Emily.
LETTER CVII.107.
To Miss Montague.
Saturday.
Yes, my dear, I love, at least I think so; but, thanks to my stars, not in the manner you do.
I prefer Fitzgerald to all the rest of his sex; but I count the hours of his absence in my existence; and contrive sometimes to pass them pleasantly enough, if any other agreable man is in the way: in short, I relish flattery and attention from others, though I infinitely prefer them from him.
I certainly love him, for I was jealous of Madame La Brosse; but, in general, I am not alarmed when I see him flirt a little with others. Perhaps my vanity was as much wounded as my love, with regard to Madame La Brosse.
I find love is quite a different plant in different soils; it is an exotic, and grows faintly, with us coquets; but in its native climate with you people of sensibility and sentiment.
Adieu! I will attend you in a quarter of an hour.
Yours,
A. Fermor.