er with perfect self-command, and without betraying the
least tenderness of spirit. She hardly spoke to her, and on Frederica's
bursting into tears as soon as we were seated, took her out of the room,
and did not return for some time. When she did, her eyes looked very red
and she was as much agitated as before. We saw no more of her daughter.
Poor Reginald was beyond measure concerned to see his fair friend in
such distress, and watched her with so much tender solicitude, that I,
who occasionally caught her observing his countenance with exultation,
was quite out of patience. This pathetic representation lasted the whole
evening, and so ostentatious and artful a display has entirely convinced
me that she did in fact feel nothing. I am more angry with her than ever
since I have seen her daughter; the poor girl looks so unhappy that my
heart aches for her. Lady Susan is surely too severe, for Frederica
does not seem to have the sort of temper to make severity necessary.
She looks perfectly timid, dejected, and penitent. She is very
pretty, though not so handsome as her mother, nor at all like her. Her
complexion is delicate, but neither so fair nor so blooming as Lady
Susan's, and she has quite the Vernon cast of countenance, the oval face
and mild dark eyes, and there is peculiar sweetness in her look when she
speaks either to her uncle or me, for as we behave kindly to her we have
of course engaged her gratitude.

Her mother has insinuated that her temper is intractable, but I never
saw a face less indicative of any evil disposition than hers; and from
what I can see of the behaviour of each to the other, the invariable
severity of Lady Susan and the silent dejection of Frederica, I am
led to believe as heretofore that the former has no real love for her
daughter, and has never done her justice or treated her affectionately.
I have not been able to have any conversation with my niece; she is shy,
and I think I can see that some pains are taken to prevent her being
much with me. Nothing satisfactory transpires as to her reason for
running away. Her kind-hearted uncle, you may be sure, was too fearful
of distressing her to ask many questions as they travelled. I wish it
had been possible for me to fetch her instead of him. I think I should
have discovered the truth in the course of a thirty-mile journey. The
small pianoforte has been removed within these few days, at Lady Susan's
request, into her dressing-room, and Frede