The dear creature has thus far condescended—­that she will write to Miss Howe and acquaint her with the present situation of things.

If she write, I shall see what she writes.  But I believe she will have other employment soon.

Lady Betty is sure, she tells her, that she shall prevail upon her to forgive me; though she dares say, that I deserve not forgiveness.  Lady Betty is too delicate to inquire strictly into the nature of my offence.  But it must be an offence against herself, against Miss Montague, against the virtuous of the whole sex, or it could not be so highly resented.  Yet she will not leave her till she forgive me, and till she see our nuptials privately celebrated.  Mean time, as she approves of her uncle’s expedient, she will address her as already my wife before strangers.

Stedman, her solicitor, may attend her for orders in relation to her chancery affair, at Hampstead.  Not one hour they can be favoured with, will they lose from the company and conversation of so dear, so charming a new relation.

Hard then if she had not obliged them with her company in their coach-and-four, to and from their cousin Leeson’s, who longed, (as they themselves had done,) to see a lady so justly celebrated.

’How will Lord M. be raptured when he sees her, and can salute her as his niece!

’How will Lady Sarah bless herself!—­She will now think her loss of the dear daughter she mourns for happily supplied!’

Miss Montague dwells upon every word that falls from her lips.  She perfectly adores her new cousin—­’For her cousin she must be.  And her cousin will she call her!  She answers for equal admiration in her sister Patty.

’Ay, cry I, (whispering loud enough for her to hear,) how will my cousin Patty’s dove’s eyes glisten and run over, on the very first interview!—­ So gracious, so noble, so unaffected a dear creature!’

‘What a happy family,’ chorus we all, ‘will our’s be!’

These and such like congratulatory admirations every hour repeated.  Her modesty hurt by the ecstatic praises:—­’Her graces are too natural to herself for her to be proud of them:  but she must be content to be punished for excellencies that cast a shade upon the most excellent!’

In short, we are here, as at Hampstead, all joy and rapture—­all of us except my beloved; in whose sweet face, [her almost fainting reluctance to re-enter these doors not overcome,] reigns a kind of anxious serenity!  —­But how will even that be changed in a few hours!

Methinks I begin to pity the half-apprehensive beauty!—­But avaunt, thou unseasonably-intruding pity!  Thou hast more than once already well nigh undone me!  And, adieu, reflection!  Begone, consideration! and commiseration!  I dismiss ye all, for at least a week to come!—­But remembered her broken word!  Her flight, when my fond soul was meditating mercy to her!—­Be remembered her treatment of me in her letter on her escape to Hampstead!  Her Hampstead virulence!  What is it she ought not to expect from an unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain?