Mr. Hardcastle read the above letter to his attentive hearer: he waited for some moments for her observations on its contents; but finding she remained silent, he said, “My dear child, recollect that you are not obliged to comply with Mr. Flamall’s orders.” “I have never for an instant supposed myself in his power,” answered she calmly. “This account of his connections, however, gives me satisfaction, because it will serve to remove from your mind all fears for my personal safety. It is of no importance to me what are the characters of this Flamall’s relations at present, it is sufficient that they appear neither dangerous, nor interested in using me ill; for the rest I am prepared.” “Be also prepared to be just,” replied Mr. Hardcastle. “Mr. Woodley says his information rests on public rumour and public opinion. Your father knew Mr. Philip Flint and Mr. Flamall: suppose, for a minute only, that his will was the result of that knowledge, and that the man he recommends to your notice is one that is worthy of you; without binding yourself to any conditions, you ought to see this young man whenever he arrives, and to listen dispassionately to whatever he has to plead, both for his honour and his pretensions. Consider him only as Oliver Flint’s brother, and as standing remote from Mr. Flamall and the family at Tarefield. His affinity to worthless people, granting it be so, is no proof of his worthlessness; and surely the estimation in which he is held even by your father’s report of him, entitles him to a fair hearing whenever he appears at Tarefield.” “I shall, whenever that happens,” replied Miss Cowley, “receive him without resentment or caprice, and soon convince him that my resolution is unalterable.” “And what answer am I to make to this letter?” asked Mr. Hardcastle, producing a renewed application from a young baronet in the neighbourhood. “If you will have the goodness to transmit my answer to Sir George,” replied Miss Cowley, “you will oblige me; it is a brief one: I am an engaged woman; and should not this silence him, he will prove that he is not a gentleman, nor a man of sense.—To what purpose should I conceal from him, or the world,” added she, throwing her arms around Mr. Hardcastle’s neck, “an attachment in which I glory? To what purpose refrain from telling my father, and my friend, that I love Horace Hardcastle? He knows that I love him, and have loved him for years.” “My dear child!” said the subdued Mr. Hardcastle, tenderly returning her embrace, “endowed as you are, I would with pride acknowledge you as my daughter were you pennyless; but circumstanced as I am, I dare not listen to your pleadings. I am too old, and too tenacious of a good name, to risk it by a compliance so evidently in favour of my son’s fortune: and you are too young, and too inexperienced, to know whether that compliance would secure to you the happiness it promises. I will imitate you in frankness: regard me as your best friend, not as Horace’s father.