She says, ’she is equally shocked and enraged against all her family:  Mrs. Norton’s weight has been tried upon Mrs. Harlowe, as well as Mr. Hickman’s upon the uncle:  but never were there,’ says the vixen, ’such determined brutes in the world.  Her uncle concludes her ruined already.’  Is not that a call upon me, as well as a reproach?—­’They all expected applications from her when in distress—­but were resolved not to stir an inch to save her life.’  Miss Howe ‘is concerned,’ she tells her, ’for the revenge my pride may put me upon taking for the distance she has kept me at’—­and well she may.—­It is now evident to her, that she must be mine (for her cousin Morden, it seems, is set against her too)—­an act of necessity, of convenience!—­thy friend, Jack, to be already made a woman’s convenience!  Is this to be borne by a Lovelace?

I shall make great use of this letter.  From Miss Howe’s hints of what passed between her uncle Harlowe and Hickman, [it must be Hickman,] I can give room for my invention to play; for she tells her, that ’she will not reveal all.’  I must endeavour to come at this letter myself.  I must have the very words:  extracts will not do.  This letter, when I have it, must be my compass to steer by.

The fire of friendship then blazes and crackles.  I never before imagined that so fervent a friendship could subsist between two sister-beauties, both toasts.  But even here it may be inflamed by opposition, and by that contradiction which gives vigour to female spirits of a warm and romantic turn.

She raves about ’coming up, if by doing so she could prevent so noble a creature from stooping too low, or save her from ruin.’—­One reed to support another!  I think I will contrive to bring her up.

How comes it to pass, that I cannot help being pleased with this virago’s spirit, though I suffer by it?  Had I her but here, I’d engage, in a week’s time, to teach her submission without reserve.  What pleasure should I have in breaking such a spirit!  I should wish for her but for one month, I think.  She would be too tame and spiritless for me after that.  How sweetly pretty to see the two lovely friends, when humbled and tame, both sitting in the darkest corner of a room, arm in arm, weeping and sobbing for each other!—­and I their emperor, their then acknowledged emperor, reclined at my ease in the same room, uncertain to which I should first, grand signor like, throw out my handkerchief!

Again mind the girl:  ‘She is enraged at the Harlowes;’ she is ’angry at her own mother;’ she is exasperated against her foolish and low-vanity’d Lovelace.’  Foolish, a little toad! [God forgive me for calling such a virtuous girl a toad!]—­’Let us stoop to lift the wretch out of his dirt, though we soil our fingers in doing it!  He has not been guilty of direct indecency to you.’  It seems extraordinary to Miss Howe that I have not.  —­’Nor dare he!’ She should be sure of that.  If women have such things in their heads, why should not I in my heart?  Not so much of a devil as that comes to neither.  Such villainous intentions would have shown themselves before now if I had them.—­Lord help them!—­