old, or thought you knew me? Is it in six months of selfish absence that
your mind has changed? When did that change begin? A week ago? Sure,
you would have written! To-day? Sir, if this offer be anything more than
fresh offence, I have a right to be enlightened.

AUSTIN. Madam, I foresaw this question. So be it: I respect, and I will
not deceive you. But give me, first of all, a moment for defence. There
are few men of my habits and position who would have done as I have
done: sate at the feet of a young boy, accepted his lessons, gone upon
his errand: fewer still, who would thus, at the crisis of a love, risk
the whole fortune of the soul--love, gratitude, even respect. Yet more
than that! For conceive how I respect you, if I, whose lifelong trade
has been flattery, stand before you and make the plain confession of a
truth that must not only lower me, but deeply wound yourself.

DOROTHY. What means----?

AUSTIN. Young Fenwick, my rival for your heart, he it was that sent me.

DOROTHY. He? O disgrace! He sent you! That was what he meant? Am I
fallen so low? Am I your common talk among men? Did you dice for me? Did
he kneel? O John, John, how could you! And you, Mr. Austin, whither have
you brought me down? shame heaping upon shame--to what end! O, to what
end?

AUSTIN. Madam, you wound me: you look wilfully amiss. Sure, any lady in
the land might well be proud to be loved as you are loved, with such
nobility as Mr. Fenwick's, with such humility as mine. I came, indeed,
in pity, in good-nature, what you will. (See, dearest lady, with what
honesty I speak: if I win you, it shall be with the unblemished truth.)
All that is gone. Pity? it is myself I pity. I offer you not love--I am
not worthy. I ask, I beseech of you: suffer me to wait upon you like a
servant, to serve you with my rank, my name, the whole devotion of my
life. I am a gentleman--ay, in spite of my fault--an upright gentleman;
and I swear to you that you shall order your life and mine at your free
will. Dorothy, at your feet, in remorse, in respect, in love--O such
love as I have never felt, such love as I derided--I implore, I conjure
you to be mine!

DOROTHY. Too late! too late.

AUSTIN. No, no; not too late: not too late for penitence, not too late
for love.

DOROTHY. Which do you propose? that I should abuse your compassion, or
reward your treachery? George Austin, I have been your mistress, and I
will never be your wife.

AUSTIN. Child, dear