Two of your letters! – He is not come back. – They know not where he is – One from my Lord Castle-Cary – He tells me nothing; but he chides me, and in a style, that he would have me take for that of friendship – For that of reason – I will certainly answer him. He complains to me of the little complaisance you shew him: Why, my dear Henrietta, have you not told him what you know of me, what I consented you should communicate to him? You will not let this man see to what an excess another has been beloved. The excuse is disobliging; is he then to blame for being angry? Though he is my most esteemed friend, I have a kind of repugnance at confessing to him my weaknesses. I will, however, tell him all: he will at least be convinced, that those caprices with which our sex is reproached, have no share in my resentment. You are not upon good terms with Sir Harry; it is a misfortune I cannot hide from you: he asked me yesterday, why you had deferred your marriage with Lord Castle-Cary till summer: I told him you chose to wait your uncle's return, who was to come back at that time from his embassy. A quarter of an hour after he repeated the same question, and I made him exactly the same reply. Cruel woman, he exclaimed, to impose so hard a condition! – If I was Castle-Cary. – If you were, Sir? Said I, – I believe. – You believe? – I hope your Ladyship is not offended. – But pray, if you were Castle-Cary? – I dare not speak; – I have the unhappiness to displease you, – to be troublesome to you, notwithstanding, Madam – Upon this, he rosed from his seat, took Heaven to witness to I know not what, walked about very fast, began a conversation with himself, and all this with an air so gloomy, so afflicted, so melancholy. – And has remained ever since so disconcerted – But here he comes more sad, more indisposed, more dying, than ever: He brings me some pamphlets, I am sure they are worth nothing, even before I see them.