I have not so favorable an opinion of the man as to suppose him capable of either.  He has become very familiar here.  He calls in almost every day.  Sometimes he but just inquires after our health, and sometimes makes long visits.  The latter is his invariable practice when he finds Eliza alone.  Mrs. Wharton always avoids seeing him if she can.  She dreads, she says, his approaching the house.

I entered the parlor the other day, somewhat suddenly, and found him sitting very near Eliza, in a low conversation.  They both rose in apparent confusion, and he soon retired.

When he was gone, “I suspect,” said I, “that the major was whispering a tale of love, Eliza.”  “Do you imagine,” said she, “that I would listen to such a theme from a married man?” “I hope not,” said I, “but his conduct towards you indicates a revival of his former sentiments, at least.”  “I was not aware of that,” said she.  “As yet I have observed nothing in his behavior to me inconsistent with the purest friendship.”

We drank tea not long since at Mr. Smith’s.  Late in the afternoon Major Sanford made his appearance, to apologize, as he said, for Mrs. Sanford, who was indisposed, and could not enjoy the pleasure of the visit she had contemplated.  He was very gay the whole evening; and when the company separated, he was the first to present his arm to Eliza, who accepted it without hesitation.  A Mr. Newhall attended me, and we endeavored to keep them company; but they evidently chose to walk by themselves.  Mr. Newhall observed, that if Major Sanford were not married he should suspect he still intended a union with Miss Wharton.  I replied, that their former intercourse, having terminated in friendship, rendered them more familiar with each other than with the generality of their acquaintance.

When we reached the house, Mr. Newhall chose not to go in, and took his leave.  I waited at the door for Eliza and Major Sanford.  At some little distance, I saw him press her hand to his lips.  It vexed me exceedingly; and no sooner had they come up, than I sullenly bade them good night, and walked directly in.  Eliza soon followed me.  I sat down by the fire in a thoughtful posture.  She did the same.  In this situation we both remained for some time without speaking a word.  At length she said, “You seem not to have enjoyed your walk, Miss Granby:  did you not like your gallant?” “Yes,” said I, “very well; but I am mortified that you were not better provided for.”  “I make no complaint,” rejoined she; “I was very well entertained.”  “That is what displeases me,” said I; “I mean your visible fondness for the society of such a man.  Were you averse to it, as you ought to be, there would be no danger.  But he has an alluring tongue and a treacherous heart.  How can you be pleased and entertained by his conversation?  To me it appears totally repugnant to that refinement and delicacy for which you have always been esteemed.