Do you know, Harriet, that Sir Charles is supposed to be one of the finest dancers in England? Remember, my dear, that on Tuesday—[Lord help me! I shall be then stupid, and remember nothing]—you take him out yourself: and then you will judge for yourself of his excellence in this science—May we not call dancing a science? If we judge by the few who perform gracefully in it, I am sure we may; and a difficult one too.
O!—And remember, Harriet, that you get somebody to call upon him to sing—You shall play—I believe I shall forget, in that only agreeable moment of the day, (for you have a sweet finger, my love,) that I am the principal fool in the play of the evening.
O, Harriet,—how can I, in the circumstances I am in, write any more about these soft souls, and silly? Come to me by day-dawn, and leave me not till—I don't know when. Come, and take my part, my dear: I shall hate this man: he does nothing but hop, skip, and dance about me, grin and make mouths; and every body upholds him in it.
Must this (I hope not!) be the last time that I write myself to you
CHARLOTTE GRANDISON?
LETTER XVII
MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY ST. JAMES'S-SQUARE, FRIDAY MORNING, APRIL 7.
Sir Charles Grandison set out early this morning for Lord W——'s, in his way to Lady Mansfield's. I am here with this whimsical Charlotte.
Lady L——, Miss Jervois, myself, and every female of the family, or who do business for both sisters out of it, are busy in some way or other, preparatory to the approaching Tuesday.
Miss Grandison is the only idle person. I tell her, she is affectedly so.