Last Thursday he was here, and desired leave to spend an hour with me. I
readily consented, assuring my friends it should be the last hour which
I would ever spend in his company.
He told me that he was obliged to leave town for a few days; and as I
should probably see Mr. Boyer before his return, he could not depart in
peace without once more endeavoring to interest me in his favor, to
obtain some token of esteem, some glimpse of hope that I would not
utterly reject him, to support him in his absence. I thanked him for the
polite attention he had paid me since our acquaintance, told him that I
should ever retain a grateful sense of his partiality to me, that he
would ever share my best wishes, but that all connection of the kind to
which he alluded must from that time forever cease.
He exerted all his eloquence to obtain a retraction of that sentence,
and ran with the greatest volubility through all the protestations,
prayers, entreaties, professions, and assurances which love could feel
or art contrive. I had resolution, however, to resist them, and to
command my own emotions on the occasion better than my natural
sensibility gave me reason to expect.
Finding every effort vain, he rose precipitately, and bade me adieu. I
urged his tarrying to tea; but he declined, saying that he must retire
to his chamber, being, in his present state of mind, unfit for any
society, as he was banished from mine.
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