I could only have wished to have been spared Sir Hargrave Pollexfen’s vile attempt:  then, if I had come acquainted with this family, it would have been as I came acquainted with others:  my gratitude had not been engaged so deeply.

Well—­But what signify if’s?—­What has been, has; what must be, must.  Only love me, my dear friends, as you used to love me.  If I was a good girl when I left you, I hope I am not a bad one now, that I am returning to you.  My morals, I bless God, are unhurt:  my heart is not corrupted by the vanities of the great town:  I have a little more experience than I had:  and if I have severely paid for it, it is not at the price of my reputation.  And I hope, if nobody has benefited by me, since I have been in town, that no one has suffered by me.  Poor Mr. Fowler!—­I could not help it, you know.  Had I, by little snares, follies, coquetries, sought to draw him on, and entangle him, his future welfare would, with reason, be more the subject of my solicitude, than it is now necessary it should be; though, indeed, I cannot help making it a good deal so.

***

THURSDAY MORNING.

Dr. Bartlett has just now taken leave of me, in my own dressing-room.  The parting scene between us was tender.

I have not given you my opinion of Miss Williams.  Had I seen her at my first coming to town, I should have taken as much notice of her, in my letters to you, as I did of the two Miss Brambers, Miss Darlington, Miss Cantillon, Miss Allestree, and others of my own sex; and of Mr. Somner, Mr. Barnet, Mr. Walden, of the other; who took my first notice, as they fell early in my way, and with whom it is possible, as well as with the town-diversions, I had been more intimate, had not Sir Hargrave’s vile attempt carried me out of their acquaintance into a much higher; which of necessity, as well as choice, entirely engrossed my attention.  But now how insipid would any new characters appear to you, if they were but of a like cast with those I have mentioned, were I to make such the subjects of my pen, and had I time before me; which I cannot have, to write again, before I embrace you all, my dear, my ever dear and indulgent friends!

I will only say, that Miss Williams is a genteel girl; but will hardly be more than one of the better sort of modern women of condition; and that she is to be classed so high, will be owing more to Miss Clements’s lessons, than, I am afraid, to her mother’s example.

Is it, Lucy, that I have more experience and discernment now, or less charity and good-nature, than when I first came to town? for then I thought well, in the main, of Lady Betty Williams.  But though she is a good-natured, obliging woman; she is so immersed in the love of public diversions! so fond of routs, drums, hurricanes,—­Bless me, my dear! how learned should I have been in all the gaieties of the modern life; what a fine lady, possibly; had I not been carried into more rational (however to me they have been more painful) scenes; and had I followed the lead of this lady, as she (kindly, as to her intention) had designed I should!