And now, my dearest sir, if the perturbation of my spirits will allow me, I will finish my last letter from Clifton Hill.
This morning, when I went downstairs, Lord Orville was the only person in the parlour. I felt no small confusion at seeing him alone after having recently avoided him.
As soon as the usual compliments were over, I would have left the room, but he stopped me.
"I have for some time past most ardently desired an opportunity of speaking to you."
I said nothing, so he went on.
"I have been so unfortunate as to forfeit your friendship; your eye shuns mine, and you sedulously avoid my conversation."
I was extremely disconcerted at this grave, but too just accusation, but I made no answer.
"Tell me, I beseech you, what I have done, and how to deserve your pardon."
"Oh, my lord!" I cried, "I have never dreamt of offence; if there is any pardon to be asked it is rather for me than for you to ask it."
"You are all sweetness and condescension!" cried he; "but will you pardon a question essentially important to me? Had, or had not, Sir Clement Willoughby any share in causing your inquietude?"