late: he had delivered
his billet, and Lady Chesterfield had shewn such impatience and eagerness
to read it as soon as she had got it that all circumstances seemed to
conspire to justify her, and to confound him. She managed to get quit,
some way or other, of some troublesome visitors, to slip into her closet.
He thought himself so culpable that he had not the assurance to wait her
return: he withdrew with the rest of the company; but he did not dare to
appear before her the next day, to have an answer to his letter: however,
he met her at court; and this was the first time, since the commencement
of their amour, that he did not seek for her. He stood at a distance,
with downcast looks, and appeared in such terrible embarrassment that his
condition was sufficient to raise laughter or to cause pity, when Lady
Chesterfield approaching, thus accosted him: "Confess," said she, "that
you are in as foolish a situation as any man of sense can be: you wish
you had not written to me: you are desirous of an answer: you hope for
none: yet you equally wish for and dread it: I have, however, written you
one." She had not time to say more; but the few words she had spoken
were accompanied with such an air, and such a look, as to make him
believe that it was Venus with all her graces who had addressed him. He
was near her when she sat down to cards, and as he was puzzling himself
to devise by what means he should get this answer, she desired him to lay
her gloves and fan down somewhere: he took them, and with them the billet
in question; and as he had perceived nothing severe or angry in the
conversation he had with her, he hastened to open her letter, and read as
follows:

"Your transports are so ridiculous that it is doing you a favour to
attribute them to an excess of tenderness, which turns your head: a man,
without doubt, must have a great inclination to be jealous, to entertain
such an idea of the person you mention. Good God! what a lover to have
caused uneasiness to a man of genius, and what a genius to have got the
better of mine! Are not you ashamed to give any credit to the visions of
a jealous fellow who brought nothing else with him from Italy? Is it
possible that the story of the green stockings, upon which he has founded
his suspicions, should have imposed upon you, accompanied as it is with
such pitiful circumstances? Since he has made you his confidant, why did
not he boast of breaking in pieces my poor harmless guitar