Lord Martin, in the midst of his triumph and exultation, had not leisure to recollect, nor perhaps penetration to perceive, the effect that this little sally might have upon his interests. Despotic and boorish as was the genius of Mr. Hartley, it cowred under that of Sophia with the most abject servility. And that lady now vowed eternal war against the heroical peer.
“Mr. Hartley,” said she, in their next tete a tete, “let me tell you, lord Martin, must never have Miss Delia.” “My dearest life,” said the old gentleman, “consider, the day is fixed, my word is passed, and it is too late to revoke now. Beside, lord Martin has ten thousand pounds a year.” “Ten thousand figs,” said she, “do not tell me, it is never too late to be wife. Lord Martin is a venal senator, and a little sniveling fellow.” “My dear,” said Hartley, “I never differed from you before: do let me have my mind now.” “Have your mind, sir! Men should have no minds. Tyrants that they are! And now I think of it, Miss Delia does not like lord Martin.” “Pooh,” said Mr. Hartley, recovering spirit at such an objection, “that is all stuff and nonsense.” “Nonsense! Let me tell you, sir, women are not born to be controled. They are queens of the creation, and if they had their way, and the government of the world was in their hands, things would go much better than they do.” “I know they would,” replied her admirer, “if they were all as wise as you.” “Child,” returned Sophia, turning up her nose, “that is neither here nor there. The matter in short is this. Damon loves Delia, and Delia loves Damon. And if your daughter be not Mrs. Villiers, I will never be Mrs. Hartley.”
From a decision like this there could be no appeal. Mr. Hartley told lord Martin, the next time he came to his house to pay his devoirs to his mistress, that he had altered his mind. His lordship was too much surprised at this manoeuvre to make any immediate answer; so turned upon his heel, and decamped.
The happy revolution, by the intervention of Miss Fletcher, was soon made known to sir William and his friend. Damon now paid his addresses in form. A reconciliation took place between Mr. Moreland and the father of our heroine. The marriage was publicly talked of, the day was fixed, and every thing prepared for the nuptials.
It is impossible to describe the happiness of our lovers, when they saw every obstacle thus unexpectedly removed. Damon was beside himself with surprise and congratulation. Delia, at intervals, rubbed her eyes, and could scarcely be persuaded that it was not a dream. They saw each other at least once every day. Together they wandered along the margin of the ocean, and together they sought that delicious alcove, which now appeared ten times more beautiful, from the recollection it suggested of the sufferings they had passed.