When I marry, it will not be a husband of Mr. Flamall’s appointing.” The rising and deepening tints of Miss Lucretia’s fiery cheek, prepared me for her speech. “I would advise you, Miss Cowley, as a friend,” said she, “to be cautious of provoking a man of Mr. Flamall’s character, by using a language of this kind to him, whatever may be your intention in regard to the duty you owe to your deceased father’s will.”—“My father’s will,” exclaimed I, “will not be violated by my rejection of Mr. Flamall’s authority, which, in every instance, I despise!”—“It is because you do not know him, I am very certain,” answered she with suppressed rage. “You are mistaken, Madam,” replied I with firmness, “I _do_ know Mr. Flamall. It is himself, who from the false estimate he has made of his talents, forgets it was necessary for him _to know_ his benefactor’s daughter, before he hazarded a scheme which will end in his defeated ambition. My residence at Tarefield is the prelude only of my designs, to shew this man, that he can do no more than be subservient to _a Cowley_: this I will make him, and it may be he will acknowledge this. _I only_ understood the secret of teaching him to know his place and duty; my father assuredly did not.”—“You astonish me,” said she, “by your violence and prejudice against Mr. Flamall; you even insinuate suspicions against his honour.”—“_Honour!_” repeated I with a look which seemed to silence his defender; “the honour of Mr. Flamall cannot suffer.” The remainder of our road was passed without a single word being exchanged. She retired to her own room, on arriving at the hall. At dinner, Mary said her aunt had gotten a head-ach and could eat nothing. I suspect she drank the more, for before supper the dear girl joined us, saying her aunt was in bed and asleep, having been much fatigued, and out of spirits.