Dinner time came, and we sat down to table. But the mind is sometimes too busy to attend to the appetites. I and Frank ate but little. He rose first from table, that he might not seem to follow me. His delicacy never slumbers. I took the first opportunity to retire. Frank was presently with me, and our dialogue began. The struggle of the feelings ordained that I should be the first speaker. I have been thinking very seriously, Frank, of what you said to me this morning. Would to heaven you could forget it, madam! Why so? I was unjust! A madman! A vain fool! An idiot!--Pardon this rude vehemence, but I cannot forgive myself for having been so ready to accuse one whom--! I cannot speak my feelings!--I have deserted myself!--I am no longer the creature of reason, but the child of passion!--My mind is all tumult, all incongruity! You wrong yourself. The error has been mutual, or rather I have been much the most to blame. I am very sensible of, and indeed very sorry for my mistake--Indeed I am--I perceived you indulging hopes that cannot be realized, and-- Cannot, madam? Never!--I can see you think yourself despised; but you do yourself great wrong. My mind is so disturbed, by the abrupt and absurd folly with which I accused you, unheard, this morning, that it is less now in a state to do my cause justice than at any other time--Still I will be a man--Your word, madam, was--Cannot!-- It was. Permit me to ask, is it person--? No--certainly not. Person would with me be always a distant consideration. [You, Louisa, know how very far from exceptionable the person of Frank is, if that were any part of the question.] You are no flatterer, madam, and you have thought proper occasionally to express your approbation of my morals and mind. Yet my expressions have never equalled my feelings!--Never! Then, madam, where is the impossibility? In what does it consist? The world may think meanly of me, for the want of what I myself hold in contempt: but surely you cannot join in the world's injustice? I cannot think meanly of you. I have no titles. I am what pride calls nobody: the son of a man who came pennyless into the service of your family; in which to my infinite grief he has grown rich. I would rather starve than acquire opulence by the efforts of cunning, flattery, and avarice; and if I blush for any thing, relative to family, it is for that. I am either above or below the wish of being what is insolently called well born. You confound, or rather you do not separate, two things which are very distinct; that which I think of you, and that which the world would think of me, were I to encourage hopes which you would have me indulge. Your actions, madam, shew how much and how properly you disregard the world's opinion. But I do not disregard the effects which that opinion may have, upon the happiness of my father, my family, myself, and my husband, if ever I should marry.