with all her ridiculous and laughing vanity, has a goodness of heart, and
a kind of vivacity that not only entertains,--but upon seeing her two or
three times, she improves upon you; and when her torrent of spirits
abates, and she condescends to converse gravely--you really like her.

_Eger_. Why ay! she is sprightly, good humoured, and, though whimsical,
and often too high in her colouring of characters, and in the trifling
business of the idle world,--yet I think she has principles, and a good
heart,--[_with a glow of conjugal tenderness._] but in a partner for life,
Sidney, (you know your own precept, and your own judgment)--affection,
capricious in its nature, must have something even in the external
manners,--nay in the very mode, not only of beauty, but of virtue itself--
which both heart and judgment must approve, or our happiness in that
delicate point cannot be lasting.

_Sid_. I grant it.

_Eger_. And that mode,--that amiable essential I never can meet--but in
Constantia. You sigh.

_Sid_. No. I only wish that Constantia had a fortune equal to yours. But
pray, Charles, suppose I had been so indiscreet as to have agreed to marry
you to Constantia--would _she_ have consented, think you?

_Eger_. That I cannot say positively,--but I suppose so.

_Sid_. Did you never speak to her upon that subject then?

_Eger_. In general terms only;--never directly requested her consent in
form,--[_he starts into a warmth of amorous resolution._] but I will this