erest regard for you? Do you
think they will not now turn to rank poison in my veins, and kill me,
soul and body? You say it is friendship--but if this is friendship,
I'll forswear love. Ah! Sarah! it must be something more or less than
friendship. If your caresses are sincere, they shew fondness--if they
are not, I must be more than indifferent to you. Indeed you once let
some words drop, as if I were out of the question in such matters, and
you could trifle with me with impunity. Yet you complain at other times
that no one ever took such liberties with you as I have done. I
remember once in particular your saying, as you went out at the door in
anger--"I had an attachment before, but that person never attempted
anything of the kind." Good God! How did I dwell on that word
BEFORE, thinking it implied an attachment to me also; but you have
since disclaimed any such meaning. You say you have never professed
more than esteem. Yet once, when you were sitting in your old place, on
my knee, embracing and fondly embraced, and I asked you if you could not
love, you made answer, "I could easily say so, whether I did or not--YOU
SHOULD JUDGE BY MY ACTIONS!" And another time, when you were in the
same posture, and I reproached you with indifference, you replied in
these words, "Do I SEEM INDIFFERENT?" Was I to blame after this to
indulge my passion for the loveliest of her sex? Or what can I think?

S. I am no prude, Sir.

H. Yet you might be taken for one. So your mother said, "It was hard
if you might not indulge in a little levity." She has strange notions
of levity. But levity, my dear, is quite out of character in you. Your
ordinary walk is as if you were performing some religious ceremony: you
come up to my table of a morning, when you merely bring in the
tea-things, as if you were advancing to the altar. You move in
minuet-time: you measure every step, as if you were afraid of offending
in the smallest things. I never hear your approach on the stairs, but
by a sort of hushed silence. When you enter the room, the Graces wait
on you, and Love waves round your person in gentle undulations,
breathing balm into the soul! By Heaven, you are an angel! You look
like one at this instant! Do I not adore you--and have I merited this
return?

S. I have repeatedly answered that question. You sit and fancy things
out of your own head, and then lay them to my charge. There is not a
word of truth in your su