“I do not speak this to endeavour to alter your opinion, but to shew the improbability of his agreeing to it.  I confess I am entirely of your mind.  I reckon it among the absurdities of custom that a man must be obliged to settle his whole estate on an eldest son, beyond his power to recall, whatever he proves to be, and make himself unable to make happy a younger child that may deserve to be so.  If I had an estate myself, I should not make such ridiculous settlements, and I cannot blame you for being in the right.

“I have told you all my affairs with a plain sincerity.  I have avoided to move your compassion, and I have said nothing of what I suffer; and I have not persuaded you to a treaty, which I am sure my family will never agree to.  I can have no fortune without an entire obedience.

“Whatever your business is, may it end to your satisfaction.  I think of the public as you do.  As little as that is a woman’s care, it may be permitted into the number of a woman’s fears.  But, wretched as I am, I have no more to fear for myself.  I have still a concern for my friends, and I am in pain for your danger.  I am far from taking ill what you say, I never valued myself as the daughter of——­, and ever despised those that esteemed me on that account.  With pleasure I could barter all that, and change to be any country gentleman’s daughter that would have reason enough to make happiness in privacy.  My letter is too long.  I beg your pardon.  You may see by the situation of my affairs ’tis without design.”

The marriage with the gentleman unknown was thus called off—­to the very considerable anger of Lord Dorchester.  Lord Pierrepont wrote offering to come to her aid, by representing to her father the hardship he was inflicting by endeavouring to force her inclination.  He went so far as to say that he would assist her to marry a man of moderate means, if there were such an one in her heart.  She was little used to sympathy, and the proposal affected her deeply.  “The generosity and goodness of this letter wholly determines my softest inclinations on your side,” she wrote with unusual gentleness to Montagu on a Thursday night in August.  “You are in the wrong to suspect me of artifice; plainly showing me the kindness of your heart (if you have any there for me) is the surest way to touch mine, and I am at this minute more inclined to speak tenderly to you than ever I was in my life—­so much inclined I will say nothing.  I could wish you would leave England, but I know not how to object to anything that pleases you.  In this minute I have no will that does not agree with yours.”

There is a reference in the letter just printed to a meeting of Lady Anne and Montagu, but how often they saw each other at this time there is no knowing.