A fuller explanation is necessary on this subject than it is possible to enter into in a letter: if you will favor us with your company this afternoon at Silleri, we may explain our sentiments more clearly to each other: be assured, I never will prevent your complying in every instance with the wishes of so kind and prudent a mother.
I am, dear Sir,
Your affectionate friend
and obedient servant,
Emily Montague.
LETTER LXI.61.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
I have been with Emily, who has been reading MrsMrs. Clayton’s letter; I saw joy sparkle in her eyes as she went on, her little heart seemed to flutter with transport; I see two things very clearly, one of which is, that she never loved this little insipid Baronet; the other I leave your sagacity to find out. All the spirit of her countenance is returned: she walks in air; her cheeks have the blush of pleasure; I never saw so astonishing a change. I never felt more joy from the acquisition of a new lover, than she seems to find in the prospect of losing an old one.
She has written to Sir George, and in a style that I know will hurt him; for though I believe he wishes her to give him up, yet his vanity would desire it should cost her very dear; and appear the effort of disinterested love, and romantic generosity, not what it really is, the effect of the most tranquil and perfect indifference.
By the way, a disinterested mistress is, according to my ideas, a mistress who fancies she loves: we may talk what we please, at a distance, of sacrificing the dear man to his interest, and promoting his happiness by destroying our own; but when it comes to the point, I am rather inclined to believe all women are of my way of thinking; and let me die if I would give up a man I loved to the first dutchess in Christendom: ’tis all mighty well in theory; but for the practical part, let who will believe it for Bell.
Indeed when a woman finds her lover inclined to change, ’tis good to make a virtue of necessity, and give the thing a sentimental turn, which gratifies his vanity, and does not wound one’s own.
Adieu! I see Sir George and his fine carriole; I must run, and tell Emily.
Ever yours,
A. Fermor.