llenly bade them good night,
and walked directly in. Eliza soon followed me. I sat down by the fire
in a thoughtful posture. She did the same. In this situation we both
remained for some time without speaking a word. At length she said, "You
seem not to have enjoyed your walk, Miss Granby: did you not like your
gallant?" "Yes," said I, "very well; but I am mortified that you were
not better provided for." "I make no complaint," rejoined she; "I was
very well entertained." "That is what displeases me," said I; "I mean
your visible fondness for the society of such a man. Were you averse to
it, as you ought to be, there would be no danger. But he has an alluring
tongue and a treacherous heart. How can you be pleased and entertained
by his conversation? To me it appears totally repugnant to that
refinement and delicacy for which you have always been esteemed.

"His assiduity and obtrusion ought to alarm you. You well know what his
character has been. Marriage has not changed his disposition. It is only
a cloak which conceals it. Trust him not, then, my dear Eliza; if you
do, depend upon it you will find his professions of friendship to be
mere hypocrisy and deceit. I fear that he is acting over again the same
unworthy arts which formerly misled you. Beware of his wiles. Your
friends are anxious for you. They tremble at your professed regard and
apparent intimacy with that unprincipled man." "My friends," said she,
"are very jealous of me lately. I know not how I have forfeited their
confidence, or incurred their suspicion." "By encouraging that
attention," I warmly replied, "and receiving those caresses, from a
married man which are due from him to none but his wife. He is a villain
if he deceived her into marriage by insincere professions of love. If he
had then an affection for her, and has already discarded it, he is
equally guilty. Can _you_ expect sincerity from the man who withholds it
from an amiable and deserving wife? No, Eliza; it is not love which
induces him to entertain you with the subject. It is a baser passion;
and if you disdain not his artifice, if you listen to his flattery, you
will, I fear, fall a victim to his evil machinations. If he conducted
like a man of honor, he would merit your esteem; but his behavior is
quite the reverse: yet, vile as he is, he would not dare to lisp his
insolent hopes of your regard if you punished his presumption with the
indignation it deserves; if you spurned from your pres