At the close of 1750, her brother Robert went in search of fortune to China, where, however, he found a grave. In the following year, she writes to her husband, who was on private business in the north: “I have sat so constantly in Lady Sandwich’s chimney-corner, I can give you little account of the world.” She playfully says to her absent lord: “I am glad you are so far tired of your monastic life as to think of returning to the secular state of a husband and member of Parliament.” She adds: “You have too many virtues for the contracted life of a monk, and, I thank my stars, are bound in another vow, one more fit for you, as it is social, and not selfish.” From Lady Sandwich’s chimney-corner, and from much study, mixed with every-day duties, it is pleasant to see her surrounded by the Ladies Stanhope and Mrs. Trevor, who were adjusting her dress when she went as the “queen-mother” to the subscription masquerade. The dress was “white satin, with fine new point for tuckers, kerchief and ruffles; pearl necklace and earrings, and pearls and diamonds on the head, and my hair curled after the Vandyke picture.” Mr. Montagu was so pleased with her appearance that, said the lady, “he has made me lay by my dress, to be painted in when I see Mr. Hoare again.” Better than her own presentment is her picture of the too famous Miss Chudleigh at this masquerade: “Miss Chudleigh’s dress, or rather undress, was remarkable. She was Iphigenia for the sacrifice; but so naked, the high priest might easily inspect the entrails of the victim. The maids of honour (not of maids the strictest) were so offended, they would not speak to her.” It was with happy facility Mrs. Montagu turned from the studies she loved and the duties which she came to consider as her privilege, to the gayest scenes of life. “Though,” say she, “the education of women is always too frivolous, I am glad mine had such a qualification of the serious as to fit me for the relish of the _belles bagatelles_.” No one better understood the uses of money. When her husband was in the north furthering his coal interests, she wrote to him: “Though the coldness of our climate may set coals in a favourable light, I shall be glad to see as many of them turned to the precious metal as possible.... I have a very good opinion of Mr. Montagu and his wife. I like the prospect of these golden showers, and so I congratulate you upon them; but, most of all, I congratulate you upon the disposition of mind which made you put the account of them in a postscript.” The last words of her own letters to her husband were invariably affectionate, with a sentiment of submission that has a very old-fashioned air about it. For example: