My brother was then in Scotland, busying himself in viewing the condition of the considerable estate which was left him there by his generous godmother, together with one as considerable in Yorkshire. I was also absent at my dairy-house, as it is called, busied in the accounts relating to the estate which my grandfather had the goodness to bequeath me, and which once a year are left to my inspection, although I have given the whole into my papa’s power.

My sister made me a visit there the day after Mr Lovelace had been introduced, and seemed highly pleased with the gentleman. His birth, his fortune in possession a clear 2000 [£ per year] as Lord M. had assured my uncle; presumptive heir to that nobleman’s large estate; his great expectations from Lady Sarah Sadleir and Lady Betty Lawrance who, with his uncle, interested themselves very warmly (he being the last of his line) to see him married.

‘So handsome a man! Oh her beloved Clary!’ (for then she was ready to love me dearly, from the overflowings of her good humour on his account!) ‘He was but too handsome a man for her! Were she but as amiable as somebody, there would be a probability of holding his affections! For he was wild, she heard; very wild, very gay; loved intrigue. But he was young; a man of sense: would see his error, could she but have patience with his faults, if his faults were not cured by marriage.’

Thus she ran on; and then wanted me ‘to see the charming man,’ as she called him. Again concerned ‘that she was not handsome enough for him’; with ‘a sad thing, that the man should have the advantage of the woman in that particular.’ But then, stepping to the glass she complimented herself, ‘That she was very well: that there were many women deemed passable who were inferior to herself: that she was always thought comely; and, let her tell me, that comeliness having not so much to lose as beauty had would hold, when that would evaporate and fly off. Nay, for that matter’ (and again she turned to the glass), ‘her features were not irregular, her eyes not at all amiss.’ And I remember they were more than usually brilliant at that time. ‘Nothing, in short, to be found fault with, though nothing very engaging, she doubted—was there, Clary?’

Excuse me, my dear, I never was thus particular before; no, not to you. Nor would I now have written thus freely of a sister, but that she makes a merit to my brother of disowning that she ever liked him [Lovelace], as I shall mention hereafter: and then you will always have me give you minute descriptions, nor suffer me to pass by the air and manner in which things are spoken that are to be taken notice of; rightly observing that air and manner often express more than the accompanying words.

I congratulated her upon her prospects. She received my compliments with a great deal of self-complacency.

She liked the gentleman still more at his next visit; and yet he made no particular address to her, although an opportunity was given him for it. This was wondered at, as my uncle had introduced him into our family declaredly as a visitor to my sister. But as we are ever ready to make excuses, when in good humour with ourselves, for the supposed slights of those whose approbation we wish to engage, so my sister found out a reason, much to Mr Lovelace’s advantage, for his not improving the opportunity that was given him. It was bashfulness, truly, in him. (Bashfulness in Mr Lovelace, my dear!) But I fancy it is many, many years ago, since he was bashful.

Thus, however, could my sister make it out. ‘Upon her word, she believed Mr Lovelace deserved not the bad character he had as to women. He was really, to her thinking, a modest man. He would have spoken out, she believed; but once or twice, as he seemed to intend to do so, he was under so agree-able a confusion! Such a profound respect he seemed to show her; a perfect reverence, she thought. She loved dearly that a gentleman in courtship should show a reverence to his mistress.’ So indeed we all do, I believe; and with reason, since, if I may judge from what I have seen in many families, there is little enough of it shown afterwards. And she told my aunt Hervey that she would be a little less upon the reserve next time he came: ‘She was not one of those flirts, not she, who would give pain to a person that deserved to be well treated; and the more for the greatness of his value for her.’

In this third visit, Bella governed herself by this kind and considerate principle; so that, according to her own account of the matter, the man might have spoken but—but he was still bashful; he was not able to overcome this unseasonable reverence. So this visit went off as the former.

But now she began to be dissatisfied with him. She compared his general character with this particular behaviour to her; and having never been courted before, owned herself puzzled how to deal with so odd a lover. ‘What did the man mean! Had not her uncle brought him declaredly as a suitor to her? It could not be bashfulness (now she thought of it), since he might have opened his mind to her uncle, if he wanted courage to speak directly to her. Not that she cared much for the man neither; but it was right, surely, that a woman should be put out of doubt, early, as to a man’s intentions in such a case as this, from his own mouth. But, truly, she had begun to think that he was more solicitous to cultivate her mamma’s good opinion than hers! Everybody, she owned, admired her mamma’s conversation. But he was mistaken if he thought that would do with her. And then, for his own sake, surely he should put it into her power to be complaisant to him, if he gave her cause of approbation. This distant behaviour, she must take upon her to say, was the more extraordinary, as he continued his visits and declared himself extremely desirous to cultivate a friendship with the whole family; and as he could have no doubt about her sense, if she might take upon her to join her own with the general opinion, he having taken great notice of, and admired many of her good things as they fell from her lips. Reserves were painful, she must needs say, to open and free spirits like hers; and yet she must tell my aunt’ (to whom all this was directed) ‘that she should never forget what she owed to her sex, and to herself, were Mr Lovelace as unexceptionable in his morals as in his figure, and were he to urge his suit ever so warmly.’

I was not of her council. I was still absent. And it was agreed between my aunt Hervey and her that she was to be quite solemn and shy in his next visit, if there were not a peculiarity in his address to her.

But my sister, it seems, had not considered the matter well.