isproportioned to the
offence--have so wounded his feelings, so deeply offended him, that I
fear he will never forgive me--and all for a mere jest! He thinks I
dislike him, and he must continue to think so. I must lose him for ever,
and Annabella may win him, and triumph as she will.

But it is not my loss nor her triumph that I deplore so greatly as the
wreck of my fond hopes for his advantage, and her unworthiness of his
affection, and the injury he will do himself by trusting his happiness to
her. She does not love him: she thinks only of herself. She cannot
appreciate the good that is in him: she will neither see it, nor value
it, nor cherish it. She will neither deplore his faults nor attempt
their amendment, but rather aggravate them by her own. And I doubt
whether she will not deceive him after all. I see she is playing double
between him and Lord Lowborough, and while she amuses herself with the
lively Huntingdon, she tries her utmost to enslave his moody friend; and
should she succeed in bringing both to her feet, the fascinating commoner
will have but little chance against the lordly peer. If he observes her
artful by-play, it gives him no uneasiness, but rather adds new zest to
his diversion by opposing a stimulating check to his otherwise too easy
conquest.

Messrs. Wilmot and Boarham have severally taken occasion by his neglect
of me to renew their advances; and if I were like Annabella and some
others I should take advantage of their perseverance to endeavour to
pique him into a revival of affection; but, justice and honesty apart, I
could not bear to do it. I am annoyed enough by their present
persecutions without encouraging them further; and even if I did it would
have precious little effect upon him. He sees me suffering under the
condescending attentions and prosaic discourses of the one, and the
repulsive obtrusions of the other, without so much as a shadow of
commiseration for me, or resentment against my tormentors. He never
could have loved me, or he would not have resigned me so willingly, and
he would not go on talking to everybody else so cheerfully as he
does--laughing and jesting with Lord Lowborough and my uncle, teasing
Milicent Hargrave, and flirting with Annabella Wilmot--as if nothing were
on his mind. Oh! why can't I hate him? I must be infatuated, or I
should scorn to regret him as I do. But I must rally all the powers I
have remaining, and try to tear him from my heart.