LETTER XVIII.

Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.

_Barford Abbey_.


Ruin'd and undone, as I hope for mercy!--undone too by my own egregious
folly!--She is quite lost,--quite out of my power.--I wish Lord Allen
had been in the bottom of the sea;--he can never make me amends;--no, if
he was to die to-morrow and leave me his whole fortune.--

I told you he was to dine here yesterday.--I cannot be
circumstantial.--He did dine here;--to my utter sorrow he did.

Oh what a charming morning I spent!--Tho' my angel persisted in going to
France, yet it was in a manner that made me love her, if possible, ten
thousand times more than ever.--Good God! had you seen how she
look'd!--But no matter now;--I must forget her angelical
sweetness.--Forget did I say?--No, by heaven and earth--she lives in
every corner of my heart.--I wish I had told her my whole soul.--I was
going to tell her, if I had not been interrupted.--It is too late
now.--She would not hear me: I see by her manners she would not hear me.
She has learnt to look with indifference:--even smiles with
indifference.--Why does she not frown? That would be joy to what her
smiles afford.--I hate such smiles; they are darts dipp'd in poison.--