This idea disgusted me; and in a fit of anger I wrote to the Marquis of Lorne, merely to say that, if he would walk up to Duke's Row, Somers-town, he would meet a most lovely girl.
This was his answer,—
"If you are but half as lovely as you think yourself, you must be well worth knowing; but how is that to be managed? Not in the street! but come to No. 39 Portland-street and ask for me.
"L."
My reply was this,—
"No! our first meeting must be on the high road, in order that I may have room to run away, in case I don't like you.
"HARRIETTE."
The marquis rejoined,—
"Well then, fair lady, to-morrow at four, near the turnpike, look for me on horseback, and then you know I can gallop away.
"L."
We met. The duke—he has since succeeded to the title—did not gallop away; and for my part I had never seen a countenance I had thought half so beautifully expressive. I was afraid to look at it, lest a closer examination might destroy all the new and delightful sensations his first glance had inspired in my breast. His manner was most gracefully soft and polished. We walked together for about two hours.
"I never saw such a sunny, happy countenance as yours in my whole life," said Argyle to me.