At last, when she saw the eve of her departure was come, that every preparation was made for a long journey; that she was receiving farewell visits in form, and that still she heard nothing from Hamilton, both her hopes and her patience forsook her in this wretched situation.  A few tears perhaps might have afforded her some relief, but she chose rather to deny herself that comfort, than to give her husband so much satisfaction.  Hamilton’s conduct on this occasion appeared to her unaccountable; and as he still never came near her, she found means to convey to him the following billet.

“Is it possible that you should be one of those, who, without vouchsafing to tell me for what crime I am treated like a slave, suffer me to be dragged from society?  What means your silence and indolence in a juncture wherein your tenderness ought most particularly to appear, and actively exert itself?  I am upon the point of departing, and am ashamed to think that you are the cause of my looking upon it with horror, as I have reason to believe that you are less concerned at it than any other person:  do, at least, let me know to what place I am to be dragged; what is to be done with me within a wilderness? and on what account you, like all the rest of the world, appear changed in your behaviour towards a person whom all the world could not oblige to change with regard to you, if your weakness or your ingratitude did not render you unworthy of her tenderness.”

This billet did but harden his heart, and make him more proud of his vengeance:  he swallowed down full draughts of pleasure in beholding her reduced to despair, being persuaded that her grief and regret for her departure were on account of another person:  he felt uncommon satisfaction in having a share in tormenting her, and was particularly pleased with the scheme he had contrived to separate her from a rival, upon the very point perhaps of being made happy.  Thus fortified as he was against his natural tenderness, with all the severity of jealous resentment, he saw her depart with an indifference which he did not even endeavour to conceal from her:  this unexpected treatment, joined to the complication of her other misfortunes, had almost in reality plunged her into despair.

The court was filled with the story of this adventure; nobody was ignorant of the occasion of this sudden departure, but very few approved of Lord Chesterfield’s conduct.  In England they looked with astonishment upon a man who could be so uncivil as to be jealous of his wife; and in the city of London it was a prodigy, till that time unknown, to see a husband have recourse to violent means, to prevent what jealousy fears, and what it always deserves.  They endeavoured, however, to excuse poor Lord Chesterfield, as far as they could safely do it, without incurring the public odium, by laying all the blame on his bad education.  This made all the mothers vow to God that none of their sons should ever set a foot in Italy, lest they should bring back with them that infamous custom of laying restraint upon their wives.