Mr. Robinson engaged a lodging near Berners Street, whither we repaired
on the same evening. My little collection of poems, which I had arranged
for publication, and which had been ready ever since my marriage, I now
determined to print immediately. They were indeed trifles, very trifles;
I have since perused them with a blush of self-reproof, and wondered how
I could venture on presenting them to the public. I trust that there is
not a copy remaining, excepting that which my dear, partial mother
fondly preserved, and which is now in my possession.

I had been in town a few days, when some female friends persuaded me to
accompany a party which they had formed to Ranelagh. Mr. Robinson
declined going, but after much entreaty I consented. I had now been
married near two years; my person was considerably improved; I was grown
taller than when I became Mr. Robinson's wife, and I had now more the
manners of a woman of the world than those of girlish simplicity, which
had hitherto characterised me, though I had been some months absent from
London, and a part of them rusticated among mountains. The dress which I
wore was plain and simple; it was composed of pale lilac lustring. My
head had a wreath of white flowers; I was complimented on my looks by
the whole party, and with little relish for public amusements, and a
heart throbbing with domestic solicitude, I accompanied the party
to Ranelagh.

The first person I saw, on entering the rotunda, was George Robert
Fitzgerald. He started as if he had received a shock of electricity. I
turned my head away, and would have avoided him; but he instantly
quitted two friends with whom he was walking, and presented himself to
me. He expressed great pleasure at seeing me once more in "the world;"
was surprised at finding me for the first time in public without my
husband, and requested permission to pay his respects to me at my house.