She smiled, and cast her eyes over my figure. My dress was a morning
_deshabille_ of India muslin, with a bonnet of straw, and a white lawn
cloak bordered with lace.

"You are Mr. Robinson's wife," said she, with a trembling voice. "I am
sure you are; and probably this ring was yours; pray receive it--"

I declined taking the ring. She continued, "Had I known that Mr.
Robinson was the husband of such a woman--"

I rose to leave her. She added, "I never will see him more,--unworthy
man,--I never will again receive him."

I could make no reply, but rose and departed.

On my return to Hatton Garden, I found my husband waiting dinner. I
concealed my chagrin. We had made a party that evening to Drury Lane
Theatre, and from thence to a select concert at the Count de
Belgeioso's, in Portman Square. Lord Lyttelton was to join us at both
places. We went to the play; but my agitation had produced such a
violent headache that I was obliged to send an apology for not keeping
our engagement at the imperial ambassador's.

On the following morning I spoke to Mr. Robinson respecting Miss Wilmot.
He did not deny that he knew such a person, that he had visited her; but
he threw all the blame of his indiscretion on Lord Lyttelton. He
requested to know who had informed me of his conduct. I refused to tell;
and he had too high an opinion of his false associate to suspect him of
such treachery.