I have been making some efforts to decide the question, not of love, but, of duty. Love must not be permitted, till duty shall be known. I have not satisfied myself so well as I could wish, yet my former reasons seem invincible. Ought my father and my family to be offended? Ought I to set an example that might be pernicious? Is it most probable that by opposing I should correct or increase the world's mistakes? The path before me is direct and plain; ought I to deviate? In vain I fear should I plead his extraordinary merit. Would the plea remove the load of affliction with which I should overwhelm those who love me best? At present they think well, nay highly of me. I sometimes have the power to influence them to good. What power shall I have when they imagine I have disgraced both myself and them? Who ever saw those treated with esteem who are themselves supposed to be the slaves of passion? And could the world possibly be persuaded that a marriage between me and the son of my father's steward could ever originate, on my part, in honourable motives? Ought I to forget the influence of example? Where is the young lady, being desirous to marry an adventurer, or one whose mind might be as mean as his origin, who would not suppose her favourite more than the equal of Frank? For is not the power of discrimination lost, when the passions are indulged? And ought my name to be cited? Ought they to be encouraged by any act of mine? Yet the opposing arguments are far from feeble. His feelings are too strong to be concealed. Perhaps the only weakness I can think him capable of is that of loving me. For if love be contradictory to reason, it is a weakness; but should he answer that love and reason are in this instance united, we must come to proofs. That he loves is too visible to admit of doubt. I have seen the word trembling as it were on his tongue. I am almost certain that a silly thing which I said, with a very different intention, would have produced an avowal of his passion, had I not added something to prevent it, and hurried away. Well then! Am I certain I am guilty of no injustice to him? And why ought I not to be as just to him as to any other being on earth? Who would be more just to me? Who would be more tender, more faithful, more affectionate? I know not whether I ought to shrink from the vanity which seems annexed to the idea, for I know not whether it be vanity, but I cannot sometimes help asking myself whether the good that might result from the union of two strong minds, mutually determined to exert their powers for the welfare of society, be not a reason superior even to all those I have enumerated.