When I received Mrs. Smith's letter, he was mighty curious to know who it was from:—I found him examining the seal, as it lay on the table in Mr. Jenkings's parlour.—Here is a letter for you, Miss Warley, a good deal confus'd.—So I see, my Lord: I suppose from Lady Mary Sutton.
I fancy not;—it does not appear to be directed in the same hand with that my servant brought you last from the post-office.—I broke the seal; it was easy to perceive the contents gave me pleasure.
There is something, Miss Warley, which gives you particular satisfaction.
You are right, my Lord, I never was better pleas'd.
Then it is from Lady Mary?
No, not from Lady Mary.
From Mrs. Smith, then?—Do I guess now?—You say nothing; oh, there it is.—I could not forbear smiling.
Pray tell me, only tell me, and he caught one of my hands, if this letter does not fix the very day of your setting out for France?
I thought him possest with the spirit of divination.—What could I do, in this case?—Falshoods I despise;—evasions are low, very low, indeed:—yet I knew he ought not to be trusted with the contents, even at the expence of my veracity—I recollected myself, and looked grave.
My Lord, you must excuse me; this affair concerns only myself; even Lady Powis will not be acquainted with it yet.