He did ask me; and desired me to engage my cousins.  But he repeated not the invitation when he went away.

He depends upon your coming:  and so do we.  He is to talk to me before you, it seems:  I can’t tell about what:  but by his hurrying on every thing, it is plain he is preparing to leave us.

He is, madam.

‘He is, madam!’ And with that dejected air, and mendicant voice—­Speak up like a woman!—­The sooner he sets out, if he must go, the sooner he will return.  Come, come, Harriet, you shall be Lady Grandison still—­Ah! and that sigh too!  These love-sick folks have a language that nobody else can talk to them in:  and then she affectedly sighed—­Is that right, Harriet?—­She sighed again—­No, it is not:  I never knew what a sigh was, but when my father vexed my sister; and that was more for fear he should one day be as cruel to me, than for her sake.  We can be very generous for others, Harriet, when we apprehend that one day we may want the same pity ourselves.  Our best passions, my dear, have their mixtures of self-love.

You have drawn a picture of human nature, Charlotte, that I don’t like.

It is a likeness for all that.

She arose, snatched my hand, hurried to the door—­Be with us, Harriet, and cousin Reeves, and cousin Reeves, as soon as you can to-morrow.  I want to talk to you, my dear (to me) of an hundred thousand things before dinner.  Remember we dine early.

Away she fluttered—­Happy Miss Grandison!  What charming spirits she has!

LETTER XIII

Miss Byron.—­In continuation
Wednesday, April 5.

Miss Jervois came to me this morning by six; impatient, as she said, to communicate good news to me.  I was in my closet writing.  I could not sleep.

I have seen my mother, said she; and we are good friends.  Was she ever unkind to me, madam?

Dear creature! said I, and clasped her to my bosom, you are a sweet girl!  Oblige me with the particulars.

Let me, Lucy, give you, as near as I can recollect, the amiable young creature’s words and actions on this occasion.

Sit down, my love, said I.—­What!  When I am talking of a reconciled mother!  And to dear Miss Byron!—­No, indeed.

She often held out one open hand, while the forefinger of the other, in full action, patted it; as at other times both were spread, with pretty wonder and delight:  and thus she began:—­

Why, you must know, it was about six o’clock yesterday afternoon, that my mother and her husband, and Captain Salmonet, came.  I was told of their visit but two hours before:  and when the coach stopped, and I at the window saw them alight, I thought I should have fainted away.  I would have given half I was worth in the world to have been an hundred miles off.