and away you go! This joke wears the sallow cast of
thought; for, though I began to write cheerfully, some melancholy
tears have found their way into my eyes, that linger there, whilst
a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers that you are one of the
best creatures in the world. Pardon then the vagaries of a mind
that has been almost 'crazed by care,' as well as 'crossed in
hapless love,' and bear with me a _little_ longer. When we are
settled in the country together, more duties will open before me;
and my heart, which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every
emotion that awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will learn to
rest on yours with that dignity your character, not to talk of my
own, demands."

The business at Havre apparently could not be easily settled. The date of
Imlay's return became more and more uncertain, and Mary grew restless at
his prolonged stay. This she let him know soon enough. She was not a
silent heroine willing to let concealment prey on her spirits. It was as
impossible for her to smile at grief as it was to remain unconscious of
her lover's shortcomings. Her first complaints, however, are half
playful, half serious. They were inspired by her desire to see him more
than by any misgiving as to the cause of his detention. On the 29th of
December she wrote:

"You seem to have taken up your abode at Havre. Pray, sir! when do
you think of coming home? or, to write very considerately, when
will business permit you? I shall expect (as the country people say
in England) that you will make a _power_ of money to indemnify me
for your absence....

"Well! but, my love, to the old story,--am I to see you this week,
or this month? I do not know what you are about, for as you did not
tell me, I would not ask Mr. ----, who is generally pretty
communicative."

But the playfulness quickly disappeared. Mary was ill, and her illness
aggravated her normal sensitiveness, while the terrible death-drama of
the Revolution was calculated to deepen rather than to relieve her gloom.
A day or two later she broke out vehemently:--

"... I hate commerce. How differently must ----'s head and heart be
organized from mine! You will tell me that exertions are necessary.
I am weary of them! The face of things public and private vexes me.
The 'peace' and clemency which seemed to be dawning a few d