AMELIA. I am glad you don’t understand me. I was afraid I had spoken too plain. [_in confusion_]. MR. ANHALT. Understand you!—As to that—I am not dull. AMELIA. I know you are not—And as you have for a long time instructed me, why should not I now begin to teach you? MR. ANHALT. Teach me what? AMELIA. Whatever I know, and you don’t. MR. ANHALT. There are some things I had rather never know. AMELIA. So you may remember I said when you began to teach me mathematics. I said I had rather not know it—But now I have learnt it gives me a great deal of pleasure—and [_hesitating_] perhaps, who can tell, but that I might teach something as pleasant to you, as resolving a problem is to me. MR. ANHALT. Woman herself is a problem. AMELIA. And I’ll teach you to make her out. MR. ANHALT. _You_ teach? AMELIA. Why not? none but a woman can teach the science of herself: and though I own I am very young, a young woman may be as agreeable for a tutoress as an old one.—I am sure I always learnt faster from you than from the old clergyman who taught me before you came. MR. ANHALT. This is nothing to the subject. AMELIA. What is the subject? MR. ANHALT. —— Love. AMELIA. [_going up to him_]. Come, then, teach it me—teach it me as you taught me geography, languages, and other important things. MR. ANHALT. [_turning from her_] Pshaw! AMELIA. Ah! you won’t—You know you have already taught me that, and you won’t begin again. MR. ANHALT. You misconstrue—you misconceive every thing I say or do. The subject I came to you upon was marriage. AMELIA. A very proper subject from the man who has taught me love, and I accept the proposal [_curtsying_]. MR. ANHALT. Again you misconceive and confound me. AMELIA. Ay, I see how it is—You have no inclination to experience with me “the good part of matrimony:” I am not the female with whom you would like to go “hand in hand up hills, and through labyrinths”—with whom you would like to “root up thorns; and with whom you would delight to plant lilies and roses.” No, you had rather call out, “O liberty, dear liberty.” MR. ANHALT. Why do you force from me, what it is villanous to own?—I love you more than life—Oh, Amelia! had we lived in those golden times, which the poet’s picture, no one but you——But as the world is changed, your birth and fortune make our union impossible—To preserve the character, and more the feelings of an honest man, I would not marry you without the consent of your father—And could I, dare I propose it to him. AMELIA. He has commanded me never to conceal or disguise the truth. I will propose it to him. The subject of the Count will force me to speak plainly, and this will be the most proper time, while he can compare the merit of you both. MR. ANHALT. I conjure you not to think of exposing yourself and me to his resentment.