’Mistress of all the Beckley property-dearest, dearest Juliana!  Oh! how sincerely I congratulate you!  The black on the letter alarmed me so, I could hardly open it, my fingers trembled so; for I esteem you all at Beckley; but when I had opened and read it, I was recompensed.  You say you are sorry for Rose.  But surely what your Grandmama has done is quite right.  It is just, in every sense.  But why am I not to tell Evan?  I am certain it would make him very happy, and happiness of any kind he needs so much!  I will obey you, of course, but I cannot see why.  Do you know, my dear child, you are extremely mysterious, and puzzle me.  Evan takes a pleasure in speaking of you.  You and Lady Jocelyn are his great themes.  Why is he to be kept ignorant of your good fortune?  The spitting of blood is bad.  You must winter in a warm climate.  I do think that London is far better for you in the late Autumn than Hampshire.  May I ask my sister Harriet to invite you to reside with her for some weeks?  Nothing, I know, would give her greater pleasure.’

Juliana answers this—­

’If you love me—­I sometimes hope that you do—­but the feeling of being loved is so strange to me that I can only believe it at times—­but, Caroline—­there, I have mustered up courage to call you by your Christian name at last—­Oh, dear Caroline! if you do love me, do not tell Mr. Harrington.  I go on my knees to you to beg you not to tell him a word.  I have no reasons indeed not any; but I implore you again never even to hint that I am anything but the person he knew at Beckley.

’Rose has gone to Elburne House, where Ferdinand, her friend, is to meet her.  She rides and sings the same, and keeps all her colour.

’She may not, as you imagine, have much sensibility.  Perhaps not enough.  I am afraid that Rose is turning into a very worldly woman!

’As to what you kindly say about inviting me to London, I should like it, and I am my own mistress.  Do you know, I think I am older than your brother!  I am twenty-three.  Pray, when you write, tell me if he is older than that.  But should I not be a dreadful burden to you?  Sometimes I have to keep to my chamber whole days and days.  When that happens now, I think of you entirely.  See how I open my heart to you.  You say that you do to me.  I wish I could really think it.’

A postscript begs Caroline ‘not to forget about the ages.’

In this fashion the two ladies open their hearts, and contrive to read one another perfectly in their mutual hypocrisies.

Some letters bearing the signatures of Mr. John Raikes, and Miss Polly Wheedle, likewise pass.  Polly inquires for detailed accounts of the health and doings of Mr. Harrington.  Jack replies with full particulars of her own proceedings, and mild corrections of her grammar.  It is to be noted that Polly grows much humbler to him on paper, which being instantly perceived by the mercurial one, his caressing condescension