 and throwing her arms around my neck, burst into a flood of tears, which instantly informed me of what she was unable by words to express.
My dearest girl, said I, whence proceeds this agitation?
She could not immediately reply: but at last—Oh Hermione! exclaimed she, what have I to tell you—Mr. Howard is my lover.
Well my dear, said I smiling, that is no very great calamity.
Good, heavens! could you ever have suspected such a thing? Could you ever have imagined that any thing so unlucky would have happened!
I believe I could, answered I. But

why unlucky? How comes it that the mere mention of a proposal which must be at least acknowledged disinterested, from an amiable and worthy object, should give you this uneasiness. There are no rigid guardians to urge your compliance, nor, alas! parents to command your obedience; and believe me, my love, your sister will not even presume to advise on a subject in which your own feelings and sentiments only are to be consulted.
I soon found, however, that her tears were those of agitation, doubt, and timidity. Disgust and repugnance had no part in her emotions. She confessed she esteemed Mr. Howard; that she believed him one of the best men in the world; but I never once thought of being his wife, said she. I regarded him as a friend sent by heaven to console us for the loss of one parent who is gone for ever, and of another who disowns us. I cannot

think of marrying him. The idea is almost unnatural; for the possibility of such an event never entered my imagination. Indeed I always concluded his partiality to me was that of a father, and that the disparity of our years would have alone proved sufficient to have prevented the very notion of such an attachment. Had it been you, I should not have experienced the slightest surprize; for I have more than once suspected that he loved you, particularly before we left Languedoc; but for myself, I always imagined he viewed me in the light of a girl who might have amused perhaps, but who had no likelihood of interesting him. Oh! what made him think of me, repeated she several times in the greatest perplexity.
Calm your agitation my dear Fanny, cried I. Consider you are solicited, but not compelled. I have on my part long suspected that you was the object of Mr.

Howard's affections, and I sincerely own have secretly wished his passion that success which in my opinion it so justly merits. I
