LETTER IX.

The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.

_Bath_.


What a sacrifice do you offer up to that old dog Plutus!--I have lost
_all_ patience,--_all_ patience, I say.--_Such_ a woman!--_such_ an
angelic woman!--But what has,--what will avail my arguments?--Her peace
is gone,--if you persevere in a behaviour so _particular_,--absolutely
gone.

Bridgman this morning told me, that unless I assured him you had
_pretensions_ to Miss Warley, he was determined to offer her his
hand;--_that_ nothing prevented him from doing it whilst at the Abbey,
but your mysterious conduct, which he was at a loss how to construe.
--Not to offend _you_, the _Lady_ or _family_ she is with, he apply'd,
he said, to _me_, as a friend of each party, to set him right.

Surely, Bridgman, returned I, you wish to keep yourself in the dark; or
how the duce have you been six days with people whose countenances speak
so much sensibility, and not make the discovery you seek after?

Though her behaviour to us; continued I, was politeness itself, was
there nothing more than _politeness_ in her address to Lord Darcey?--Her