I do excuse you, Lady Beauchamp: and the rather, as I am sure you do not
think me so. Your freedom is a mark of your favour; and I thank you for
it.
You treat me as a child, sir--
I treat all angry people as children: I love to humour them. Indeed,
Lady Beauchamp, you must not be angry with me. Can I be mistaken? Don't
I see in your aspect the woman of sense and reason?--I never blame a lady
for her humoursomeness, so much as, in my mind, I blame her mother.
Sir! said she. I smiled. She bit her lip, to avoid returning a smile.
Her character, my dear friend, is not, you know, that of an ill-tempered
woman, though haughty, and a lover of power.
I have heard much of you, Sir Charles Grandison: but I am quite mistaken
in you: I expected to see a grave formal young man, his prim mouth set in
plaits: But you are a joker; and a free man; a very free man, I do assure
you.
I would be thought decently free, madam; but not impertinent. I see with
pleasure a returning smile. O that ladies knew how much smiles become
their features!--Very few causes can justify a woman's anger--Your sex,
madam, was given to delight, not to torment us.
Torment you, sir!--Pray, has Sir Harry--
Sir Harry cannot look pleased, when his lady is dis-pleased: I saw that
you were, madam, the moment I beheld you. I hope I am not an unwelcome
visitor to Sir Harry for one hour, (I intend to stay no longer,) that he
received me with so disturbed a countenance, and has now withdrawn
himself, as if to avoid me.
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