Miſs Sterl. Make me miſerable! You are mightily deceived, Madam! It gives me no ſort of uneaſineſs, I aſſure you.—A baſe fellow!—As for you, Miſs! the pretended ſoftneſs of your diſpoſition, your artful good-nature, never impoſed upon me. I always knew you to be ſly, and envious, and deceitful.
Fanny. Indeed you wrong me.
Miſs Sterl. Oh, you are all goodneſs, to be ſure!—Did not I find him on his knees before you? Did not I ſee him kiſs your ſweet hand? Did not I hear his proteſtations? Was not I witneſs of your diſſembled modeſty?—No—no, my dear! don't imagine that you can make a fool of your elder ſiſter ſo eaſily.
Fanny. Sir John, I own, is to blame; but I am above the thoughts of doing you the leaſt injury.
Miſs Sterl. We ſhall try that, Madam!—I hope, Miſs, you'll be able to give a better account to my papa and my aunt—for they ſhall both know of this matter, I promiſe you.
Fanny alone.
How unhappy I am! my diſtreſſes multiply upon me.—Mr. Lovewell muſt now become acquainted with Sir John's behaviour to me—and in a manner that may add to his uneaſineſs.—My father, inſtead of being diſpoſed by fortunate circumſtances to forgive any tranſgreſſion, will be previouſly incenſed againſt me.—My ſiſter and my aunt will become irreconcilably my enemies, and rejoice in my diſgrace.—Yet, at all events, I am determined on a diſcovery. I dread it, and am reſolved to haſten it. It is ſurrounded with more horrors every inſtant, as it appears every inſtant more neceſſary.
