ious adviser, and where I failed to enlighten and
control, I thought I might safely undertake to pardon, for the sake of
her many excellences. Therefore, my dearest girl, since I am satisfied,
why should you object--on my account, at least?'

'But to tell you the truth, Mr. Boarham, it is on my own account I
principally object; so let us--drop the subject,' I would have said, 'for
it is worse than useless to pursue it any further,' but he pertinaciously
interrupted me with,--'But why so? I would love you, cherish you,
protect you,' &c., &c.

I shall not trouble myself to put down all that passed between us.
Suffice it to say, that I found him very troublesome, and very hard to
convince that I really meant what I said, and really was so obstinate and
blind to my own interests, that there was no shadow of a chance that
either he or my aunt would ever be able to overcome my objections.
Indeed, I am not sure that I succeeded after all; though wearied with his
so pertinaciously returning to the same point and repeating the same
arguments over and over again, forcing me to reiterate the same replies,
I at length turned short and sharp upon him, and my last words were,--'I
tell you plainly, that it cannot be. No consideration can induce me to
marry against my inclinations. I respect you--at least, I would respect
you, if you would behave like a sensible man--but I cannot love you, and
never could--and the more you talk the further you repel me; so pray
don't say any more about it.'

Whereupon he wished me a good-morning, and withdrew, disconcerted and
offended, no doubt; but surely it was not my fault.

CHAPTER XVII

The next day I accompanied my uncle and aunt to a dinner-party at Mr.
Wilmot's. He had two ladies staying with him: his niece Annabella, a
fine dashing girl, or rather young woman,--of some five-and-twenty, too
great a flirt to be married, according to her own assertion, but greatly
admired by the gentlemen, who universally pronounced her a splendid
woman; and her gentle cousin, Milicent Hargrave, who had taken a violent
fancy to me, mistaking me for something vastly better than I was. And I,
in return, was very fond of her. I should entirely exclude poor Milicent
in my general animadversions against the ladies of my acquaintance. But
it was not on her account, or her cousin's, that I have mentioned the
party: it was for the sake of another of Mr. Wilmot's guests, to wit Mr.
Huntingdon. I hav