end of the chapter, a good kind of a sing-song, lack-a-daysaical
life, as other honest married folks do.

CHARLOTTE. Why did they not then marry?

LETITIA. Upon the death of his father, Billy went to England to see the
world and rub off a little of the patroon rust. During his absence,
Maria, like a good girl, to keep herself constant to her _nown
true-love_, avoided company, and betook herself, for her amusement, to
her books, and her dear Billy's letters. But, alas! how many ways has
the mischievous demon of inconstancy of stealing into a woman's heart!
Her love was destroyed by the very means she took to support it.

CHARLOTTE. How?--Oh! I have it--some likely young beau found the way to
her study.

LETITIA. Be patient, Charlotte; your head so runs upon beaux. Why, she
read _Sir Charles Grandison_, _Clarissa Harlow_, _Shenstone_, and the
_Sentimental Journey_; and between whiles, as I said, Billy's letters.
But, as her taste improved, her love declined. The contrast was so
striking betwixt the good sense of her books and the flimsiness of her
love-letters, that she discovered she had unthinkingly engaged her hand
without her heart; and then the whole transaction, managed by the old
folks, now appeared so unsentimental, and looked so like bargaining for
a bale of goods, that she found she ought to have rejected, according to
every rule of romance, even the man of her choice, if imposed upon her
in that manner. Clary Harlow would have scorned such a match.

CHARLOTTE. Well, how was it on Mr. Dimple's return? Did he meet a more
favourable reception than his letters?

LETITIA. Much the same. She spoke of him with respect abroad, and with
contempt in her closet. She watched his conduct and conversation, and
found that he had by travelling acquired the wickedness of Lovelace
without his wit, and the politeness of Sir Charles Grandison without his
generosity. The ruddy youth, who washed his face at the cistern every
morning, and swore and looked eternal love and constancy, was now
metamorphosed into a flippant, palid, polite beau, who devotes the
morning to his toilet, reads a few pages of Chesterfield's letters, and
then minces out, to put the infamous principles in practice upon every
woman he meets.

CHARLOTTE. But, if she is so apt at conjuring up these sentimental
bugbears, why does she not discard him at once?

LETITIA. Why, she thinks her word too sacred to be trifled with.
Besides, her father, who has a gr