To prevent all future importunity, painful to me, and, all circumstances considered, degrading to Sir George, whose honor is very dear to me, though I am obliged to refuse him that hand which he surely cannot wish to receive without my heart, I am compelled to say, that, without an idea of ever being united to Colonel Rivers, I will never marry any other man.

Were I never again to behold him, were he even the husband of another, my tenderness, a tenderness as innocent as it is lively, would never cease:  nor would I give up the refined delight of loving him, independently of any hope of being beloved, for any advantage in the power of fortune to bestow.

These being my sentiments, sentiments which no time can alter, they cannot be too soon known to Sir George:  I would not one hour keep him in suspence in a point, which this step seems to say is of consequence to his happiness.

Tell him, I entreat him to forget me, and to come into views which will make his mother, and I have no doubt himself, happier than a marriage with a woman whose chief merit is that very sincerity of heart which obliges her to refuse him.

    I am, Madam,
      Your affectionate, &c. 
          Emily Montague.

LETTER 93.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Silleri, Thursday.

Your brother dines here to-day, by my father’s invitation; I am afraid it will be but an awkward party.

Emily is at this moment an exceeding fine model for a statue of tender melancholy.

Her anger is gone; not a trace remaining; ’tis sorrow, but the most beautiful sorrow I ever beheld:  she is all grief for having offended the dear man.

I am out of patience with this look; it is so flattering to him, I could beat her for it:  I cannot bear his vanity should be so gratified.

I wanted her to treat him with a saucy, unconcerned, flippant air; but her whole appearance is gentle, tender, I had almost said, supplicating:  I am ashamed of the folly of my own sex:  O, that I could to-day inspire her with a little of my spirit! she is a poor tame household dove, and there is no making any thing of her.

Eleven o’clock.

  “For my shepherd is kind, and my heart is at ease.”

What fools women are, Lucy!  He took her hand, expressed concern for her health, softened the tone of his voice, looked a few civil things with those expressive lying eyes of his, and without one word of explanation all was forgot in a moment.

      Good night!  Yours,
          A. Fermor.

Heavens! the fellow is here, has followed me to my dressing-room; was ever any thing so confident?  These modest men have ten times the assurance of your impudent fellows.  I believe absolutely he is going to make love to me:  ’tis a critical hour, Lucy; and to rob one’s friend of a lover is really a temptation.