Miss B. Yes, papa.
Sir Philip. And probably you could adduce proof equally convincing that you don't love him?
Miss B. Oh, yes—quite; for in the dance he sometimes paid attention to other young women, and I was so angry with him! Now, you know, papa, I love you—and I am sure I should not have been angry with you had you done so.
Sir Philip. But one question more—Do you think Mr. Handy loves you?
Miss B. I have never thought about it, papa.
Sir Philip. I am satisfied.
Miss B. Yes, I knew I should convince you.
Sir Philip. Oh, love; malign and subtle tyrant, how falsely art thou painted blind! 'tis thy votaries are so; for what but blindness can prevent their seeing thy poisoned shaft, which is for ever doomed to rankle in the victim's heart.
Miss B. Oh! now I am certain I am not in love; for I feel no rankling at my heart. I feel the softest, sweetest sensation I ever experienced. But, papa, you must come to the lawn. I don't know why, but to-day nature seems enchanting; the birds sing more sweetly, and the flowers give more perfume.
Sir Philip. [Aside.] Such was the day my youthful fancy pictured!—How did it close!