inks he has engaged. And, thirdly,
because the assiduities and veneration which you impute to him, seem to
carry an haughtiness in them, as if he thought his address had a merit
in it, that would be more than an equivalent to a woman's love. In
short, his very politeness, notwithstanding the advantages he must have
had from his birth and education, appear to be constrained; and, with
the most remarkable easy and genteel person, something, at times,
seems to be behind in his manner that is too studiously kept in. Then,
good-humoured as he is thought to be in the main to other people's
servants, and this even to familiarity (although, as you have observed,
a familiarity that has dignity in it not unbecoming to a man of quality)
he is apt sometimes to break out into a passion with his own: An oath
or a curse follows, and such looks from those servants as plainly shew
terror, and that they should have fared worse had they not been in my
hearing: with a confirmation in the master's looks of a surmise too well
justified.

* Letter III.

Indeed, my dear, THIS man is not THE man. I have great objections to
him. My heart throbs not after him. I glow not, but with indignation
against myself for having given room for such an imputation. But you
must not, my dearest friend, construe common gratitude into love. I
cannot bear that you should. But if ever I should have the misfortune to
think it love, I promise you upon my word, which is the same as upon my
honour, that I will acquaint you with it.

You bid me to tell you very speedily, and by the new-found expedient,
that I am not displeased with you for your agreeable raillery: I
dispatch this therefore immediately, postponing to my next the account
of the inducements which my friends have to promote with so much
earnestness the address of Mr. Solmes.

Be satisfied, my dear, mean time, that I am not displeased with you:
indeed I am not. On the contrary, I give you my hearty thanks for your
friendly premonitions; and I charge you (as I have often done) that if
you observe any thing in me so very faulty as would require from you
to others in my behalf the palliation of friendly and partial love, you
acquaint me with it: for methinks I would so conduct myself as not to
give reason even for an adversary to censure me; and how shall so weak
and so young a creature avoid the censure of such, if my friend will not
hold a looking-glass before me to let me see my imperfections?