And so on.

Possibly if Lady Mary had had less brains and more passion, if she had
not so calmly worked out the permutations and combinations of married
life, the alliance might have been more successful. She, with all her
intelligence, did not seem to realise that matrimony is not an affair of
rules and regulations, of aphorisms and epigrams, nor that the lines on
which husband and wife shall conduct themselves to a happy ending can be
settled by a study of vulgar fractions.

Anyhow, the plunge was at last taken--with some not unnatural
trepidation on the part of the twenty-three-year-old bride. On Friday
night, August 15, 1712, she wrote to Montagu:


"I tremble for what we are doing.--Are you sure you will love me for
ever? Shall we never repent? I fear and I hope. I forsee all that will
happen on this occasion. I shall incense my family in the highest
degree. The generality of the world will blame my conduct, and the
relations and friends of ---- will invent a thousand stories of me; yet,
'tis possible, you may recompense everything to me. In this letter,
which I am fond of, you promise me all that I wish. Since I writ so far,
I received your Friday letter. I will be only yours, and I will do what
you please.

"You shall hear from me again to-morrow, not to contradict, but to give
some directions. My resolution is taken. Love me and use me well."