had spoken were accompanied with such an air, and such a look, as to make him believe that it was Venus with all her graces who had addressed him.  He was near her when she sat down to cards, and as he was puzzling himself to devise by what means he should get this answer, she desired him to lay her gloves and fan down somewhere:  he took them, and with them the billet in question; and as he had perceived nothing severe or angry in the conversation he had with her, he hastened to open her letter, and read as follows: 

“Your transports are so ridiculous that it is doing you a favour to attribute them to an excess of tenderness, which turns your head:  a man, without doubt, must have a great inclination to be jealous, to entertain such an idea of the person you mention.  Good God! what a lover to have caused uneasiness to a man of genius, and what a genius to have got the better of mine!  Are not you ashamed to give any credit to the visions of a jealous fellow who brought nothing else with him from Italy?  Is it possible that the story of the green stockings, upon which he has founded his suspicions, should have imposed upon you, accompanied as it is with such pitiful circumstances?  Since he has made you his confidant, why did not he boast of breaking in pieces my poor harmless guitar?  This exploit, perhaps, might have convinced you more than all the rest:  recollect yourself, and if you are really in love with me, thank fortune for a groundless jealousy, which diverts to another quarter the attention he might pay to my attachment for the most amiable and the most dangerous man of the court.”

Hamilton was ready to weep for joy at these endearing marks of kindness, of which he thought himself so unworthy he was not satisfied with kissing, in raptures, every part of this billet; he also kissed several times her gloves and her fan.  Play being over, Lady Chesterfield received them from his hands, and read in his eyes the joy that her billet had raised in his heart.  Nor was he satisfied with expressing his raptures, only by looks:  he hastened home, and wrote to her at least four times as much.  How different was this letter from the other!  Though perhaps not so well written; for one does not show so much wit in suing for pardon, as in venting reproaches, and it seldom happens that the soft languishing style of a love-letter is so penetrating as that of invective.

Be that as it may, his peace was made:  their past quarrel gave new life to their correspondence; and Lady Chesterfield, to make him as easy as he had before been distrustful expressed on every occasion a feigned contempt for his rival, and a sincere aversion for her husband.

So great was his confidence in her, that he consented she should show in public some marks of attention to the duke, in order to conceal as much as possible their private intelligence.  Thus, at this time nothing disturbed his peace of mind, but his impatience of finding a favourable opportunity for the completion of his desires:  he thought it was in her power to command it; but she excused herself on account of several difficulties which she enumerated to him, and which she was desirous he should remove by his industry and attentions.