Is it in earnest that you say your being there keeps me from the town?  If so, ’tis very unkind.  No, if I had gone, it had been to have waited on my neighbour, who has now altered her resolution and goes not herself.  I have no business there, and am so little taken with the place that I could sit here seven years without so much as thinking once of going to it.  ’Tis not likely, as you say, that you should much persuade your father to what you do not desire he should do; but it is hard if all the testimonies of my kindness are not enough to satisfy without my publishing to the world that I can forget my friends and all my interest to follow my passion; though, perhaps, it will admit of a good sense, ’tis that which nobody but you or I will give it, and we that are concerned in’t can only say ’twas an act of great kindness and something romance, but must confess it had nothing of prudence, discretion, nor sober counsel in’t.  ’Tis not that I expect, by all your father’s offers, to bring my friends to approve it.  I don’t deceive myself thus far, but I would not give them occasion to say that I hid myself from them in the doing it; nor of making my action appear more indiscreet than it is.  It will concern me that all the world should know what fortune you have, and upon what terms I marry you, that both may not be made to appear ten times worse than they are.  ’Tis the general custom of all people to make those that are rich to have more mines of gold than are in the Indies, and such as have small fortunes to be beggars.  If an action take a little in the world, it shall be magnified and brought into comparison with what the heroes or senators of Rome performed; but, on the contrary, if it be once condemned, nothing can be found ill enough to compare it with; and people are in pain till they find out some extravagant expression to represent the folly on’t.  Only there is this difference, that as all are more forcibly inclined to ill than good, they are much apter to exceed in detraction than in praises.  Have I not reason then to desire this from you; and may not my friendship have deserved it?  I know not; ’tis as you think; but if I be denied it, you will teach me to consider myself.  ’Tis well the side ended here.  If I had not had occasion to stop there, I might have gone too far, and showed that I had more passions than one.  Yet ’tis fit you should know all my faults, lest you should repent your bargain when ’twill not be in your power to release yourself; besides, I may own my ill-humour to you that cause it; ’tis the discontent my crosses in this business have given me makes me thus peevish.  Though I say it myself, before I knew you I was thought as well an humoured young person as most in England; nothing displeased, nothing troubled me.  When I came out of France, nobody knew me again.  I was so altered, from a cheerful humour that was always alike, never over merry but always pleased, I was grown heavy and sullen, froward and discomposed; and that country which usually gives people a jolliness and gaiety that is natural to the climate, had wrought in me so contrary effects that I was as new a thing to them as my clothes.  If you find all this to be sad truth hereafter, remember that I gave you fair warning.