Nobody was cheerful after dinner but Sir Charles.  He seemed to exert himself to be so.  He prevailed on me to give them a lesson on the harpsichord.  Lady L——­ played:  Lady G——­ played:  we tried to play, I should rather say.  He himself took the violin, and afterwards sat down to the harpsichord, for one short lesson.  He was not known to be such a master:  but he was long in Italy.  Lady Olivia indeed knew him to be so.  She was induced to play upon the harpsichord:  she surpassed every body.  Italy is the land of harmony.

About seven at night he singled me out, and surprised me greatly by what he said.  He told me, that Lady D——­ had made him a visit.  I was before low:  I was then ready to sink.  She has asked me questions, madam.

Sir, sir! was all I could say.

He himself trembled as he spoke.—­Alas! my dear, he surely loves me!  Hear how solemnly he spoke—­God Almighty be your director, my dear Miss Byron!  I wish not more happiness to my own soul, than I do to you.—­In discharge of a promise made, I mention this visit to you:  I might otherwise have spared you, and myself—­

He stopt there—­Then resumed; for I was silent.  I could not speak—­Your friends will be entreated for a man that loves you; a very worthy young nobleman.—­I give you emotion, madam.—­Forgive me.—­I have performed my promise.  He turned from me with a seeming cheerful air.  How could he appear to be cheerful!

We made parties at cards.  I knew not what I played.  Emily sighed, and tears stole down her cheeks, as she played.  O how she loves her guardian!  Emily, I say—­I don’t know what I write!

At supper we were all very melancholy.  Mr. Beauchamp was urgent to go abroad with him.  He changed the subject, and gave him an indirect denial, as I may call it, by recommending the two Italian ladies to his best services.

Sir Charles, kind, good, excellent! wished to Lord L——­ to have seen Mr. Grandison!—­unworthy as that man has made himself of his attention.

He was a few moments in private with Lady Olivia.  She returned to company with red eyes.

Poor Emily watched an opportunity to be spoken to by him alone—­So diligently!—­He led her to the window—­About one o’clock it was—­He held both her hands.  He called her, she says, his Emily.  He charged her to write to him.

She could not speak; she could only sob; yet thought she had a thousand things to say to him.

He contradicted not the hope his sisters and their lords had of his breakfasting with them.  They invited me; they invited the Italian ladies:  Lady L——­, Lord L——­, did go, in expectation:  but Lady G——­, when she found him gone, sent me and the Italian ladies word, that he was.  It would have been cruel, if she had not.  How could he steal away so!  I find, that he intended that his morning visit to me (as indeed I half-suspected) should be a taking leave of my cousins, and your Harriet.  How many things did he say then—­How many questions ask—­In tender woe—­ He wanted to do us all service—­He seemed not to know what to say—­Surely he hates not your poor Harriet—­What struggles in his noble bosom!—­But a man cannot complain:  a man cannot ask for compassion, as a woman can.  But surely his is the gentlest of manly minds!