She professed to like the people here, and the face of the country; and talked favourably of the religion of it:  but, poor woman! she likes all those the better, I doubt not, for the sake of one Englishman.  Love, Lucy, gilds every object which bears a relation to the person beloved.

Lady Maffei was very free in blaming her niece for this excursion.  She took her chiding patiently; but yet, like a person that thought it too much in her power to gratify the person blaming her, to pay much regard to what she said.

I took a chair to Lady G——­’s.  Emily ran to meet me in the hall.  She threw her arms about me:  I rejoice you are come, said she.  Did you not meet the house in the square?—­What means my Emily?—­Why, it has been flung out of the windows, as the saying is.  Ah madam! we are all to pieces.  One so careless, the other so passionate!—­But, hush!  Here comes Lady G——.

Take, Lucy, in the dialogue-way, particulars.

Lady G. Then you are come, at last, Harriet.  You wrote, that you would not come near me.

Har.  I did; but I could not stay away.  Ah, Lady G——­, you will destroy your own happiness!

Lady G. So you wrote.  Not one word, on the subject you hint at, that you have ever said or written before.  I hate repetitions, child.

Har.  Then I must be silent upon it.

Lady G. Not of necessity.  You can say new things upon old subjects.—­ But hush!  Here comes the man.—­She ran to her harpsichord—­Is this it, Harriet? and touched the keys—­repeating

      “Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
      Soon she sooth’d——­ ——­”

ENTER LORD G.

Lord G. Miss Byron, I am your most obedient servant.  The sight of you rejoices my soul.—­Madam (to his lady), you have not been long enough together to begin a tune.  I know what this is for—­

Lady G. Harmony! harmony! is a charming thing!  But I, poor I! know not any but what this simple instrument affords me.

Lord G. [Lifting up his hands.] Harmony, madam!  God is my witness—­ But I will lay every thing before Miss Byron.

Lady G. You need not, my lord:  she knows as much as she can know, already; except the fine colourings be added to the woeful tale, that your unbridled spirit can give it.—­Have you my long letter about you, Harriet?

Lord G. And could you, madam, have the heart to write—­

Lady G. Why, my lord, do you mince the matter?  For heart, say courage.  You may speak as plain in Miss Byron’s presence, as you did before she came:  I know what you mean.

Lord G. Let it be courage, then.

Har.  Fie, fie, Lord G——!  Fie, fie, Lady G——!  What lengths do you run!  If I understand the matter right, you have both, like children, been at play, till you have fallen out.