is
true; that as I neither do nor can love you, the honor of a gentleman,
and the spirit of a man, equally forbid you to act ungenerously to me
and dishonorably to yourself. What man, not base and mean, and sunk
farther down in degradation of spirit than contempt could reach him,
would for a moment think of marrying a woman who, like me, can neither
love nor honor him? Go, my lord; see my father; tell him you are a
man--an Irish gentleman--"

"Pardon me, Miss Gourlay, I do not wish to be considered such."

--"That justice, humanity, self-respect, and a regard for the good
opinion of the world, all combine to make you release me from this
engagement."

"Unfortunately, Miss Gourlay, I have it not in my power, even if I
were willing, to release you from this engagement. I am pledged to your
father, and cannot, as a man of honor and a gentleman, recede from that
pledge. All these objections and difficulties only bring you exactly
up to my theory, or very near it. We shall marry upon very original
principles; so that altogether the whole affair is very gratifying to
me. I had expectations that there was a prior attachment; but that would
be too much to hope for. As it is, I am perfectly satisfied."

"Then, my lord, allow me to add to your satisfaction by assuring you
that my heart is wholly and unalterably in possession of another; that
that other knows it; and that I have avowed my love for him with the
same truth and candor with which I now say that I both loathe and
despise you."

"I perceive you are excited, Miss Gourlay; but, believe me, all this
sentimental affection for another will soon disappear after marriage,
as it always does; and your eyes will become open to a sense of your
enviable position. Yes, indeed, you will live to wonder at these freaks
of a heated imagination; and I have no doubt the day will come when you
will throw your arms about my neck, and exclaim, 'My dear Dunroe, or
Cullamore (you will then be my countess, I hope), what a true prophet
you have been! And what a proof it was of your good sense to overcome
my early folly! I really thought at the time that I was in love with
another; but you knew better. Shan't we spend the winter in England, my
love? I am sick of this dull, abominable country, where nobody that one
can associate with is to be met; and you mustn't forget the box at the
Opera. Yes; we shall have an odd scene or so occasionally of that sort
of thing; and no doubt be as happy a