"Here is a fuss about trifles," said I. "Why cannot we take these things as the Frenchwomen do? Ça lui fait tant de plaisir! pendant que ça me coûte si peu! That is the way they argue, and very philosophically too. Your sin has been bringing all these children into the world; and now, coûte qu'il coûte, you must provide for them, to the extent of your power." I concluded here my very moral advice, and took my leave, promising to join her in our Opera-box on the morrow evening.
The next morning Mildmay called on me. He reproached me with having deceived and made a fool of him; but all he could say or do could not effect any change of my sentiments in his favour.
He had also professed to love Julia once, and how had he requited her? "Heaven defend me from the like humiliation," thought I, "which I should richly deserve, were I to encourage this cold-hearted, profligate, beautiful Sir Henry."
As soon as I contrived to get rid of him and had dined, I went to join Julia at the Opera House. The first man who came into my box was Fred Lamb; he appeared delighted to see me.
"When did you come to town?" I asked.
"This morning," Fred answered, "and I called on you; but you were either out or denied to me."
"I passed the morning in my little library," answered I.
"You have made me very wretched," whispered Fred Lamb, pressing my hand with much passionate agitation. He looked remarkably well.
"Indeed, Fred," said I, "I did not mean it."