"Upon my word, Charles, you improve," said Julia,
blushing yet more deeply, and, if possible, looking
still handsomer than before.

"Julia--Miss Warren--you tear my secret from me
before its time--I love you, Julia, and would wish to
make you my wife."

This was certainly very plain English, nor did Julia
misunderstand a syllable of what he said--but it
was entirely new and unexpected to her; she had
lived with Charles Weston with the confidence of a
kinswoman, but had never dreamt of him as a lover.
Indeed, she saw nothing in him that looked like a
being to excite or to entertain such a passion; and
although from the moment of his declaration she
began insensibly to think differently of him, nothing
was farther from her mind than to return his offered
affection. But then the opportunity of making a
sacrifice to her secret love was glorious, and her
frankness forbade her to conceal the truth. Indeed,
what better way was there to destroy the unhappy
passion of Charles, than to convince him of its
hopelessness? These thoughts flashed through her
mind with the rapidity of lightning--and trembling
with the agitation and novelty of her situation, she
answered in a low voice--

"That, Charles, can never be."