CHAPTER XI.
THE DINNER.
It may easily be imagined that I had little inclination to keep my promise of dining that day with Sir George Dashwood.

However, there was nothing else for it; the die was cast,--my prospects as regarded Lucy were ruined forever.

We were not, we never could be anything to each other; and as for me, the sooner I braved my altered fortunes the better; and after all, why should I call them altered.

She evidently never had cared for me; and even supposing that my fervent declaration of attachment had interested her, the apparent duplicity and falseness of my late conduct could only fall the more heavily upon me.
I endeavored to philosophize myself into calmness and indifference.

One by one I exhausted every argument for my defence, which, however ingeniously put forward, brought no comfort to my own conscience.