ult that I have lost my influence
with him, or that he has forfeited every claim to my regard? And should
I seek a reconciliation with him, when I feel that I abhor him, and that
he despises me? and while he continues still to correspond with Lady
Lowborough, as I know he does? No, never, never, never! he may drink
himself dead, but it is NOT my fault!

Yet I do my part to save him still: I give him to understand that
drinking makes his eyes dull, and his face red and bloated; and that it
tends to render him imbecile in body and mind; and if Annabella were to
see him as often as I do, she would speedily be disenchanted; and that
she certainly will withdraw her favour from him, if he continues such
courses. Such a mode of admonition wins only coarse abuse for me--and,
indeed, I almost feel as if I deserved it, for I hate to use such
arguments; but they sink into his stupefied heart, and make him pause,
and ponder, and abstain, more than anything else I could say.

At present I am enjoying a temporary relief from his presence: he is gone
with Hargrave to join a distant hunt, and will probably not be back
before to-morrow evening. How differently I used to feel his absence!

Mr. Hargrave is still at the Grove. He and Arthur frequently meet to
pursue their rural sports together: he often calls upon us here, and
Arthur not unfrequently rides over to him. I do not think either of
these soi-disant friends is overflowing with love for the other; but such
intercourse serves to get the time on, and I am very willing it should
continue, as it saves me some hours of discomfort in Arthur's society,
and gives him some better employment than the sottish indulgence of his
sensual appetites. The only objection I have to Mr. Hargrave's being in
the neighbourhood, is that the fear of meeting him at the Grove prevents
me from seeing his sister so often as I otherwise should; for, of late,
he has conducted himself towards me with such unerring propriety, that I
have almost forgotten his former conduct. I suppose he is striving to
'win my esteem.' If he continue to act in this way, he may win it; but
what then? The moment he attempts to demand anything more, he will lose
it again.

February 10th.--It is a hard, embittering thing to have one's kind
feelings and good intentions cast back in one's teeth. I was beginning
to relent towards my wretched partner; to pity his forlorn, comfortless
condition, unalleviated as it is by the