Your brother looks like an angel this morning; he is not drest, he
is not undrest, but somehow, easy, elegant and enchanting: he has no
powder, and his hair a little _degagée_, blown about by the wind,
and agreably disordered; such fire in his countenance; his eyes say a
thousand agreable things; he is in such spirits as I never saw him:
not a man of them has the least chance to-day. I shall be in love with
him if he goes on at this rate: not that it will be to any purpose in
the world; he never would even flirt with me, though I have made him a
thousand advances.

My heart is so light, Lucy, I cannot describe it: I love Emily at my
soul: 'tis three years since I saw her, and there is something so
romantic in finding her in Canada: there is no saying how happy I am: I
want only you, to be perfectly so.

3 o'clock.

The messenger is returned; Sir George is gone with a party of French
ladies to Lake Charles: Emily blushed when the message was delivered;
he might reasonably suppose they would be here to-day, as the wind was
fair: your brother dances with my sweet friend; she loses nothing by
the exchange; she is however a little piqued at this appearance of
disrespect.

12 o'clock.

Sir George came just as we sat down to supper; he did right, he
complained first, and affected to be angry she had not sent an express
from _Point au Tremble_. He was however gayer than usual, and very