“Why, I suppose I should not say _in love_; there’s some other way of expressing it come into fashion since my time, no doubt. And even then, I know that was not to be said of a young lady, till signing and sealing day; but it popped out, and I can’t get it back again, so you must even let it pass. And what harm? for you know, madam, without love, what would become of the world?--though I was jilted once and away, I acknowledge--but forgive and forget. I don’t like the girl a whit the worse for being a little bit tender-hearted. For I’m morally certain, even from the little I have heard her say, and from the way she has been brought up, and from her being her father’s daughter, and her mother’s, madam, she could not fix her affections on any one that would not do honour to her choice, or--which is only saying the same thing in other words--that you and I should not approve.” “Ah! there’s the thing!” said Mrs. Beaumont, sighing. “Why now I took it into my head from a blush I saw this morning, though how I came to notice it, I don’t know; for to my recollection I have not noticed a girl’s blushing before these twenty years--but, to be sure, here I have as near an interest, almost, as if she were my own daughter--I say, from the blush I saw this morning, when young Beaumont was talking of the gallop he had taken to inquire about Captain Walsingham, I took it into my head that he was the happy man.” “Oh! my dear sir, he never made any proposals for Amelia.” That was strictly true. “Nor, I am sure, ever thought of it, as far as ever I heard.” The saving clause of “_as far as ever I heard_,” prevented this last assertion from coming under that description of falsehoods denominated downright lies. “Indeed, how could he?” pursued Mrs. Beaumont, “for you know he is no match for Amelia; he has nothing in the world but his commission. No; there never was any proposal from that quarter; and, of course, it is impossible my daughter could think of a man who has no thoughts of her.” “You know best, my good madam; I merely spoke at random. I’m the worst guesser in the world, especially on these matters: what people tell me, I know; and neither more not less.” Mrs. Beaumont rejoiced in the simplicity of her companion. “Then, my good friend, it is but fair to tell you,” said she, “that Amelia has an admirer.” “A lover, hey! Who?” “Ah, there’s the misfortune; it is a thing I never can consent to.” “Ha! then now it is out! There’s the reason the girl blushes, and is so absent at times.”