delicacies]; could you not allow him a second place in your favour, that might, in time, as he should merit, and as you should subdue your prepossessions, give him a first?—Hush—my dear, for one moment—Your honour, your piety, are my just dependence; and will be his.—And now speak: it is to me, my dear: speak your whole heart: let not any apprehended difficulty— I am a woman as well as you. And prepared to indulge—
Your goodness, madam, and nothing else, interrupted I, gives me difficulty.—My Lord D—— seems to me to be a man of merit, and not a disagreeable man in his person and manners. What he said of Sir Charles Grandison, and of his emulation being fired by his example, gave him additional merit with me. He must have a good mind. I wish him acquainted with Sir Charles, for his own sake, and for the sake of the world, which might be benefited by his large power, so happily directed! —But as to myself, I should forfeit the character of frankness of heart, which your ladyship's goodness ascribes to me, if I did not declare, that although I cannot, and, I think ought not to entertain a hope with regard to Sir Charles Grandison, since there is a lady who deserved him by severe sufferings before I knew him; yet is my heart so wholly attached, that I cannot think it just to give the least encouragement to any other proposal.
You are an excellent young woman: but, my dear, if Sir Charles Grandison is engaged—your mind will, it must change. Few women marry their first loves. Your heart—
O, madam! it is already a wedded heart: it is wedded to his merits; his merits will be always the object of my esteem: I can never think of any other, as I ought to think of the man to whom I give my hand.
Like merits, my dear, as person is not the principal motive, may produce like attachments. My Lord D—— will be, in your hands, another Sir Charles Grandison.
How good you are, my dear Lady D——! But allow me to repeat, as the strongest expression I can use, because I mean it to carry in it all the force that can be given it, that my heart is already a wedded heart.