give me the lie, though but in thy heart].

She then spoke: after declining my compliment in such a manner, as only a
person can do, who deserved it, she said, For her part, she had always
thought me a man of sense [a man of sense, Jack! What a niggardly
praise!],--and should therefore hope, that, when I wrote, it exceeded
even my speech: for that it was impossible, be the letters written in as
easy and familiar a style as they would, but that they must have that
advantage from sitting down to write them which prompt speech could not
always have. She should think it very strange therefore, if my letters
were barren of sentiment; and as strange, if I gave myself liberties upon
premeditation, which could have no excuse at all, but from a
thoughtlessness, which itself wanted excuse.--But if Mr. Belford's
letters and mine were upon subjects so general, and some of them equally
(she presumed) instructive and entertaining, she could not but say, that
she should be glad to see any of them; and particularly those which Miss
Martin had seen and praised.

This was put close.

I looked at her, to see if I could discover any tincture of jealousy in
this hint; that Miss Martin had seen what I had not shown to her. But
she did not look it: so I only said, I should be very proud to show her
not only those, but all that passed between Mr. Belford and me; but I
must remind her, that she knew the condition.

No, indeed! with a sweet lip pouted out, as saucy as pretty; implying a
lovely scorn, that yet can only be lovely in youth so blooming, and
beauty so divinely distinguished.