but to dissemble is among the things I never do. I take more pains to
approve my conduct to myself than to the world; and would not have to
accuse myself of a minute's deceit. I wish I loved you enough to devote
myself to be for ever miserable, for the pleasure of a day or two's
happiness. I cannot resolve upon it. You must think otherwise of me, or
not at all."

"I don't enjoin you to burn this letter," she said in conclusion. "I
know you will. 'Tis the first I ever writ to one of your sex, and shall
be the last. You must never expect another. I resolve against all
correspondence of the kind--my resolutions are seldom made and never
broken."


Whatever happened to most of Lady Mary's resolutions, this one, at
least, was not kept. Actually, Lady Mary was not quite so emancipated at
this time of her life as she may have imagined. She never sent a letter,
except in fear and trembling. "I hazard a great deal if it falls
into other hands, and I write for all that," was her constant cry. Yet,
there was nothing in the correspondence, save the fact of it, to offend
even a most austere maiden aunt of the day.

The correspondence, of course, continued. The lovers, if so they can be
called, now indulged in a slightly acid academic discussion, or rather a
number of slightly acid academic discussions, about marriage. It is
evident that Montagu held strong views as to the duty of a wife; so
undoubtedly did Lady Mary--only, the trouble was, the views were by no
means identical. If he were determined to set himself up as the strong
loquacious man, his _fiancée_ was certainly not prepared meekly to obey
his behests in silence. They indulged in a somewhat candid examination