The company that dined at the Abbey yesterday were Lord and Lady Allen, Lord Baily, Mr. Mrs. and Miss Winter.—This was the first day I changed my mourning;—a white lutestring, with the fine suit of rough garnets your Ladyship gave me, was my dress on the occasion.—But let me proceed to the incident for which I stand indebted for the secret tranquility, the innate repose I now possess in a superlative degree.—
When I went to Mr. Jenkings's to dress for dinner, Lord Darcey attended me, as usual:—the coach was to fetch us.—I thought I never saw his Lordship in such high good humour; what I mean is, I never saw him in such spirits.—To speak the truth, his temper always appears unruffled;—sometimes a little gloomy; but I suppose he is not exempted from the common ills of life.—He entertained me on the way with a description of the company expected, interlarding his conversation with observations tending to raise my vanity. Notwithstanding his seeming sincerity, I was proof against such insinuations.—If he had stopp'd there,—well, if he had stop'd there;—what then?—Why then, perhaps, I should not have betray'd the weakness of my heart.—But I hope thy confusion pass'd unobserv'd;—I hope it was not seen before I could draw my handkerchief from my pocket: if it should, heavens! the very thought has dyed me scarlet.
I am running on as though your Ladyship had been present in Mr. Jenkings's parlour,—in the coach,—and at table, whither I must conduct you, my dear Lady, if your patience will bear a minute recital.—First, then, to our conference in the parlour, after I was dress'd.
My coming down interrupted a tête-à-tête between his Lordship and Edmund. The latter withdrew soon after I entered;—it look'd some-how as if designed;—it vexed me;—mean it how he would, it much disconcerted me:—I hate, I despise the least appearance of design.—In vain did I attempt to bring him back; he only answer'd he would be with us instantly.
I was no sooner seated, than his Lordship placed himself by me; and fetching a deep sigh, said, I wish it was in my power to oblige Miss Warley as much as it is in hers to oblige me.—
My Lord, I cannot conceive how I have it in my power to oblige you. He took my hand,—Yes, Madam, to make me happy,—for ever happy,—to make Sir James and Lady Powis happy, you have only to determine not to quit your native country.
Stop! my Lord, if you mean my going to Montpellier, I am determin'd.—And are you really determin'd, Miss Warley?—his face overspread with a dreadful paleness.
I am, my Lord,
But what are you determin'd? Are you determined to distress your friends?
I wish not to distress my friends: nothing would give me so much pain; but I must go;—indeed I must.