When I had satisfied both him and myself upon this subject, I turned to Lord Orville, and saw, with concern, the gravity of his countenance. I would have spoken to him, but knew not how; I believe, however, he read my thoughts; for, in a little time, with a sort of serious smile, he said, “Does not Mr. Macartney complain of his disappointment?”
“Not much, my Lord.”
“And how have you appeased him?” Finding I hesitated what to answer, “Am I not your brother?” continued he, “and must I not enquire into your affairs?”
“Certainly, my Lord,” said I, laughing. “I only wish it were better worth your Lordship’s while.”
“Let me, then, make immediate use of my privilege. When shall you see Mr. Macartney again?”
“Indeed, my Lord, I can’t tell.”
“But,-do you know that I shall not suffer my sister to make a private appointment?”
“Pray, my Lord,” cried I earnestly, “use that word no more! Indeed you shock me extremely.”
“That would I not do for the world,” cried he, “yet you know not how warmly, how deeply I am interested, not only in all your concerns, but in all your actions.”
This speech-the most particular one Lord Orville had ever made to me, ended our conversation at that time; for I was too much struck by it to make any answer.