Part 31 (1/2)

Yes, my dear, I love, at least I think so; but, thanks to my stars, not in the manner you do.

I prefer Fitzgerald to all the rest of his s.e.x; but _I count the hours of his absence in my existence_; and contrive sometimes to pa.s.s them pleasantly enough, if any other agreable man is in the way: in short, I relish flattery and attention from others, though I infinitely prefer them from him.

I certainly love him, for I was jealous of Madame La Brosse; but, in general, I am not alarmed when I see him flirt a little with others.

Perhaps my vanity was as much wounded as my love, with regard to Madame La Brosse.

I find love is quite a different plant in different soils; it is an exotic, and grows faintly, with us coquets; but in its native climate with you people of sensibility and sentiment.

Adieu! I will attend you in a quarter of an hour.

Yours, A. Fermor.

LETTER 108.

To Miss Fermor.

Not alarmed, my dear, at his attention to others? believe me, you know nothing of love.

I think every woman who beholds my Rivers a rival; I imagine I see in every female countenance a pa.s.sion tender and lively as my own; I turn pale, my heart dies within me, if I observe his eyes a moment fixed on any other woman; I tremble at the possibility of his changing; I cannot support the idea that the time may come when I may be less dear to my Rivers than at present. Do you believe it possible, my dearest Bell, for any heart, not prepossessed, to be insensible one moment to my Rivers?

He is formed to charm the soul of woman; his delicacy, his sensibility, the mind that speaks through those eloquent eyes; the thousand graces of his air, the sound of his voice--my dear, I never heard him speak without feeling a softness of which it is impossible to convey an idea.

But I am wrong to encourage a tenderness which is already too great; I will think less of him; I will not talk of him; do not speak of him to me, my dear Bell: talk to me of Fitzgerald; there is no danger of your pa.s.sion becoming too violent.

I wish you loved more tenderly, my dearest; you would then be more indulgent to my weakness: I am ashamed of owning it even to you.

Ashamed, did I say? no, I rather glory in loving the most amiable, the most angelic of mankind.

Speak of him to me for ever; I abhor all conversation of which he is not the subject. I am interrupted. Adieu!

Your faithful Emily.

My dearest, I tremble; he is at the door; how shall I meet him without betraying all the weakness of my heart? come to me this moment, I will not go down without you. Your father is come to fetch me; follow me, I entreat: I cannot see him alone; my heart is too much softened at this moment. He must not know to what excess he is beloved.

LETTER 109.

To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.

Quebec, March 28.

I am at present, my dear Lucy, extremely embarra.s.sed; Madame Des Roches is at Quebec: it is impossible for me not to be more than polite to her; yet my Emily has all my heart, and demands all my attention; there is but one way of seeing them both as often as I wish; 'tis to bring them as often as possible together: I wish extremely that Emily would visit her, but 'tis a point of the utmost delicacy to manage.

Will it not on reflection be cruel to Madame Des Roches? I know her generosity of mind, but I also know the weakness of the human heart: can she see with pleasure a beloved rival?