You cannot imagine how kindly I take it that you forgive my brother, and let me assure you I shall never press you to anything unreasonable.  I will not oblige you to court a person that has injured you.  I only beg that whatsoever he does in that kind may be excused by his relation to me, and that whenever you are moved to think he does you wrong, you will at the same time remember that his sister loves you passionately and nobly; that if he values nothing but fortune, she despises it, and could love you as much a beggar as she could do a prince; and shall without question love you eternally, but whether with any satisfaction to herself or you is a sad doubt.  I am not apt to hope, and whether it be the better or the worse I know not.  All sorts of differences are natural to me, and that which (if your kindness would give you leave) you would term a weakness in me is nothing but a reasonable distrust of my own judgment, which makes me desire the approbation of my friends.  I never had the confidence in my life to presume anything well done that I had nobody’s opinion in but my own; and as you very well observe, there are so many that think themselves wise when nothing equals their folly but their pride, that I dread nothing so much as discovering such a thought in myself because of the consequences of it.

Whenever you come you must not doubt your welcome, but I can promise you nothing for the manner on’t.  I am afraid my surprise and disorder will be more than ever.  I have good reason to think so, and none that you can take ill.  But I would not have you attempt it till your father is ready for the journey too.  No, really he deserves that all your occasions should wait for his; and if you have not much more than an ordinary obedience for him, I shall never believe you have more than an ordinary kindness for me; since (if you will pardon me the comparison) I believe we both merit it from you upon the same score, he as a very indulgent father, and I as a very kind mistress.  Don’t laugh at me for commending myself, you will never do it for me, and so I am forced to it.

I am still here in town, but had no hand, I can assure you, in the new discovered plot against the Protector.  But my Lord of Dorchester, they say, has, and so might I have had if I were as rich as he, and then you might have been sure of me at the Tower;—­now a worse lodging must serve my turn.  ’Tis over against Salisbury House where I have the honour of seeing my Lady M. Sandis every day unless some race or other carry her out of town.  The last week she went to one as far as Winchester with Col.  Paunton (if you know such a one), and there her husband met her, and because he did so (though it ’twere by accident) thought himself obliged to invite her to his house but seven miles off, and very modestly said no more for it, but that he thought it better than an Inn, or at least a crowded one as all in the town were now because of the race.  But she was so good a companion that she would not forsake her company.  So he invited them too, but could prevail with neither.  Only my Lady grew kind at parting and said, indeed if Tom Paunton and J. Morton and the rest would have gone she could have been contented to have taken his offer.  Thus much for the married people, now for those that are towards it.