Well, Madam, then I will comply with your commands. And I will go out this very evening in quest of lodgings that you shall have no objections to.
I will have no lodgings of your providing, Sir—I will go to Mrs. Moore’s, at Hampstead.
Mrs. Moore’s, Madam!—I have no objection to Mrs. Moore’s—but will you give me your promise, to admit me there to your presence?
As I do here—when I cannot help it.
Very well, Madam—Will you be so good as to let me know what you intend by your promise to make yourself easy.
To endeavour, Sir, to make myself easy—were the words—
Till you saw what next Thursday would produce?
Ask me no questions that may ensnare me. I am too sincere for the company I am in.
Let me ask you, Madam, What meant you, when you said, “that, were it not a sin, you would die before you gave me that assurance?”
She was indignantly silent.
You thought, Madam, you had given me room to hope your pardon by it?
When I think I ought to answer you with patience I will speak.
Do you think yourself in my power, Madam?
If I were not—And there she stopped—
Dearest creature, speak out—I beseech you, dearest creature, speak out—
She was silent; her charming face all in a glow.
Have you, Madam, any reliance upon my honour?
Still silent.
You hate me, Madam! You despise me more than you do the most odious of God’s creatures!
You ought to despise me, if I did not.
You say, Madam, you are in a bad house. You have no reliance upon my honour—you believe you cannot avoid me—
She arose. I beseech you, let me withdraw.
I snatched her hand, rising, and pressed it first to my lips, and then to my heart, in wild disorder. She might have felt the bounding mischief ready to burst its bars—You shall go—to your own apartment, if you please—But, by the great God of Heaven, I will accompany you thither!
She trembled—Pray, pray, Mr. Lovelace, don’t terrify me so!
Be seated, Madam! I beseech you, be seated!—
I will sit down—
Do then—All my soul is in my eyes, and my heart’s blood throbbing at my fingers’ ends.
I will—I will—You hurt me—Pray, Mr. Lovelace, don’t—don’t frighten me so—And down she sat, trembling; my hand still grasping hers.
I hung over her throbbing bosom, and putting my other arm round her waist—And you say, you hate me, Madam—and you say, you despise me—and you say, you promise me nothing—
Yes, yes, I did promise you—let me not be held down thus—you see I sat down when you bid me—Why (struggling) need you hold me down thus?—I did promise to endeavour to be easy till Thursday was over! But you won’t let me!—How can I be easy?—Pray, let me not be thus terrified.
And what, Madam, meant you by your promise? Did you mean anything in my favour?—You designed that I should, at that time, think you did. Did you mean anything in my favour, Madam?—Did you intend that I should think you did?
Let go my hand, Sir—Take away your arm from about me, (struggling, yet trembling)—Why do you gaze upon me so?
Answer me, Madam—Did you mean anything in my favour by your promise?
Let me be not thus constrained to answer.
Then pausing, and gaining more spirit, Let me go, said she: I am but a woman—but a weak woman.
But my life is in my own power, though my person is not—I will not be thus constrained.
You shall not, Madam, quitting her hand, bowing; but my heart is at my mouth, and hoping farther provocation.
She arose, and was hurrying away.
I pursue you not, Madam—I will try your generosity. Stop—return—this moment stop, return, if, Madam, you would not make me desperate.
She stopped at the door; burst into tears—O Lovelace!—How, how, have I deserved—
Be pleased, dearest angel, to return.
She came back—but with declared reluctance; and imputing her compliance to terror.
Terror, Jack, as I have heretofore found out, though I have so little benefited by the discovery, must be my resort, if she make it necessary—nothing else will do with the inflexible charmer.
She seated herself over-against me; extremely discomposed—but indignation had a visible predominance in her features.
I was going towards her, with a countenance intendedly changed to love and softness: Sweetest, dearest angel, were my words, in the tenderest accent:—But, rising up, she insisted upon my being seated at a distance from her.
I obeyed, and begged her hand over the table, to my extended hand; to see, if in anything she would oblige me. But nothing gentle, soft, or affectionate, would do. She refused me her hand!—Was she wise, Jack, to confirm to me, that nothing but terror would do?
Let me only know, Madam, if your promise to endeavour to wait with patience the event of next Thursday meant me favour?
Do you expect any voluntary favour from one to whom you give not a free choice?
Do you intend, Madam, to honour me with your hand, in your uncle’s presence, or do you not?
My heart and my hand shall never be separated. Why, think you, did I stand in opposition to the will of my best, my natural friends.
I know what you mean, Madam—Am I then as hateful to you as the vile Solmes?
Ask me not such a question, Mr. Lovelace.
I must be answered. Am I as hateful to you as the vile Solmes?
Why do you call Mr. Solmes vile?
Don’t you think him so, Madam?
Why should I? Did Mr. Solmes ever do vilely by me?
Dearest creature! don’t distract me by hateful comparisons! and perhaps by a more hateful preference.
Don’t you, Sir, put questions to me that you know I will answer truly, though my answer were ever so much to enrage you.
My heart, Madam, my soul is all yours at present. But you must give me hope, that your promise, in your own construction, binds you, no new cause to the contrary, to be mine on Thursday. How else can I leave you?
Let me go to Hampstead; and trust to my favour.
May I trust to it?—Say only
