"Sir Hargrave, you may expect nothing from me but the simplest truth. I thank you, sir, for your good opinion of me, but I cannot encourage your addresses."
"You cannot, madam, encourage my addresses!" He stood silent a minute or two, looking upon me as if he said, "Foolish girl! Knows she whom she refuses?" "I have been assured, madam, that your affections are not engaged. But surely, it must be a mistake; some happy man----"
"Is it," I interrupted, "a necessary consequence that the woman who cannot receive the addresses of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen must be engaged?"
"Why, madam, as to that, I know not what to say, but a man of my fortune----" He paused. "What, madam, can be your objection? Be so good as to name it, that I may know whether I can be so happy as to get over it."
"We do not, we cannot, all like the same person. There is something that attracts or disgusts us."
"Disgusts! Madam--disgusts! Miss Byron!"
"I spoke in general, sir; I dare say, nineteen women out of twenty would think themselves favoured in the addresses of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen."
"But you, madam, are the twentieth that I must love; and be so good as to let me know----"
"Pray, sir, ask me not a reason for a peculiarity. You may have more merit, perhaps, than the man I may happen to approve of better; but--shall I say?--you do not--you do not hit my fancy, sir."
"Not hit your fancy, madam! Give me leave to say" (and he reddened with anger) "that my fortune, my descent, and my ardent affection for you ought to avail with me. Perhaps, madam, you think me too airy a man. You have doubts of my sincerity. You question my honour."