But how stands it between thyself and the lady, methinks thou askest, since her abrupt departure from thee, and undutiful repulse of Wednesday morning?

Why, pretty well in the main.  Nay, very well.  For why? the dear saucy-face knows not how to help herself.  Can fly to no other protection.  And has, besides, overheard a conversation [who would have thought she had been so near?] which passed between Mrs. Sinclair, Miss Martin, and myself, that very Wednesday afternoon; which has set her heart at ease with respect to several doubtful points.

Such as, particularly, ’Mrs. Fretchville’s unhappy state of mind—­most humanely pitied by Miss Martin, who knows her very well—­the husband she has lost, and herself, (as Sally says,) lovers from their cradles.  Pity from one begets pity from another, be the occasion for it either strong or weak; and so many circumstances were given to poor Mrs. Fretchville’s distress, that it was impossible but my beloved must extremely pity her whom the less tender-hearted Miss Martin greatly pitied.

’My Lord M.’s gout his only hindrance from visiting my spouse.  Lady Betty and Miss Montague soon expected in town.

’My earnest desire signified to have my spouse receive those ladies in her own hose, if Mrs. Fretchville would but know her own mind; and I pathetically lamented the delay occasioned by her not knowing it.

’My intention to stay at Mrs. Sinclair’s, as I said I had told them before, while my spouse resides in her own hose, (when Mrs. Fretchville could be brought to quit it,) in order to gratify her utmost punctilio.

’My passion for my beloved (which, as I told them in a high and fervent accent, was the truest that man could have for woman) I boasted of.  It was, in short, I said, of the true platonic kind; or I had no notion of what platonic love was.’

So it is, Jack; and must end as platonic love generally does end.

’Sally and Mrs. Sinclair next praised, but not grossly, my beloved.  Sally particularly admired her purity; called it exemplary; yet (to avoid suspicion) expressed her thoughts that she was rather over-nice, if she might presume to say so before me.  But nevertheless she applauded me for the strict observation I made of my vow.

’I more freely blamed her reserves to me; called her cruel; inveighed against her relations; doubted her love.  Every favour I asked of her denied me.  Yet my behaviour to her as pure and delicate when alone, as when before them.  Hinted at something that had passed between us that very day, that shewed her indifference to me in so strong a light, that I could not bear it.  But that I would ask her for her company to the play of Venice Preserved, given out for Sunday night as a benefit-play; the prime actors to be in it; and this, to see if I were to be denied every favour.—­Yet, for my own part, I loved not tragedies; though she did, for the sake of the instruction, the warning, and the example generally given in them.