"Is it," I interrupted, "a necessary consequence that the woman who
cannot receive the addresses of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen must be engaged?"

"Why, madam, as to that, I know not what to say, but a man of my
fortune----" He paused. "What, madam, can be your objection? Be so good
as to name it, that I may know whether I can be so happy as to get over
it."

"We do not, we _cannot_, all like the same person. There is _something_
that attracts or disgusts us."

"_Disgusts!_ Madam--disgusts! Miss Byron!"

"I spoke in general, sir; I dare say, nineteen women out of twenty would
think themselves favoured in the addresses of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen."

"But _you_, madam, are the twentieth that I must love; and be so good as
to let me know----"

"Pray, sir, ask me not a reason for a _peculiarity_. You may have more
merit, perhaps, than the man I may happen to approve of better;
but--_shall_ I say?--you do not--you do not hit my fancy, sir."

"_Not hit your fancy_, madam! Give me leave to say" (and he reddened
with anger) "that my fortune, my descent, and my ardent affection for
you ought to avail with me. Perhaps, madam, you think me too airy a man.
You have doubts of my sincerity. You question my honour."

"That, sir, would be to injure myself," and making a low courtesy, I