I was not sorry that none of the Family were there, as I now began to seriously dread any protraction of this affair.

He came up to me, and with an Air of tenderness and satisfaction, began some anxious Enquiries about my Health, but I interrupted him with saying ‘I fancy, Sir, You have not received a Letter I – I –’

I stopt, for I could not say which I had sent!

‘A Letter? – no, Ma’am!’

‘You will have it, then, to-morrow, Sir.’

We were both silent for a minute or two, when he said ‘In consequence, I presume, Ma’am, of the one I –’

‘Yes, Sir!’ Cried I.

‘And pray – Ma’am – Miss Burney! – may I – beg to ask the contents? that is – the – the –’ he could not go on.

‘Sir – I – it was only – it was merely – in short, you will see it tomorrow.’

‘But if you would favour me with the Contents now, I could perhaps Answer it at once?’

‘Sir, it requires no Answer!’

A second silence ensued. I was really distressed myself to see his distress, which was very apparent. After some time, he stammered out something of hoping – and beseeching, – which, gathering more firmness, I announced – ‘I am much obliged to You, Sir, for the too good opinion You are pleased to have of me – but I should be sorry you should lose any more Time upon my account – as I have no thoughts at all of changing my situation and abode.’

He seemed to be quite overset: having, therefore so freely explained myself, I then asked him to sit down, and began to talk of the Weather. When he had a little recovered himself, he drew a Chair close to me, and began making most ardent professions of respect and regard, and so forth. I interrupted him, as soon as I could, and begged him to rest satisfied with my Answer.

‘Satisfied?’ repeated he – ‘my dear Ma’am – is that possible?’

‘Perhaps, Sir,’ said I, ‘I ought to make some apologies for not answering your first Letter – but really, I was so much surprised – upon so short an Acquaintance.’

He then began making Excuses for having written but as to short acquaintance, he owned it was a reason for me – but for him – fifty Years could not have more convinced him of my etc. etc.

‘You have taken a sudden, and far too partial idea of me,’ answered I. ‘If you look round among your older Acquaintance, I doubt not but you will very soon be able to make a better choice.’

He shook his Head: ‘I have seen, Madam, a great many Ladies, it is true – but never –’

‘You do me much honour’; cried I, ‘but I must desire you would take no further trouble about me – for I have not, at present, the slightest thoughts of ever leaving this House.’

‘At present?’ repeated he, eagerly, – ‘no, I would not expect it – I would not wish to precipitate – but in future –’

‘Niether now or ever, Sir,’ returned I, ‘have I any view of any change.’

‘But surely – surely this can never be! so severe a resolution – you cannot mean it – it would be wronging all the World!’

‘I am extremely sorry, Sir, that you have not received my answer – because it might have saved you this trouble.’

He looked very much mortified, and said, in a dejected voice – ‘If there is any thing in me – in my connections – or in my situation in Life – which you wholly think unworthy of You – and beneath you – – or if my Character or Disposition meet with your disapprobation – I will immediately forgo all – I will not – I would not –’

‘No, indeed, Sir,’ cried I, ‘I have niether seen or heard any thing of you that was to your disadvantage – and I have no doubts of your worthiness –’

He thanked me, and seemed reassured; and renewed his solicitation in the most urgent manner. He repeatedly begged my permission to acquaint my Family of the state of his affairs, and to abide by their decision – but I would not let him say two words following upon that subject. I told him that my Answer was a final one, and begged him to take it as such.

He remonstrated very earnestly. ‘This is the severest decision! – Surely you must allow that the social state is what we were all meant for? – that we were created for one another? – that to form such a resolution is contrary to the design of our Being? –’

‘All this may be true, –’ said I; – ‘I have nothing to say in contradiction to it – but you know there are many odd Characters in the World – and perhaps I am one of them.’

‘O no, no, no, – that can never be! – but is it possible you can have so bad an opinion of the married state? It seems to me the only state for happiness! –’

‘Well, Sir, You are attached to the married Life – I am to the single – therefore, every man in his humour5 – do you follow your opinion, – and let me follow mine.’

‘But surely – is not this – singular? –’

‘I give you leave, Sir,’ cried I, laughing, ‘to think me singular – odd – Queer – nay, even whimsical, if you please.’

‘But, my dear Miss Burney, only –’

‘I entreat you, Sir, to take my Answer – You really pain me by being so urgent. –’

‘That would not I do for the World! – I only beg You to suffer me – perhaps in future –’

‘No, indeed; I shall never change – I do assure you you will find me very obstinate!’

He began to lament his own Destiny. I grew extremely tired of saying so often the same thing; – but I could not absolutely turn him out of the House, and indeed he seemed so dejected and unhappy, that I made it my study to soften my refusal as much as I could without leaving room for future expectation.

About this Time, my mother came in. We both rose. – I was horridly provoked at my situation –

‘I am only come in for a Letter,’ cried she, – ‘pray don’t let me disturb you. –’ And away she went.

This could not but be encouraging to him, for she was no sooner gone, than he began again the same story, and seemed determined not to give up his Cause. He hoped, at least, that I would allow him to enquire after my Health? –

‘I must beg you, Sir, to send me no more Letters.’

He seemed much hurt.

‘You had better, Sir, think of me no more – if you study your own happiness –’

‘I do study my own happiness – more than I have ever had Any probability of doing before –!’

‘You have made an unfortunate Choice, Sir; but you will find it easier to forget it than you imagine. You have only to suppose I was not at Mr Burney’s on May Day – and it was a mere chance my being there – and then you will be –’

‘But if I could – could I also forget seeing you at old Mrs Burney’s?6 – and if I did – can I forget that I see you now? –’

‘O yes! – in 3 months Time you may forget you ever knew me. You will not find it so difficult as you suppose.’

‘You have heard, Ma’am, of an Old man being Growed young? – perhaps you believe that? – But you will not deny me leave to sometimes see you? –’

‘My Father, Sir, is seldom, – hardly ever, indeed, at Home –’

‘I have never seen the Doctor – but I hope he would not refuse me permission to enquire after your Health? I have no wish without his Consent.’

‘Though I acknowledge myself to be singular I would not have you think me either affected or trifling, – and therefore I must assure you that I am fixed in the Answer I have given You; Unalterably fixed.’

His entreaties grew now extremely distressing to me: – he besought me to take more Time, said it should be the study of his life to make me happy. ‘Allow me – my dear Miss Burney – only to hope that my future Conduct –’

‘I shall always think myself obliged, nay honoured by your good opinion – and you are entitled to my best wishes for your Health and Happiness – but indeed, the less we meet the better.’

‘What – what can I do?’ cried he, very sorrowfully.

‘Why – go and ponder upon this affair for about half an Hour – then say, what an odd, queer, strange Creature she is! and then – think of something else.’

‘O no; no! – you cannot suppose all that? – I shall think of nothing else; your refusal is more pleasing than any other Lady’s acceptance –’

He said this very simply, but too seriously for me to Laugh at it. Just then, Sukey came in – but did not stay two minutes. It would have been shocking to be thus left purposely as if with a declared Lover, and then I was not sorry to have an opportunity of preventing future doubts or expectations.

I rose and Walked to the Window, thinking it high Time to End a Conversation already much too long; and when he again began to entreat me not to be so very severe, I told him that I was sure I should never alter the Answer I made at first; that I was very happy at Home, and not at all inclined to try my fate elsewhere; I then desired my Compliments to Mrs O’Connor, and Miss Dickenson, and made a reverence by way of leave taking.

‘I am extremely sorry to detain you so long, Ma’am, –’ said he, in a melancholy Voice. I made no answer. He Walked about the Room; and then again besought my leave to ask me how I did some other Time – I absolutely, though Civilly, refused it; and told him frankly that, fixed as I was, it was better that we should not meet.

He then took his leave: – returned back – took leave – and returned again: – I now made a more formal reverence of the head, at the same time expressing my good wishes for his Welfare, in a sort of way that implied I expected never to see him again – he would fain have taken a more tender leave of me, – but I repulsed him with great surprise and displeasure. I did not, however, as he was so terribly sorrowful, refuse him my Hand, which he had made sundry vain attempts to take in the course of our Conversation; but when I withdrew it, as I did presently, I rang the Bell, to prevent him again returning from the Door.

Though I was really sorry for the unfortunate and misplaced attachment which this Young man professes for me, yet I could almost have Jumped for Joy when he was gone, to think that the affair was thus finally over.

Indeed I think it hardly possible for a Woman to be in a more irksome situation, than when rejecting a worthy man who is all humility, Respect and submission, and who throws himself and his Fortune at her Feet.

I had no opportunity of speaking to my Father all that Day. In the Evening Mr Burney and Hetty came. Hetty told me, that the Day before, Mrs O Connor had Called on her, and acquainted her that Mr Barlow had owned his Attachment to me, and requested to know, first, whether I had any pre-engagement, and secondly, whether I had ever expressed any Antipathy to him. She answered both these in the Negative, and then Mrs O’Connor, in Mr Barlow’s Name, entreated her to be his Advocate; which she readily promised.

After his Conversation with me, he Called on her himself. She says he was all dejection and sadness. He expressed the greatest Respect for me, feared I thought him wanting in it; – apologised for his early Declaration, which, he said, resulted from his sincerity, and his having no Experience either in the arts, or the ways of men.

My Father sent for Hetty upstairs, and made a thousand Enquiries concerning Mr Barlow.

The next Day [29 May] – a Day the remembrance of which will be never erased from my memory – my Father first spoke to me in favour of Mr Barlow! and desired me not to be peremtory in the Answer I had still to Write, though it was to appear written previously.

I scarce made any answer – I was terrified to Death – I felt the utter impossibility of resisting not merely my Father’s persuasion, but even his Advice. – I felt, too, that I had no argumentative objections to make to Mr Barlow, his Character – Disposition – situation – I knew nothing against – but O! – I felt he was no Companion for my Heart! – I wept like an Infant when alone – Eat nothing – seemed as if already married – and passed the whole Day in more misery than, merely on my own account, I ever passed one before in my life, – except when a child, upon the loss of my own beloved mother – and ever revered and most dear Grandmother!

After supper, I went into the study, while my dear Father was alone, to wish him Good Night, which I did as chearfully as I could, though pretty evidently in dreadful uneasiness.