the man of my choice; and till I find such a one, I shall continue to
subscribe my name

ELIZA WHARTON.


LETTER XI.

TO MR. CHARLES DEIGHTON.

NEW HAVEN.

Well, Charles, I have been manoeuvring to-day a little revengefully.
That, you will say, is out of character. So baleful a passion does not
easily find admission among those softer ones which you well know I
cherish. However, I am a mere Proteus, and can assume any shape that
will best answer my purpose.

I called this afternoon, as I told you I intended, at General Richman's.
I waited some time in the parlor alone before Eliza appeared; and when
she did appear, the distant reserve of her manners and the pensiveness
of her countenance convinced me that she had been vexed, and I doubted
not but Peter Sanford was the occasion. Her wise cousin, I could have
sworn, had been giving her a detail of the vices of her gallant, and
warning her against the dangers of associating with him in future.
Notwithstanding, I took no notice of any alteration in her behavior, but
entered with the utmost facetiousness into a conversation which I
thought most to her taste. By degrees she assumed her usual vivacity;
cheerfulness and good humor again animated her countenance. I tarried
as long as decency would admit. She having intimated that they were to