"To the best protector in the world, madam," I answered, smiling—"to an husband."
"A husband!" she repeated, quite astonished, "What, child, are you married? And who, my dear, is this husband that your father could part with you to?"
"That gentleman in the blue and silver velvet, across the room,—Sir William Stanley. Does your ladyship know him?"
"By name and character only," she answered. "You are very young, my dear, to be thus initiated in the world. Has Sir William any relations, female ones I mean, who are fit companions for you?—This is a dangerous place for young inexperienced girls to be left to their own guidance."
I mentioned the ladies to whom I had been introduced. "I don't know them," said Lady Melford; "no doubt they are women of character, as they are the friends of your husband. I am, however, glad to see you, and hope you are happily married. My meeting you here is owing to having attended a lady who was introduced; I came to town from D. for that purpose."
I asked her ladyship, if she would permit me to wait on her while she remained in town. She obligingly said, "she took it very kind in a young person shewing such attention to her, and should always be glad of my company."
The counsel of Lady Melford may be of service to me. I am extremely happy to have seen her. I remember with pleasure the month I passed at L. I reproach myself for not writing to Jenny Melford. I doubt she thinks me ungrateful, or that the busy scenes in which I am immersed have obliterated all former fond remembrances. I will soon convince her, that the gay insignificant crowd cannot wear away the impression which her kindness stamped on my heart in early childhood.
Your letter is just brought to my hands. Yes, my dear Louisa, I have not a doubt but that, while I deserve it, I shall be the immediate care of heaven. Join your prayers to mine; and they will, when offered with heart-felt sincerity, be heard.
I have nothing to apprehend from Lady Besford.—Such kind of women can never seduce me. She shews herself too openly; and the discovery of her character gives me no other concern, than as it too evidently manifests in my eyes the extreme carelessness of Sir William: I own there I am in some degree piqued. But, if he is indifferent about my morals and well-doing in life, it will more absolutely become my business to take care of myself,—an arduous task for a young girl, surrounded with so many incitements to quit the strait paths, and so many examples of those that do.