Letter 68.—­In this scrap of writing we find that Temple is again in England with certain proposals from his father, and ready to discuss the “treaty,” as Dorothy calls it, with her brother Peyton.  The few remaining letters deal with the treaty.  Temple would probably return to London when he left Ireland, and letters would pass frequently between them.  There seems to have been some hitch as to who should appear in the treaty.  Dorothy’s brother had spoken of and behaved to Temple with all disrespect, but, now that he is reconciled to the marriage, Dorothy would have him appear, at least formally, in the negotiations.  The last letter of this chapter, which is dated October 2nd, calls on Temple to come down to Kent, to Peyton’s house; and it is reasonable to suppose that at this interview all was practically settled to the satisfaction of those two who were most deeply concerned in the negotiation.

I did so promise myself a letter on Friday that I am very angry I had it not, though I know you were not come to town when it should have been writ.  But did not you tell me you should not stay above a day or two?  What is it that has kept you longer?  I am pleased, though, that you are out of the power of so uncertain things as the winds and the sea, which I never feared for myself, but did extremely apprehend for you.  You will find a packet of letters to read, and maybe have met with them already.  If you have, you are so tired that ’tis but reasonable I should spare you in this.  For, [to] say truth, I have not time to make this longer; besides that if I had, my pen is so very good that it writes an invisible hand, I think; I am sure I cannot read it myself.  If your eyes are better, you will find that I intended to assure you I am

Yours.

Letter 69.

I am but newly waked out of an unquiet sleep, and I find it so late that if I write at all it must be now.  Some company that was here last night kept us up till three o’clock, and then we lay three in a bed, which was all the same to me as if we had not gone to bed at all.  Since dinner they are all gone, and our company with them part of the way, and with much ado I got to be excused, that I might recover a little sleep, but am so moped yet that, sure, this letter will be nonsense.

I would fain tell you, though, that your father is mistaken, and that you are not, if you believe that I have all the kindness and tenderness for you my heart is capable of.  Let me assure you (whatever your father thinks) that had you L20,000 a year I could love you no more than I do, and should be far from showing it so much lest it should look like a desire of your fortune, which, as to myself, I value as little as anybody in the world, and in this age of changes; but certainly I know what an estate is.  I have seen my father’s reduced, better than L4000, to not L400 a year, and I thank God I never felt the change in anything that I thought necessary.