I did not think, Sir, when I laid my fortune at your feet

Lady Beauchamp! You said cutting things! vert/ cutting things!

And did not you, Sir Harry, say, It should be so? So very peremptorily

Not, madam, till you as peremptorily

A little recrimination, thought I, there must be, to keep each in countenance on their past folly.

Ah, Sir Charles! You may rejoice that you are not married, said Sir Harry.

Dear Sir Harry, said I, we must bear with ladies. They are meek good creatures They

Meek! Sir Charles, repeated Sir Harry, with a half-angry smile, and shrugging, as if his shoulder had been hurt with his wife’s meekness I say, meek!

Now, Sir Charles Grandison, said my lady, with an air of threatening

I was desirous either of turning her displeasure into a jest, or of diverting it from the first object, in order to make her play with it, till she had lost it.

Women are of gentle natures, pursued I; and being accustomed to be humoured, opposition sits not easy upon them. Are they not kind to us, Sir Harry, when they allow of our superiority, by expecting us to bear with their pretty perversenesses?

O Sir Charles Grandison! said my lady; both her hands lifted up.

Let us be contented, proceeded I, with such their kind acknowledgments, and in pity to them, and in compliment to ourselves, bear with their foibles. See, madam, I ever was an advocate for the ladies.

Sir Charles, I have no patience with you i What can a poor woman do, ‘continued I, when opposed? She can only be a little violent in ivords, and when she has said as much as she chooses to say, be perhaps a little sullen. For my part, were I so happy as to call a woman mine, and she happened to be in the wrong, I would endeavour to be in the right; and trust to her good sense to recover her temper: arguments only beget arguments. Those reconciliations are the most durable, in which the lady makes the advances.

What doctrine is this, Sir Charles? You are not the man I took you for. I believe, in my conscience, that you are not near so good a man, as the world reports you.

What, madam, because I pretend to know a little of the sex? Surely, Lady Beauchamp, a man of common penetration may see to the bottom of a woman’s heart. A cunning woman cannot hide it: a good woman will not. You are not, madam, such mysteries, as some of us think you. Whenever you know your own minds, ice need not be long doubt-ful: that is all the difficulty: and I will vindicate you, as to that

As how, pray, Sir?

Women, madam, were designed to be dependent, as well as gentle creatures; and of consequence, when left to their own wills, they know not what to resolve upon.