[Wilfrid to Georgiana Ford:]

“I will confine my reply to a simple denial of having caused this fatal intelligence to reach her ears; for the truth of which, I pledge my honour as a gentleman.  A second’s thought would have told me—­indeed I at once acquiesced in your view—­that she should not know it.  How it has happened it is vain to attempt to guess.  Can you suppose that I desired her to hate me?  Yet this is what the knowledge of the step I am taking will make her do!  If I could see—­if I might see her for five minutes, I should be able to explain everything, and, I sincerely think (painful as it would be to me), give her something like peace.  It is too late even to wish to justify myself; but her I can persuade that she—­Do you not see that her mind is still unconvinced of my—­I will call it baseness!  Is this the self-accusing you despise?  A little of it must be heard.  If I may see her I will not fail to make her understand my position.  She shall see that it is I who am worthless—­not she!  You know the circumstances under which I last beheld her—­when I saw pang upon pang smiting her breast from my silence!  But now I may speak.  Do not be prepossessed against my proposal!  It shall be only for five minutes—­no more.  Not that it is my desire to come.  In truth, it could not be.  I have felt that I alone can cure her—­I who did the harm.  Mark me:  she will fret secretly—­, but dear and kindest lady, do not smile too critically at the tone I adopt.  I cannot tell how I am writing or what saying.  Believe me that I am deeply and constantly sensible of your generosity.  In case you hesitate, I beg you to consult Mr. Powys.”

[Georgiana Ford to Wilfrid:]

“I had no occasion to consult my brother to be certain that an interview between yourself and Emilia should not take place.  There can be no object, even if the five minutes of the meeting gave her happiness, why the wound of the long parting should be again opened.  She is wretched enough now, though her tenderness for us conceals it as far as possible.  When some heavenly light shall have penetrated her, she will have a chance of peace.  The evil is not of a nature to be driven out by your hands.  If you are not going into the Austrian service, she shall know as much immediately.  Otherwise, be as dead to her as you may, and your noblest feelings cannot be shown under any form but that.”

[Wilfrid to Tracy Runningbrook:]

“Some fellows whom I know want you to write a prologue to a play they are going to get up.  It’s about Shakespeare—­at least, the proceeds go to something of that sort.  Do, like a good fellow, toss us off twenty lines.  Why don’t you write?  By the way, I hope there’s no truth in a report that has somehow reached me, that they have the news down in Monmouth of my deserting to the black-yellow squadrons?  Of course, such a thing as that should have been kept from them.  I hear, too, that your—­I suppose I must