This misunderstanding is owing to my officious letter.  I should have waited on you in person.  I should from the first have put it in your power, to do a graceful and obliging thing.  I ask your pardon.  I am not used to make differences between man and wife.

I touched first one hand, then the other, of the perverse baby with my lips—­Now am I forgiven:  now is my friend Beauchamp permitted to return to his native country:  now are Sir Harry and his Lady reconciled—­Come, come, madam, it must be so—­What foolish things are the quarrels of married people!—­They must come to an agreement again; and the sooner the better; before hard blows are struck, that will leave marks—­Let us, dear madam, find out Sir Harry—­

And then, with an air of vivacity, that women, whether in courtship or out of it, dislike not, I was leading her once more to the door, and, as I intended, to Sir Harry, wherever he could be found.

Hold, hold, sir! resisting; but with features far more placid than she had suffered to be before visible—­If I must be compelled—­You are a strange man, Sir Charles Grandison—­If I must be compelled to see Sir Harry—­But you are a strange man—­And she rang the bell.

Lady Beauchamp, Dr. Bartlett, is one of those who would be more ready to forgive an innocent freedom, than to be gratified by a profound respect; otherwise I had not treated her with so little ceremony.  Such women are formidable only to those who are afraid of their anger, or who make it a serious thing.

But when the servant appeared, she not knowing how to condescend, I said, Go to your master, sir, and tell him that your lady requests the favour—­

Requests the favour! repeated she; but in a low voice:  which was no bad sign.

The servant went with a message worded with more civility than perhaps he was used to carry to his master from his lady.

Now, dear Lady Beauchamp, for your own sake; for Sir Harry’s sake; make happy; and be happy.  Are there not, dear madam, unhappinesses enow in life, that we must wilfully add to them?

Sir Harry came in sight.  He stalked towards us with a parade like that of a young officer wanting to look martial at the head of his company.

Could I have seen him before he entered, my work would have been easier.  But his hostile air disposed my lady to renew hostilities.

She turned her face aside, then her person; and the cloudy indignation with which she entered at first, again overspread her features.  Ought wrath, Dr. Bartlett, to be so ready to attend a female will?—­Surely, thought I, my lady’s present airs, after what has passed between her and me, can be only owing to the fear of making a precedent, and being thought too easily persuaded.

Sir Harry, said I, addressing myself to him, I have obtained Lady Beauchamp’s pardon for the officious letter—­

Pardon, Sir Charles Grandison!  You are a good man, and it was kindly intended—­