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Reddening at this pathetic question,
which recalled the memory of the imagined slight he had put upon
her, she answered in great confusion, "Sir, I believe I once had
the pleasure of seeing you at a ball in Winchester."--"Miss Emilia,"
said he, very gravely, "will you be so candid as to tell me what
misbehaviour of mine you are pleased to punish, by restricting your
remembrance to that single occasion?"--"Mr. Pickle," she replied,
in the same tone, "it is neither my province nor inclination to
judge your conduct; and therefore you misapply your question when
you ask such an explanation of me"--"At least" resumed our lover,
"give me the melancholy satisfaction to know for what offence of
mine you refused to take least notice of that letter which I had the
honour to write from Winchester by your own express permission."--"Your
letter" said miss, with great vivacity, "neither required, nor, in
my opinion, deserved an answer; and to be free with you, Mr. Pickle,
it was but a shallow artifice to rid yourself of a correspondence
you had deigned to solicit.


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