Then he says, “What’s the matter with the little fool!  You are always in this way of late!  What ails you, Pamela?”

“Only a little vapourish, Sir!—­Don’t be angry at me!—­Billy, I thought, was not very well!”

“This boy will spoil your temper:  at this rate, what should be your joy, will become your misfortune.  Don’t receive me in this manner, I charge you.”

“In what manner.  Sir?  I always receive you with a grateful heart!  If any thing troubles me, it is in your absence:  but see, Sir” (then I try to smile, and seem pleased), “I am all sunshine, now you are come!—­don’t you see I am?”

“Yes, your sunshine of late is all through a cloud!  I know not what’s the matter with you.  Your temper will alter, and then—­”

“It shan’t alter, Sir—­it shan’t—­if I can help it.”  And then I kissed his hand; that dear hand, that, perhaps, was last about his more beloved Countess’s neck—­Distracting reflection!

But come, may-be I think the worst!  To be sure I do!  For my apprehensions were ever aforehand with events; and bad must be the case, if it be worse than I think it.

You command me to let you know what I have heard, and how I came to hear it.  I told your ladyship in one of my former that two gentlemen brought up to the law, but above the practice of it, though I doubt, not above practices less honourable, had visited us on coming to town.

They have been often here since, Mr. Turner particularly:  and sometimes by himself, when Mr. B. has happened to be out:  and he it was, as I guessed, that gave me, at the wicked masquerade, the advice to look after my Musidorus.

I did not like their visits, and his much less:  for he seemed to be a man of intriguing spirit.  But about three weeks ago, Mr. B. setting out upon a party of pleasure to Oxford, he came and pretended great business with me.  I was at breakfast in the parlour, only Polly attending me, and admitted him, to drink a dish of chocolate with me.  When Polly had stept out, he told me, after many apologies, that he had discovered who the nun was at the masquerade, that had engaged Mr. B.

I said it was very indifferent to me who the lady was.

He replied (making still more apologies, and pretending great reluctance to speak out), that it was no less a lady than the young Countess Dowager of——­, a lady noted for her wit and beauty, but of a gay disposition, though he believed not yet culpable.

I was alarmed; but would not let him see it; and told Mr. Turner, that I was so well satisfied in Mr. B.’s affection for me, and his well-known honour, that I could not think myself obliged to any gentleman who should endeavour to give me a less opinion of either than I ought to have.

He then bluntly told me, that the very party Mr. B. was upon, was with the Countess for one, and Lord——­, who had married her sister.

I said, I was glad he was in such good company, and wished him every pleasure in it.