You may suppose, that then I let loose my indignation upon him.  And he stole out, daring to mutter, and be displeased.  The word devil was in his mouth.

Did he call me devil, Jenny?

No, indeed, madam, said the wench—­And, Harriet, see the ill example of such a free behaviour before her:  she presumed to prate in favour of the man’s fit of fondness; yet, at other times, is a prude of a girl.

Before my anger was gone down, in again [It is truth, Harriet,] came the bold wretch.  I will not, said he, as you are not particularly employed, leave you—­Upon my soul, madam, you don’t use me well.  But if you will oblige me with your company tomorrow morning—­

No where, Sir—­

Only to breakfast with Miss Byron, my dear—­As a mark of your obligingness, I request it.

His dear!—­Now I hate a hypocrite, of all things.  I knew that he had a design to make a shew of his bride, as his property, at another place; and seeing me angry, thought he would name a visit agreeable to me, and which at the same time would give him a merit with you, and preserve to himself the consequence of being obliged by his obedient wife, at the word of authority.

From this foolish beginning arose our mighty quarrel.  What vexed me was, the art of the man, and the evident design he had to get you of his side.  He, in the course of it, threatened me with appealing to you.—­To intend to ruin me in the love of my dearest friend!  Who, that valued that friend, could forgive it?  You may believe, that if he had not proposed it, and after such accumulated offences, it was the very visit that I should have been delighted with.

Indeed, Sir—­Upon my word, my lord—­I do assure you, sir,—­with a moderate degree of haughtiness—­was what the quarrel arose to, on my side—­And, at last, to a declaration of rebellion—­I won’t.

On his side, Upon my soul, madam—­Let me perish, if—­and then hesitating —­You use me ill, madam.  I have not deserved—­And give me leave to say—­ I insist upon being obliged, madam.

There was no bearing of this, Harriet.—­It was a cool evening; but I took up my fan—­Hey-day! said I, what language is this?—­You insist upon it, my lord!—­I think I am married; am I not?—­And I took my watch, half an hour after ten on Monday night—­the—­what day of the month is this?—­ Please the lord, I will note down this beginning moment of your authoritative demeanour.

My dear Lady G——­, [The wretch called me by his own name, perhaps farther to insult me,] if I could bear this treatment, it is impossible for me to love you as I do.

So it is in love to me, that you are to put on already all the husband!—­ Jenny! [Do you see, my lord, affecting a whisper, how you dash the poor wench?  How like a fool she looks at our folly!] Remember, Jenny, that to-morrow morning you carry my wedding-suits to Mrs. Arnold; and tell her, she has forgot the hanging-sleeves to the gowns.  Let her put them on out of hand.