ntleness he mistook for coy
encouragement; and he would not be diverted from the subject. Perceiving
his mistake, I seriously asked him how, using such language to me, he
could profess to be my husband's friend? A significant sneer excited my
curiosity, and he, supposing this to be my only scruple, took a letter
deliberately out of his pocket, saying, 'Your husband's honour is not
inflexible. How could you, with your discernment, think it so? Why,
he left the room this very day on purpose to give me an opportunity to
explain myself; _he_ thought me too timid--too tardy.

"I snatched the letter with indescribable emotion. The purport of it was
to invite him to dinner, and to ridicule his chivalrous respect for
me. He assured him, 'that every woman had her price, and, with gross
indecency, hinted, that he should be glad to have the duty of a husband
taken off his hands. These he termed _liberal_ _sentiments_. He advised
him not to shock my romantic notions, but to attack my credulous
generosity, and weak pity; and concluded with requesting him to lend him
five hundred pounds for a month or six weeks.' I read this letter twice
over; and the firm purpose it inspired, calmed the rising tumult of my
soul. I rose deliberately, requested Mr. S---- to wait a moment, and
instantly going into the counting-house, desired Mr. Venables to return
with me to the dining-parlour.

"He laid down his pen, and entered with me, without observing any change
in my countenance. I shut the door, and, giving him the letter, simply
asked, 'whether he wrote it, or was it a forgery?'

"Nothing could equal his confusion. His friend's eye met his, and
he muttered something about a joke--But I interrupted him--'It is
sufficient--We part for ever.'

"I continued, with solemnity, 'I have borne with your tyranny and
infidelities. I disdain to utter what I have borne with. I thought you
unprincipled, but not so decidedly vicious. I formed a tie, in the sight
of heaven--I have held it sacred; even when men, more conformable to my
taste, have made me feel--I despise all subterfuge!--that I was not
dead to love. Neglected by you, I have resolutely stifled the enticing
emotions, and respected the plighted faith you outraged. And you dare
now to insult me, by selling me to prostitution!--Yes--equally lost to
delicacy and principle--you dared sacrilegiously to barter the honour of
the mother of your child.'

"Then, turning to Mr. S----, I added, 'I call on