Six o’clock.
Do you think her so very pleasing, my dear Bell? she has fine eyes, but have they not more fire than softness? There was a vivacity in her manner which hurt me extremely: could she have behaved with such unconcern, had she loved as I do?
Do you think it possible, Lucy,Bell, for a Frenchwoman to love? is not vanity the ruling passion of their hearts?
May not Rivers be deceived in supposing her so much attached to him? was there not some degree of affectation in her particular attention to me? I cannot help thinking her artful.
Perhaps I am prejudiced: she may be amiable, but I will own she does not please me.
Rivers begged me to have a friendship for her; I am afraid this is more than is in my power: friendship, like love, is the child of sympathy, not of constraint.
Adieu! Yours,
Emily Montague.
LETTER CXI.111.
To Miss Montague.
Monday.