But is there no hope that the man will take pity of thee? When he sees thee so sadly entangled, will he not vouchsafe to lend an extricating hand?

Oh, no — Too much obliged, as thou already art, how canst thou expect to be farther obliged? Oblig-ed in the highest degree?

But let me try if I cannot play round this bright, this beamy taper, without singeing my wings! I fancy it is not yet quite so bad with me! At least, let me stand this one visit of tomorrow: and then if I find reason to think I cannot stand it, I will take the kind advice, and fly for it; rather than add another hope-less girl to the half-score that perhaps have been long sighing for this best of men.

But even then, my aunt, that is to say, were I to fly, and take shelter under your protecting wings, I shall not, I hope, think it absolutely necessary to light up one flame, in order to extinguish another. I shall always value Mr. Orme as a friend; but indeed I am less than ever inclined to think of him in a nearer light.

As to Lady D.‘s proposal, it admits not with me of half a thought. You know, my dearest aunt, that I am not yet rejected by one with whom you are all in love — But this seriously I will own (and yet I hope nothing but my gratitude is engaged, and that indeed is a very powerful tie) that since I have seen and known Sir Charles Grandison, I have not only (as before) an indifference, but a dislike, to all other men. And I think> if 1 know my own heart, I had rather converse but an hour in a week with him, and with Miss Grandison, than be the wife of any man I have ever seen or known.

If this should end at last in love, and if I should be entangled in a hopeless passion, the object of it would be Sir Charles Grandison: he could not insult me; and mean, as the word pity in some cases sounds, I had rather have his pity, than the love of any other man.