Friday, February 17. No one, at present, but yourself, must see the contents of what I am going to write.
You must not be too much surprised. But how shall I tell you the news; the dreadful news!
O, my cousin Selby! We know not what has become of our dearest Miss Byron.
We were last night at the masked ball in the Hay-market.
Between two and three we all agreed to go home. The dear creature was fatigued with the notice everybody took of her. Everybody admired her.
I waited on her to her chair, and saw her in it, before I attended Lady Betty and my wife to theirs.
I saw that neither the chair, nor the chairmen were those who brought her. I asked the meaning and was told that the chairmen we had engaged had been inveigled away to drink somewhere. She hurried into it because of her dress, and being warm; no less than four gentlemen followed her to the very chair.
I ordered Wilson, my, cousin's servant, to bid the chairmen stop, when they had got out of the crowd till Lady Betty's chair and mine, and my wife's joined them.
I saw her chair move, and Wilson, with his lighted flambeaux, before it, and the four masks who followed her to the chair return into the house.
When our servants could not find that her chair had stopped, we supposed that, in the hurry, the fellow heard not my orders; and directed our chairmen to proceed, not doubting but that we should find her got home before us.