He began with the warmest expressions of the force of his passion. I have no reason to doubt of their sincerity; and, if affection can be productive of the end which I hope, its strength ought to give me pleasure. He would scarcely suffer me to suppose it possible there could be any cause of difference between us: let me but name my conditions and they should be fulfilled. He would undertake all that I did, all that I could require; and it was with difficulty that I could persuade him of the possibility of promising too fast. This introduced what was most material in our dialogue. My heart assures me, madam, said he, that I never gave you the least cause to suspect the sincerity and ardour of my passion: and I should hope that the fears, which I have sometimes thought you too readily entertained, are now dissipated. My fears are chiefly for, or rather of, myself. I doubt whether any person has so high an opinion of the powers and energy of your mind as I have: but I think those powers ill directed, and in danger of being lost. I own, madam, I have been sometimes grieved, nay piqued, to perceive that you do not always think quite so well of me as I could wish. You wrong me. You yourself do not think so highly of yourself as I do. Yet you suppose me to be in danger? Of being misled. Some of my opinions and principles, or some of yours, are erroneous, for they differ; I cannot at this moment but perceive how liable I am to be misunderstood. I cannot be insensible of the awkwardness of the situation in which I now place myself. My age, my sex, the customs of the world, a thousand circumstances contribute to cast an air of ridicule upon what ought to be very serious. But I must persist. Do you endeavour to forget these circumstances; and consider only the words, not the girl by whom they are spoken. It is not you, madam, but I who ought to dread appearing ridiculous. But for your sake--Let me but obtain your favour, and make me as ridiculous as you please. I told you so!--Should the lordly lettered man submit to have his principles questioned, by an untutored woman? Be sincere: your mind revolts at it? I feel the justness of your satire. Men are tyrants. Prejudice is a tyrant: there is no other tyranny. Madam! That is one of my strange opinions. It may be true; I am willing to think it is. Such things are indifferent to me. Let me but have your consent, to speak to Sir Arthur, and I have accomplished all I wish. I do not desire to trouble myself with examining opinions, true or false. I am determined to be of your opinion, be it what it will. That is, you avow that the gratification of your desires is the chief pursuit of your life. We have now found the essential point on which we differ. Is not happiness, madam, the universal pursuit? Must it not, ought it not to be?