“I am a married man, Eliza.”  “So I understand,” said I; “and I hope you will never treat your wife with that dissimulation and falsehood which you have exercised towards me.”  “Would to Heaven,” exclaimed he, “that you were my wife.  I should not, then, fail in my love or duty as a husband; yet she is an amiable girl, and, had I a heart to give her, I might still be happy; but that, alas!  I can never recall.”  “Why, then,” said I, “did you marry her?  You were, doubtless, master of your own actions.”  “No,” said he, “I was not.  The embarrassed state of my affairs precluded the possibility of acting as I wished.  Loving you most ardently, I was anxious to prevent your union with another, till I could so far improve my circumstances as to secure you from poverty and want in a connection with me.  My regard was too sincere to permit me to deceive you by a marriage which might have proved unhappy for us both.  My pride forbade my telling you the motives of my delay; and I left you to see if I could place myself in a situation worthy of your acceptance.  This I could not effect, and, therefore, have run the risk of my future happiness by marrying a lady of affluence.  This secures to me the externals of enjoyment, but my heart, I fear, will never participate it; yet it affords me some degree of satisfaction that I have not involved you in distress.  The only alleviation of which my banishment from you is capable, is your forgiveness.  In compassion, then, refuse it not.  It cannot injure you.  To me it will be worth millions.”  He wept.  Yes, Lucy, this libertine, this man of pleasure and gallantly, wept.  I really pitied him from my heart.  “I forgive you,” said I, “and wish you happy; yet on this condition only, that you never again pollute my ears with the recital of your infamous passion.  Yes, infamous I call it; for what softer appellation can be given to such professions from a married man?  Harbor not an idea of me, in future, inconsistent with the love and fidelity which you owe your wife; much less presume to mention it, if you wish not to be detested by me, and forever banished from my presence.”  He expressed gratitude for his absolution, even upon these terms, and hoped his future conduct would entitle him to my friendship and esteem.  “That,” I replied, “time only can determine.”

One favor more he begged leave to solicit; which was, that I would be a neighbor to his wife.  “She was a stranger,” he said, “and would deem my society a particular privilege.”  This, I told him, I could not grant at present, whatever I might do hereafter.  He did not urge it any further, but inquired after my mamma, and expressed a wish to see her.  I rang the bell, and ordered her and Miss Granby to be called.  When they came he was very polite to them both, and, after usual compliments, told my mamma that he was happy in having obtained my forgiveness, to which he was anxious to have her seal affixed.  “My daughter,” said she, “is the injured party; and if she be satisfied, I shall not complain.”  He thanked her for her condescension, informed her that he was married, and requested her to visit his wife.  We then conversed upon different subjects for a short time, and he took his leave.  A sigh escaped him as he departed, and a gloom was visible in his countenance which I never observed before.