“Oh, mother, I am ashamed of that evening--I regret it more than any evening of my life. I did wrong, very wrong; and bitterly have I suffered for it, as people always do, sooner or later, by deceit. I was afraid that you should see my real feelings; and, to conceal them, I, for the first and last time of my life, acted like a coquette. But if you recollect, dear mother, the very next day I confessed the truth to you. My friend, Miss Walsingham, urged me to have the courage to be sincere.” “Miss Walsingham! On every occasion I find the secret influence of these Walsinghams operating in my family,” cried Mrs. Beaumont, from a sudden impulse of anger, which threw her off her guard. “Surely their influence has always been beneficial to us all. To me, Miss Walsingham’s friendship has been of the greatest service.” “Yes; by secretly encouraging you, against your mother’s approbation, in a ridiculous passion for a man who neither can nor will marry you.” “Far from encouraging me, madam, in any thing contrary to your wishes--and far from wishing to do any thing secretly, Miss Walsingham never spoke to me on this subject but once; and that was to advise me strongly not to conceal the truth from you, and not to make use of any artifices or manoeuvres.” “Possibly, very possibly; but I presume you could conduct yourself properly without Miss Walsingham’s interference or advice.” “I thought, mamma, you liked Miss Walsingham particularly, and that you wished I should cultivate her friendship.” “Certainly; I admire Miss Walsingham extremely, and wish to be on the best terms with the family; but I will never permit any one to interfere between me and my children. We should have gone on better without advisers.” “I am sure her advice and friendship have preserved me from many faults, but never led me into any. I might, from timidity, and from fear of your superior address and abilities, have become insincere and artful; but she has given me strength of mind enough to bear the present evil, and to dare at all hazards to speak the truth.” “But, my dearest Amelia,” said Mrs. Beaumont, softening her tone, “why so warm? What object can your mother have but your good? Can any Miss Walsingham, or any other friend upon earth, have your interest so much at heart as I have? Why am I so anxious, if it is not from love to you?” Amelia was touched by her mother’s looks and words of affection, and acknowledged that she had spoken with too much warmth. Mrs. Beaumont thought she could make advantage of this moment. “Then, my beloved child, if you are convinced of my affection for you, show at least some confidence in me in return: show some disposition to oblige me. Here is a match I approve; here is an establishment every way suitable.”