Eleven o’clock.
“For my shepherd is kind, and my heart is at ease.”
What fools women are, Lucy! He took her hand, expressed concern for her health, softened the tone of his voice, looked a few civil things with those expressive lying eyes of his, and without one word of explanation all was forgot in a moment.
Good night! Yours,
A. Fermor.
Heavens! the fellow is here, has followed me to my dressing-room; was ever any thing so confident? These modest men have ten times the assurance of your impudent fellows. I believe absolutely he is going to make love to me: ’tis a critical hour, Lucy; and to rob one’s friend of a lover is really a temptation.
Twelve o’clock.
The dear man is gone, and has made all up: he insisted on my explaining the reasons of the cold reception he had met with; which you know was impossible, without betraying the secret of poor Emily’s little foolish heart.
I however contrived to let him know we were a little piqued at his going without seeing us, and that we were something inclined to be jealous of his friendship for Madame Des Roches.
He made a pretty decent defence; and, though I don’t absolutely acquit him of coquetry, yet upon the whole I think I forgive him.
He loves Emily, which is great merit with me: I am only sorry they are two such poor devils, it is next to impossible they should ever come together.