Chapter XL: Letter XLI: TO Miss GRENVILLE

My storm of grief is now a little appeased; and I think I ought to apologize to my dearest Louisa, for making her so free a participator of my phrenzy; yet I doubt not of your forgiveness on this, as well as many occasions, reflecting with the liveliest gratitude on the extreme tenderness you have ever shewn me.

The morning after I had written that incoherent letter to you, Miss Finch paid me a visit. She took no notice of the dejection of my countenance, which I am convinced was but too visible; but, putting on a chearful air, though I thought she too looked melancholy when she first came in, "I am come to tell you, my dear Lady Stanley," said she, "that you must go to Lady D--'s route this evening; you know you are engaged, and I design you for my _chaperon_." "Excuse me, my dear," returned I, "I cannot think of going thither, and was just going to send a card to that purpose."

"Lady Stanley," she replied, "you must go indeed. I have a very particular reason for urging you to make your appearance there." "And I have as particular a reason," said I, turning away my head to conceal a tear that would unbidden start in my eye, "to prevent my going there or any where else at present."

Her eyes were moistened; when, taking my hand in her's, and looking up in my face with the utmost friendliness, "My amiable Lady Stanley, it grieves my soul, to think any of the licentious wretches in this town should dare asperse such excellence as your's; but that infamous creature, Lady Anne, said last night, in the coffee-room at the opera, that she had heard Lady Stanley took to heart (was her expression) the departure of Baron Ton-hausen; and that she and Miss Finch had quarrelled about their gallant. Believe me, I could sooner have lost the power of speech, than have communicated so disagreeable a piece of intelligence to you, but that I think it highly incumbent on you, by appearing with chearfulness in public with me, to frustrate the malevolence of that spightful woman as much as we both can."

"What have I done to that vile woman?" said I, giving a loose to my tears; "In what have I injured her, that she should thus seek to blacken my name?"

"Dared to be virtuous, while she is infamous," answered Miss Finch;--"but, however, my dear Lady Stanley, you perceive the necessity of contradicting her assertion of our having quarrelled on any account; and nothing can so effectually do it as our appearing together in good spirits."

"Mine," cried I, "are broken entirely. I have no wish to wear the semblance of pleasure, while my heart is bowed down with woe."

"But we must do disagreeable things sometimes to keep up appearances. That vile woman, as you justly call her, would be happy to have it in her power to spread her calumny; we may in part prevent it: besides, I promised the Baron I would not let you sit moping at home, but draw you out into company, at the same time giving you as much of mine as I could, and as I found agreeable to you."

"I beg you to be assured, my dear, that the company of no one can be more so than your's. And, as I have no doubts of your sincere wish for my welfare, I will readily submit myself to your discretion. But how shall I be able to confront that infamous Lady Anne, who will most probably be there?" "Never mind her; let conscious merit support you. Reflect on your own worth, nor cast one thought on such a wretch. I will dine with you; and in the evening we will prepare for this visit."

I made no enquiry why the Baron recommended me so strongly to Miss Finch. I thought such enquiry might lead us farther than was prudent; besides, I knew Miss Finch had a _tendre_ for him, and therefore, through the course of the day, I never mentioned his name. Miss Finch was equally delicate as myself; our discourse then naturally fell on indifferent subjects; and I found I grew towards the evening much more composed than I had been for some time. The party was large; but, to avoid conversation as much as possible, I sat down to a quadrille-table with Miss Finch; and, encouraged by her looks and smiles, which I believe the good girl forced into her countenance to give me spirits, I got through the evening tolerably well. The next morning, I walked with my friend into the Park. I never dine out, as I would wish always to be at home at meal-times, lest Sir William should chuse to give me his company, but that is very seldom the case; and as to the evenings, I never see him, as he does not come home till three or four in the morning, and often stays out the whole night. We have of course separate apartments. Adieu, my beloved! Would to God I could fly into your arms, and there forget my sorrows!

Your's, most affectionately,

J.S.