downright lies.

"Indeed, how could he?" pursued Mrs. Beaumont, "for you know he is no
match for Amelia; he has nothing in the world but his commission. No;
there never was any proposal from that quarter; and, of course, it is
impossible my daughter could think of a man who has no thoughts of her."

"You know best, my good madam; I merely spoke at random. I'm the worst
guesser in the world, especially on these matters: what people tell me,
I know; and neither more not less."

Mrs. Beaumont rejoiced in the simplicity of her companion. "Then, my
good friend, it is but fair to tell you," said she, "that Amelia has
an admirer."

"A lover, hey! Who?"

"Ah, there's the misfortune; it is a thing I never can consent to."

"Ha! then now it is out! There's the reason the girl blushes, and is so
absent at times."

A plan now occurred to Mrs. Beaumont's scheming imagination which she
thought the master-piece of policy. She determined to account for
whatever symptoms of embarrassment Mr. Palmer might observe in her
daughter, by attributing them to a thwarted attachment for Sir John
Hunter; and Mrs. Beaumont resolved to make a merit to Mr. Palmer of
opposing this match because the lover was a baronet, and she thought
that Mr. Palmer would be pleased by her showing an aversion to the
thoughts of her daughter's marrying _a sprig of quality_. This