"You cannot deny your sentiments, Sir William; nor can I easily forget them. What my settlement is, as I never wished to out-live you, so I never wished to know how ample it was. Large I might suppose it to be, from the conviction that you never pay any regard to consequences to obtain your desires, let them be what they will. I was the whim of the day; and if you have paid too dearly for the trifling gratification, I am sorry for it; heartily sorry for it, indeed, Sir William. You found me in the lap of innocence, and in the arms of an indulgent parent; happy, peaceful, and serene; would to heaven you had left me there!" I could not proceed; my tears prevented my utterance. "Pshaw!" cried Sir William, clapping his fingers together, and throwing his elbow over the chair, which turned his face nearer me, "how ridiculous this is! Why, Julia, I am deceived in you; I did not think you had so much resentment in your composition. You ought to make some allowance for the _derangement_ of my affairs. My hands are tied by making a larger settlement than my present fortune would admit; and I cannot raise money on my estate, because I have no child, and it is entailed on my uncle, who is the greatest curmudgeon alive. Reflect on all these obstacles to my release from some present exigencies; and do not be so hard-hearted and inexorable to the prayers and intreaties of your husband."--During the latter part of this speech, he put his arm round my waist, and drew me almost on his knees, striving by a thousand little caresses to make me pardon and smile on him; but, Louisa, caresses, which I now know came not from the heart, lose the usual effect on me; yet I would not be, as he said, inexorable. I therefore told him, I would no longer think of any thing he would wish me to forget.--With the utmost appearance of tenderness he took my handkerchief, and dried my eyes; laying his cheek close to mine, and pressing my hands with warmth,--in short, acting over the same farce as (once) induced me to believe I had created the most permanent flame in his bosom. I could not bear the reflection that he should suffer from his former attachment to me; and I had hopes that my generosity might rouze him from his lethargy, and save him from the ruin which was likely to involve him. I told him, "I would with the greatest chearfulness relinquish any part of my settlement, if by that means he could be extricated from his present and future difficulties."--"Why, to be sure, a part of it would set me to rights as to the present; but as for the future, I cannot look into futurity, Julia."--"I wish you could, Sir William, and reflect in time."--"Reflect! Oh, that is so _outré_! I hate reflection. Reflection cost poor D--r his life the other day; he, like me, could not bear reflection."