object of her adoration to overlook her comparative unworthiness.
    Mr. Tyrrel endeavoured at first with some moderation to check miss Melvile
in her applauses, and to convince her by various tokens that the subject was
disagreeable to him. He was accustomed to treat her with kindness. Emily on her
part was disposed to yield an unreluctant obedience, and therefore it was not
difficult to restrain her; but upon the very next occasion her favourite topic
would force its way to her lips. Her obedience was the acquiescence of a frank
and benevolent heart; but it was the most difficult thing in the world to
inspire her with fear. Conscious herself that she would not hurt a worm, she
could not conceive that any one would harbour cruelty and rancour against her.
Her temper had preserved her from obstinate contention with the persons under
whose protection she was placed; and, as her compliance was unhesitating, she
had no experience of a severe and rigorous treatment. As Mr. Tyrrel's objection
to the very name of Falkland became more palpable and uniform, miss Melvile
increased in her precaution: she would stop herself in the half pronounced
sentences that were meant to his praise. This circumstance had necessarily an
ungracious effect; it was a cutting satire upon the imbecility of her kinsman.
Upon these occasions she would sometimes venture upon a good-humoured
expostulation: Dear sir! well, I wonder how you can be so ill-natured! I am sure
Mr. Falkland would do you any good office in the world: till she was checked by
some gesture of impatience and fierceness.
    At length she wholly conquered her heedlessness and inattention. But it was
too late. Mr. Tyrrel already suspected the existence of that passion which she
had thoughtlessly imbibed. His imagination, ingenious in torment, suggested to
him all the different openings in conversation in which she would have
introduced the praise of Mr. Falkland, had she not been placed under this
unnatural restraint. Her present reserve upon the subject was even more
insufferable than her former loquacity. All his kindness for this unhappy orphan
gradually subsided. Her partiality for the man who was the object of his
unbounded abhorrence, appeared to him as the last persecution of a malicious
destiny. He figured himself as about to be deserted by every creature in human
form, all men under the influence of a fatal enchantment, approving only what
was sophisticated and artificial, and holding the rude and genuine offspring of
nature in mortal antipathy. Impressed with these gloomy presages, he saw miss
Melvile with no sentiments but those of rancorous aversion; and, accustomed as
he was to the uncontroled indulgence of his propensities