in Clementina; and a treasure with her. We shall do the same things for her, as if she had married the man we wished her to have when we thought her affections disengaged. You may believe we love our daughter—Else—
I applauded their indulgent goodness.
I can have no doubt, Mr. Grandison, that you love Clementina above all women.
[I had never seen the woman, Dr. Bartlett, that I could have loved so well, had I not restrained myself, at first, from the high notion I knew they had of their quality and rank; from considerations of the difference in religion; of the trust and confidence the family placed in me; and by the resolution I had made, as a guard to myself from the time of my entering upon my travels, of never aiming to marry a foreigner.]
I assured the Marchioness, that I was absolutely disengaged in my affections: That not having presumed to encourage hopes of the good fortune that seemed to await me, I could hardly yet flatter myself that so great an happiness was reserved for me.
She answered, That I deserved it all: That I knew the value they had for me: That Clementina's regard was founded in virtue: That my character was my happiness: That, however, what the world would say, had been no small point with them; but that was as good as got over; and she doubted not but all that depended upon me, would, as well from generosity as gratitude, be complied with.
[Here, thought I, is couched the expectation: And if so, would to heaven I had never seen Italy!]
The Marquis joined his Lady and me soon after. His features had a melancholy cast. This dear girl, said he, has fastened upon me part of her malady. Parents, Chevalier, who are blessed with even hopeful children, are not always happy. This girl—But no

more: She is a good child. In the general oeconomy of Providence, none of the sons of men are unhappy, but some others are the happier for it. Our son the Bishop will talk to you upon terms.
I have hinted to the Chevalier, my Lord, said the Marchioness, the happiness that waits him.
How does the poor girl?—Bashful enough, I suppose!
Indeed, my Lord, she cannot look up, answered the Lady.
Poor thing! I supposed it would be so.
Why, why, thought I, was I suffered to see this mother, this daughter, before their conditions were proposed to me!
But what