"It is long, very long, since I heard from you, and, like the rest of the world, I take it for granted you have forgotten me, else I had been yours, and yours only, as long as you were disposed to protect me. I always liked you; but twice the love I ever felt towards you would not have made me act unfeelingly towards anybody breathing, while I knew or fancied they deserved my gratitude. The reward for this steadiness in what I believed was right is that all have forsaken me: even Lord Worcester has turned against me, and written me romantic professions latterly in cold blood, on purpose, as it seems, to betray me by the goodness of my heart, with sending him an answer which, by law, would deprive me of the small annuity which had been granted for my future existence.
"The money is nothing!—I never cared about money: but all this harsh treatment wounds me more than I can describe to you. And you too have forgotten me, n'est ce pas? If you have not, I hope you will tell me so by return of post. In the meantime, God bless you, dear Meyler.
"HARRIETTE WILSON."
By the earliest post Meyler wrote me a letter, the style of which was unusually romantic. He should be in town on the same day I received his answer. He had believed me in Spain, and had relinquished all hopes of me for ever. He had won a considerable wager by my dear, kind letter; but was too happy to enrich himself at any man's expense, therefore refused to accept a guinea of it.
"I don't think," Meyler went on, "I don't believe you would again say I am cold, if you could read my heart at this moment, and understand how deeply impressed I feel with gratitude towards my beloved Harriette. Never mind Worcester's annuity, for you and I will never part.
"I would not marry any woman on earth, and I am sure I shall never entertain so high an opinion of another as I have had good reason to encourage towards you: so yours, beloved Harriette, for ever and ever: full of happiness and haste to follow this letter, yours most devotedly affectionate,
"RICHARD WILLIAM MEYLER."
It is not my intention to dwell on Meyler's love or Meyler's raptures, since such subjects in prose are very prosy. Meyler struck me as having grown much more handsome than when we last parted; but this might be only my own fancy, having seen nothing like a beauty, except Beau Fisher, during the last twelve months.
We hired a very excellent house in the New Road, close to Gloucester Place, and, for the first fortnight, we were both in love, and did not quarrel; but, alas! in rather less than three weeks I discovered that Meyler, the lively Meyler, was one of the worst-tempered men in all England! This was very hard upon one, who, like myself, had been spoiled and indulged by a man, who was ever a slave to my slightest caprices! I cannot describe Meyler's temper, for I never met with anything in the way of temper at all to be compared to his. It was a sort of a periodical temper; and, when he had passed a whole day in sweet soft conversation, I was perfectly sure that a storm was at hand for the next day, and vice versâ.
I must confess, however, that I was sometimes a very tyrant towards Meyler; and yet, I know my temper is naturally good; but my feelings towards Meyler were all made up of passion. I neither esteemed nor trusted him; and yet I was never so jealous of any other man. There was, in fact, an expression in Meyler's countenance of such voluptuous beauty, that it was impossible for any woman to converse with him in cold blood after he had dined. One night, as he sat in the Duchess of Beaufort's box, I left my own and sent in the box-keeper on the Duchess's side of the house, to request he would come out and speak to a person in the passage. He immediately obeyed my summons.
"Meyler," said I, in a hurried tone of voice, "if you return, even for an instant, to the Duchess of Beaufort's box, we part this night and for ever. I cannot endure it."
"Then I will stay with you all the evening," said Meyler, flattered rather than angry with me, for such jealousy, as he knew, I had never felt towards Lord Worcester.
"Why will you agitate yourself for nothing?" said Meyler, when we got home, this being his good-tempered night.