now Quebec again; nothing but smiling faces now; all so gay as never
was, the sweetest country in the world; never expect to see me in
England again; one is really somebody here: I have been asked to dance
by only twenty-seven.

On the subject of dancing, I am, as it were, a little embarrassed:
you will please to observe that, in the time of scarcity, when all the
men were at Montreal, I suffered a foolish little captain to sigh and
say civil things to me, _pour passer le tems_, and the creature
takes the airs of a lover, to which he has not the least pretensions,
and chuses to be angry that I won't dance with him on Thursday, and I
positively won't.

It is really pretty enough that every absurd animal, who takes upon
him to make love to one, is to fancy himself entitled to a return: I
have no patience with the men's ridiculousness: have you, Lucy?

But I see a ship coming down under full sail; it may be Emily and
her friends: the colours are all out, they slacken sail; they drop
anchor opposite the house; 'tis certainly them; I must fly to the
beach: music as I am a person, and an awning on the deck: the boat puts
off with your brother in it. Adieu for a moment: I must go and invite
them on shore.

2 o'clock.

'Twas Emily and Mrs. Melmoth, with two or three very pretty French
women; your brother is a happy man: I found tea and coffee under the
awning, and a table loaded with Montreal fruit, which is vastly better
than ours; by the way, the colonel has brought me an immensity; he is
so gallant and all that: we regaled ourselves, and landed; they dine
here, and we dance in the evening; we are to have a syllabub in the
wood: my father has sent for Sir George and Major Melmoth, and half a
dozen of the most agreable men, from Quebec: he is enchanted with his
little Emily, he loved her when she was a child. I cannot tell you how
happy I am; my Emily is handsomer than ever; you know how partial I am
to beauty: I never had a friendship for an ugly woman in my life.

Adieu! _ma tres chere_.
Yours,
A. Fermor.

Your brother looks like an angel this morning; he is not drest, he
is not undrest, but somehow, easy, elegant and enchanting: he has no
powder, and his hair a little _degagee_, blown about by the wind,
and agreably disordered; such fire in his countenance; his eyes say a
thousand agreable things; he is in such spirits as I never saw him:
not a man of them has the least chance to-day. I shall