But I shall go on in the strain I left off with in my last, when I intended rather to apologize for my melancholy.  But let what I have above written, once for all, be my apology.  My misfortunes have given you a call to discharge the noblest offices of the friendship we have vowed to each other, in advice and consolation; and it would be an injury to it, and to you, to suppose it needed even that call.

[She then tells Miss Howe, that now her clothes are come, Mr. Lovelace is
   continually teasing her to go abroad with him in a coach, attended by
   whom she pleases of her own sex, either for the air, or to the public
   diversions.

She gives the particulars of a conversation that has passed between them
   on that subject, and his several proposals.  But takes notice, that he
   says not the least word of the solemnity which he so much pressed for
   before they came to town; and which, as she observes, was necessary to
   give propriety to his proposals.]

Now, my dear, she says, I cannot bear the life I live.  I would be glad at my heart to be out of his reach.  If I were, he should soon find the difference.  If I must be humbled, it had better be by those to whom I owe duty, than by him.  My aunt writes in her letter,* that she dare not propose any thing in my favour.  You tell me, that upon inquiry, you find,* that, had I not been unhappily seduced away, a change of measures was actually resolved upon; and that my mother, particularly, was determined to exert herself for the restoration of the family peace; and, in order to succeed the better, had thoughts of trying to engage my uncle Harlowe in her party.

* See Vol.  III.  Letter LII. ** Ibid.  Letter VIII.

Let me build on these foundations.  I can but try, my dear.  It is my duty to try all probably methods to restore the poor outcast to favour.  And who knows but that once indulgent uncle, who has very great weight in the family, may be induced to interpose in my behalf?  I will give up all right and title to my grandfather’s devises and bequests, with all my heart and soul, to whom they please, in order to make my proposal palatable to my brother.  And that my surrender may be effectual, I will engage never to marry.

What think you, my dear, of this expedient?  Surely, they cannot resolve to renounce me for ever.  If they look with impartial eyes upon what has happened, they will have something to blame themselves for, as well as me.

I presume, that you will be of opinion that this expedient is worth trying.  But here is my difficulty:  If I should write, my hard-hearted brother has so strongly confederated them all against me, that my letter would be handed about from one to another, till he had hardened every one to refuse my request; whereas could my uncle be engaged to espouse my cause, as from himself, I should have some hope, as I presume to think he would soon have my mother and my aunt of his party.