Dorcas seems to be coming into favour with her—
What now!—What now!
MONDAY NIGHT.
How determined is this lady!—Again had she like to have escaped us!—What a fixed resentment!—She only, I find, assumed a little calm, in order to quiet suspicion. She was got down, and actually had unbolted the street-door, before I could get to her; alarmed as I was by Mrs. Sinclair’s cookmaid, who was the only one that saw her fly through the passage: yet lightning was not quicker than I.
Again I brought her back to the dining-room, with infinite reluctance on her part. And, before her face, ordered a servant to be placed constantly at the bottom of the stairs for the future.
She seemed even choked with grief and disappointment.
Dorcas was exceedingly assiduous about her; and confidently gave it as her own opinion, that her dear lady should be permitted to go to another lodging, since this was so disagreeable to her: were she to be killed for saying so, she would say it. And was good Dorcas for this afterwards.
But for some time the dear creature was all passion and violence—
I see, I see, said she, when I had brought her up, what I am to expect from your new professions, O vilest of men!—
Have I offered to you, my beloved creature, any thing that can justify this impatience after a more hopeful calm?