Ay, says he, that's her art, that I was speaking of: but, let me tell

you, the girl has vanity and conceit, and pride too, or I am mistaken;

and, perhaps, I could give you an instance of it. Sir, said she, you can

see farther than such a poor silly woman as I am; but I never saw any

thing but innocence in her--And virtue too, I'll warrant ye! said he.

But suppose I could give you an instance, where she has talked a little

too freely of the kindnesses that have been shewn her from a certain

quarter; and has had the vanity to impute a few kind words, uttered in

mere compassion to her youth and circumstances, into a design upon her,

and even dared to make free with names that she ought never to mention

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but with reverence and gratitude; what would you say to that?--Say, sir!

said she, I cannot tell what to say. But I hope Pamela incapable of such

ingratitude. Well, no more of this silly girl, says he; you may only advise her,

as you are her friend, not to give herself too much licence upon the

favours she meets with; and if she stays here, that she will not write

the affairs of my family purely for an exercise to her pen, and her

invention.

I tell you she is a subtle, artful gipsy, and time will shew

it you. Was ever the like heard, my dear father and mother? It is plain he did

not expect to meet with such a repulse, and mistrusts that I have told

Mrs. Jervis, and has my long letter too, that I intended for you; and

so is vexed to the heart. But I can't help it. I had better be thought

artful and subtle, than be so, in his sense; and, as light as he makes

of the words virtue and innocence in me, he would have made a less angry

construction, had I less deserved that he should do so; for then, may

be, my crime should have been my virtue with him naughty gentleman as he

is! I will soon write again; but must now end with saying, that I am, and

shall always be, Your honest DAUGHTER.

LETTER XV

DEAR MOTHER,

I broke off abruptly my last letter; for I feared he was coming; and so

it happened. I put the letter in my bosom, and took up my work, which

lay by me; but I had so little of the artful, as he called it, that I

looked as confused as if I had been doing some great harm.




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