She ended with an Italian air, contrasted with another heigh-ho; and left me for a few moments.

Poor Lord G——! said I, looking after her.

She returned soon.  Poor Lord G——! repeated she:  those were the piteous words you threw after me—­But if I should provoke him, do you think he would not give me a cuff, or so?—­You know he can’t return joke for joke; and he must revenge himself some way—­If that should be the case, Poor Charlotte, I hope you would say—­

Not if you deserved it.

Deserve a cuff, Harriet!—­Well, but I am afraid I shall.

Remember next Tuesday, Charlotte!—­You must vow obedience—­Will you break your vow?—­This is not a jesting matter.

True, Harriet.  And that it is not, was perhaps one of the reasons that made me disinclined to go to so solemn a place as the church with Lord G——.  Don’t you think it one with those who insist upon being married in their own chamber?

I believe great people, said I, think they must not do right things in the common way:  that seems to me to be one of their fantastic reasons:  but the vow is the vow, Charlotte:  God is every where.

Now you are so serious, Harriet, it is time to have done with the subject.

I have no sleep in my eyes; and must go on.  What keeps me more wakeful is, my real concern for this naughty Miss Grandison, and my pity for Lord G——­; for the instance I have given you of her petulance is nothing to what I have seen:  but I thought, so near the day, she would have changed her behaviour to him.  Surely, the situation her brother is in, without any fault of his own, might convince her, that she need not go out of her path to pick up subjects for unhappiness.

Such a kittenish disposition in her, I called it; for it is not so much the love of power that predominates in her mind, as the love of playfulness:  and when the fit is upon her, she regards not whether it is a china cup, or a cork, that she pats and tosses about.  But her sport will certainly be the death of Lord G——­’s happiness.  Pity that Sir Charles, who only has power over her, is obliged to go abroad so soon!  But she has principles:  Lady Grandison’s daughter, Sir Charles Grandison’s sister, must have principles.  The solemnity of the occasion; the office; the church; the altar;—­must strike her:  The vow—­Will she not regard the vow she makes in circumstances so awful?  Could but my Lord G——­ assume dignity, and mingle raillery with it, and be able to laugh with her, and sometimes at her, she would not make him her sport:  she would find somebody else:  A butt she must have to shoot at:  but I am afraid he will be too sensible of her smartness:  and she will have her jest, let who will suffer by it.

Some of the contents of your last are very agreeable to me, Lucy.  I will begin in earnest to think of leaving London.  Don’t let me look silly in your eyes, my dear, when I come.  It was not so very presumptuous in me (was it?) to hope—­When all his relations—­When he himself—­Yet what room for hope did he, could he, give me?  He was honest; and I cheated myself:  but then all you, my dearest friends, encouraged the cheat:  nay, pointed my wishes, and my hopes, by yours, before I had dared (shall I say, or condescended?) to own them to myself.