To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Feb. 1.
We have passed three or four droll days, my dear. Emily persists in
resolving to break with Sir George; he thinks it decent to combat her
resolution, lest he should lose the praise of generosity: he is also
piqued to see her give him up with such perfect composure, though I am
convinced he will not be sorry upon the whole to be given up; he has,
from the first receipt of the letter, plainly wished her to resign
him, but hoped for a few faintings and tears, as a sacrifice to his
vanity on the occasion.
My father is setting every engine at work to make things up again,
supposing Emily to have determined from pique, not from the real
feelings of her heart: he is frighted to death lest I should
counterwork him, and so jealous of my advising her to continue a
conduct he so much disapproves, that he won't leave us a moment
together; he even observes carefully that each goes into her
respective apartment when we retire to bed.
This jealousy has started an idea which I think will amuse us, and
which I shall take the first opportunity of communicating to Emily;
'tis to write each other at night our sentiments on whatever passes in
the day; if she approves the plan, I will send you the letters, which
will save me a great deal of trouble in telling you all our _petites
histoires_.
This scheme will have another advantage; we shall be a thousand
times more sincere and open to each other by letter than face to face;
I have long seen by her eyes that the little fool has twenty things to
say to me, but has not courage; now letters you know, my dear,
"Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart."
Besides, it will be so romantic and pretty, almost as agreable as a
love affair: I long to begin the correspondence.
Adieu!
Yours,
A. Fermor.