That, indeed, I can do; and as well without a subject, as with one. And what follows shall be a proof of it.

But is it not a confounded thing to be in love with one who is the daughter, the sister, the niece, of a family I must eternally despise? And the devil of it, that love increasing, with her—what shall I call it? ‘tis not scorn—’tis not pride—’tis not the insolence of an adored beauty—but ‘tis to virtue, it seems, that my difficulties are owing. And I pay for not being a sly sinner, a hypocrite: for being regardless of my reputation; for permitting slander to open its mouth against me. But is it necessary for such a one as I, who have been used to carry all before me upon my own terms—I, who never inspired a fear that had not a discernibly-predominant mixture of love in it, to be a hypocrite?

Well, but it seems I must practise for this art, if I would succeed with this truly admirable creature! But why practise for it? Cannot I indeed reform? I have but one vice—have I, Jack? Thou knowest my heart, if any man living does. As far as I know it myself, thou knowest it. But ‘tis a cursed deceiver. For it has many and many a time imposed upon its master. Master, did I say? That am I not now: nor have I been from the moment I beheld this angel of a woman.

I have boasted that I was once in love before: and indeed I thought I was. It was in my early manhood—with that quality-jilt, whose infidelity I have vowed to revenge upon as many of the sex as shall come into my power. I believe, in different climes, I have already sacrificed a hecatomb to my Nemesis in pursuance of this vow. But upon recollecting what I was then, and comparing it with what I find in myself now, I cannot say that I was ever in love before.

What was it then, dost thou ask me, since the disappointment had such effects upon me, when I found myself jilted, that I was hardly kept in my senses? Why I’ll tell thee what, as near as I can remember; for it was a great while ago. It was—egad, Jack, I can hardly tell what it was—but a vehement aspiration after a novelty, I think.

Then I had a vanity of another sort in my passion: I found myself well received among the women in general; and I thought it a pretty lady-like tyranny (I was very young then, and very vain) to single out some one of the sex to make half a score jealous. And I can tell thee, it had its effect: for many an eye have I made to sparkle with rival indignation: many a cheek glow; and even many a fan have I caused to be snapped at a sister-beauty, accompanied with a reflection, perhaps, at being seen alone with a wild young fellow who could not be in private with both at once.

In short, Jack, it was more pride than love, as I now find it, that put me upon making such a confounded rout about losing this noble varletess. I thought she loved me at least as well as I believed I loved her: nay, I had the vanity to suppose she could not help it. My friends were pleased with my choice. They wanted me to be shackled, for early did they doubt my morals as to the sex. They saw that the dancing, the singing, the musical ladies were all fond of my company: for who (I am in a humour to be vain, I think! for who) danced, who sung, who touched the string, whatever the instrument, with a better grace than thy friend?

But to return to my fair jilt. I could not bear that a woman, who was the first that had bound me in silken fetters (they were not iron ones, like those I now wear) should prefer a coronet to me: and when the bird was flown, I set more value upon it than when I had it safe in my cage and could visit it when I would.

But now am I in-deed in love. I can think of nothing, of nobody else, but the divine Clarissa Harlowe. Harlowe! How that hated word sticks in my throat, but I shall give her for it, the name of Love [Lovelace].

For, dost thou think that if it were not from the hope that this stupid family are all combined to do my work for me, I would bear their insults? Is it possible to imagine that I would be braved as I am braved, threatened as I am threatened, by those who are afraid to see me; and by this brutal brother too, to whom I gave a life (a life, indeed, not worth my taking!), had I not a greater pride in knowing that by means of his very spy upon me I am playing him off as I please; cooling, or inflaming, his violent passions, as may best suit my purposes; permitting so much to be revealed of my life and actions, and intentions, as may give him such a confidence in his double-faced agent [Joseph Leman], as shall enable me to dance his employer upon my own wires?

This it is that makes my pride mount above my resentment. By this engine, whose springs I am continually oiling, I play them all off.

And what my motive, dost thou ask? No less than this, that my beloved shall find no protection out of my family—for, if I know hers, fly she must, or have the man she hates. This, therefore, if I take my measures right, and my familiar fail me not, will secure her mine, in spite of them all; in spite of her own inflexible heart: mine, without condition; without reformation promises; without the necessity of a siege of years, perhaps; and to be even then, after wearing the guise of a merit-doubting hypocrisy, at an uncertainty, upon a probation unapproved of. Then shall I have all the rascals, and rascalesses of the family come creeping to me: I prescribing to them; and bringing that sordidly-imperious brother to kneel at the foot-stool of my throne.

All my fear arises from the little hold I have in the heart of this charming frostpiece: such a constant glow upon her lovely features; eyes so sparkling; limbs so divinely turned; health so florid; youth so blooming; air so animated: to have a heart so impenetrable. And I, the hitherto successful Lovelace, the addresser. How can it be? Yet there are people, and I have talked with some of them, who remember that she was born. Her nurse Norton boasts of her maternal offices in her earliest infancy; and in her education gradatim. So that there is full proof that she came not from above, all at once an angel! How then can she be so impenetrable?

But here’s her mistake; nor will she be cured of it—she takes the man she calls her father (her mother had been faultless, had she not been her father’s wife); she takes the men she calls her uncles; the fellow she calls her brother; and the poor contemptible she calls her sister; to be her father, to be her uncles, her brother, her sister; and that as such, she owes to some of them reverence, to others respect, let them treat her ever so cruelly! sordid ties! mere cradle-prejudices! For had they not been imposed upon her by nature, when she was in a perverse humour, or could she have chosen her relations, would any of these have been among them?

How my heart rises at her preference of them to me, when she is convinced of their injustice to me! Convinced that the alliance would do honour to them all—herself excepted; to whom everyone owes honour; and from whom the most princely family might receive it. But how much more will my heart rise with indignation against her, if I find she hesitates but one moment (however persecuted) about preferring me to the man she avowedly hates! But she cannot surely be so mean as to purchase her peace with them at so dear a rate. She cannot give a sanction to projects formed in malice and founded in a selfishness (and that at her own expense) which she has spirit enough to despise in others; and ought to disavow, that we may not think her a Harlowe.

By this incoherent ramble thou wilt gather that I am not likely to come up in haste, since I must endeavour first to obtain some assurance from the beloved of my soul that I shall not be sacrificed to such a wretch as Solmes!

That her indifference to me is not owing to the superior liking she has for any other man is what rivets my chains: but take care, fair one; take care, oh thou most exalted of female minds, and loveliest of persons, how thou debasest thyself by encouraging such a competition as thy sordid relations have set on foot in mere malice to me! Thou wilt say I rave. And so I do!

Thou art curious to know, if I have not started a new game? If it be possible for so universal a lover to be confined so long to one object? Thou knowest nothing of this charming creature, that thou canst put such questions to me; or thinkest thou knowest me better than thou dost.