You may believe, Sir Charles, she is greatly distressed.

As a tender-hearted woman, and as one who thinks already much too highly of what was done, she may be distressed: but does she hesitate a moment upon the part she ought to take? Does she not despise the writer and the writing? — I thought Miss Byron —

He stopt, it seems, and spoke and looked warm; the first time, said Mr. Reeves, that I thought Sir Charles, on occasion, passionate.

I wish, Lucy, that he had not stopt, I wish he had said what he thought Miss Byron. I own to you, that it would go to my heart, if I knew that Sir Charles Grandison thought me a mean creature.

You must think, Sir Charles, that Miss Byron —

Pray, Mr. Reeves, forgive me for interrupting you; What steps have been taken upon this letter?

None, Sir.

It has not been honoured with notice; not with the least notice?

It has not.

And could it be supposed by these mean men (all men are mean, Mr. Reeves, who can bepremedi-tatedly guilty of a baseness) that I would be brought to ask pardon for my part in this affair? No man, Mr. Reeves, would be more ready than myself to ask pardon, even of my inferior, had I done a wrong thing: but never should a prince make me stoop to disavow a right one.

But, Sir Charles, let me ask you, Has Sir Har-grave challenged you? Did this Bagenhall bring you a letter?

Sir Hargrave has: Bagenhall did: but what of that, Mr. Reeves? I promised an answer on Mon-day. I would not so much as think of setting pen to paper on such an account, to interrupt for a moment the happiness I had hoped to receive in the meeting of a sister and her lord, so dear to me: an answer I have accordingly sent him this day.

You have sent him an answer, Sir! — I am in great apprehensions —

You have no reason, Mr. Reeves, I do assure you. But let not my sisters, nor Lord L. know of this matter. Why should I, who cannot have a moment’s uneasiness upon it, for my own sake, have the need-less fears and apprehensions of persons to whom I wish to give nothing but pleasure, to contend with? An imaginary distress, to those who think it more than imaginary, is a real one: and 1 cannot bear to see my friends unhappy.

Have you accepted, Sir — Have you —

I have been too much engaged, Mr. Reeves, in such causes as this: I never drew my sword but in my own defence, and when no other means could defend me. I never could bear a designed insult. I am naturally passionate. You know not the pains it has cost me, to keep my passion under: but I have suffered too much in my after-regret, when I have been hurried away by it, not to endeavour to restrain its first sallies.