after which he took
his leave with the same affectionate kindness with which he had greeted
me, having repeated his desire that I should consider everything in his
house as altogether at my disposal. It is needless to say that I was
much pleased with my uncle--it was impossible to avoid being so; and I
could not help saying to myself, if such a man as this is not safe from
the assaults of slander, who is? I felt much happier than I had done
since my father's death, and enjoyed that night the first refreshing
sleep which had visited me since that event.

My curiosity respecting my male cousin did not long remain
unsatisfied--he appeared the next day at dinner. His manners, though not
so coarse as I had expected, were exceedingly disagreeable; there was an
assurance and a forwardness for which I was not prepared; there was less
of the vulgarity of manner, and almost more of that of the mind, than I
had anticipated. I felt quite uncomfortable in his presence; there was
just that confidence in his look and tone which would read encouragement
even in mere toleration; and I felt more disgusted and annoyed at the
coarse and extravagant compliments which he was pleased from time to
time to pay me, than perhaps the extent of the atrocity might fully
have warranted. It was, however, one consolation that he did not often
appear, being much engrossed by pursuits about which I neither knew nor
cared anything; but when he did appear, his attentions, either with
a view to his amusement or to some more serious advantage, were so
obviously and perseveringly directed to me, that young and inexperienced
as I was, even _I_ could not be ignorant of his preference. I felt more
provoked by this odious persecution than I can express, and discouraged
him with so much vigour, that I employed even rudeness to convince him
that his assiduities were unwelcome; but all in vain.

This had gone on for nearly a twelve-month, to my infinite annoyance,
when one day as I was sitting at some needle-work with my companion
Emily, as was my habit, in the parlour, the door opened, and my cousin
Edward entered the room. There was something, I thought, odd in his
manner--a kind of struggle between shame and impudence--a kind of flurry
and ambiguity which made him appear, if possible, more than ordinarily
disagreeable.

'Your servant, ladies,' he said, seating himself at the same time;
'sorry to spoil your tete-a-tete, but never mind, I'll only take Emily's
p