me; and if I
were once safe there, and in a lodging to my liking, he would go to M.
Hall. But, as I approved not of London, he would urge it no further.

He proposed, and I consented, to put up at an inn in the neighbourhood
of The Lawn (as he called Lord M.'s seat in this county) since I chose
not to go thither. And here I got two hours to myself; which I told him
I should pass in writing another letter to you, (meaning my narrative,
which, though greatly fatigued, I had begun at St. Alban's,) and in one
to my sister, to apprise the family (whether they were solicitous about
it or not) that I was well; and to beg that my clothes, some particular
books, and the fifty guineas I had left in my escritoire, might be sent
me.

He asked, if I had considered whither to have them directed?

Indeed, not I, I told him: I was a stranger to--

So was he, he interrupted me; but it struck him by chance--

Wicked story-teller!

But, added he, I will tell you, Madam, how it shall be managed--If
you don't choose to go to London, it is, nevertheless, best that your
relations should think you there; for then they will absolutely despair
of finding you. If you write, be pleased to direct, to be left for you,
at Mr. Osgood's, near Soho-square. Mr. Osgood is a man of reputation:
and this will effectually amuse them.

Amuse them, my dear!--Amuse whom?--My father!--my uncles!--But it must
be so!----All his expedients ready, you see!

I had no objection to this: and I have written accordingly. But what
answer I shall have, or whether any, that is what gives me no small
anxiety.

This, however, is one consolation, that if I have an answer, and
although my brother should be the writer, it cannot be more severe than
the treatment I have of late received from him and my sister.

Mr. Lovelace staid out about an hour and half; and then came in;
impatiently sending up to me no less than four times, to desire
admittance. But I sent him word as often, that I was busy; and at last,
that I should be so, till dinner was ready. He then hastened that, as I
heard him now-and-then, with a hearty curse upon the cook and waiters.

This is another of his perfections. I ventured afterwards to check him
for his free words, as we sat at dinner.

Having heard him swear at his servant, when below, whom, nevertheless,
he owns to be a good one; it is a sad life, said I, these innkeepers
live, Mr. Lovelace.

No; pretty well, I believe--but why, Madam, thi