There it is, my Lord.

Then on went the spectacles, and his head moved to the lines--a charming
pretty hand!--I have often heard that this lady is a genius.

And so, Jack, repeating my Lord's wise comments and questions will let
thee into the contents of this merciless letter.

'Monday, July 3,' [reads my Lord.]--Let me see!--that was last Monday; no
longer ago! 'Monday, July the third--Madam--I cannot excuse myself'--um,
um, um, um, um, um, [humming inarticulately, and skipping,]--'I must own
to you, Madam, that the honour of being related'----

Off went the spectacles--Now, tell me, Sir-r, Has not this lady lost all
the friends she had in the world for your sake?

She has very implacable friends, my Lord: we all know that.

But has she not lost them all for your sake?--Tell me that.

I believe so, my Lord.

Well then!--I am glad thou art not so graceless as to deny that.

On went the spectacles again--'I must own to you, Madam, that the honour
of being related to ladies as eminent for their virtue as for their
descent.'--Very pretty, truly! saith my Lord, repeating, 'as eminent for
their virtue as for their descent, was, at first, no small inducement
with me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace's address.'