I have deposited my letter to Mr. Lovelace. Threatening as things look
against me, I am much better pleased with myself for declining the
interview than I was before. I suppose he will be a little out of humour
upon it, however: but as I reserved to myself the liberty of changing my
mind; and as it is easy for him to imagine there may be reasons for it
within-doors, which he cannot judge of without; besides those I have
suggested, which of themselves are of sufficient weight to engage his
acquiescence; I should think it strange, if he acquiesces not on this
occasion, and that with a cheerfulness, which may shew me, that his last
letter is written from his heart: For, if he be really so much concerned
at his past faults, as he pretends, and has for some time pretended,
must he not, of course, have corrected, in some degree, the impetuosity
of his temper? The first step to reformation, as I conceive, is to
subdue sudden gusts of passion, from which frequently the greatest evils
arise, and to learn to bear disappointments. If the irascible passions
cannot be overcome, what opinion can we have of the person's power over
those to which bad habit, joined to greater temptation, gives stronger
force?
Pray, my dear, be so kind as to make inquiry, by some safe hand, after
the disguises Mr. Lovelace assumes at the inn he puts up at in the poor
village of Neale, he calls it. If it be the same I take it to be, I
never knew it was considerable enough to have a name; nor that it has an
inn in it.
As he must, to be so constantly near us, be much there, I would be glad
to have some account of his behaviour; and what the people think of him.
In such a length of time, he must by his conduct either give scandal,
or hope of reformation. Pray, my dear, humour me in this inquiry. I have
reason for it, which you shall be acquainted with another time, if the
result of the inquiry discover them not.