“Indeed, Sir, I resolved, if ever I came to town, to find out your haunts, if possible, and I have not ‘said anything that is not,’ nor am at all naughty in this respect, for I give you my word, endeavours have not been wanting. You never go to public places. I knew not where to look for you (without making myself known) except in the Park, which place I have frequented most warm days. Once I fancied I met you; I gave a sort of a fluttering start, and surprised my company; but presently recollected you would not deceive me by appearing in a grey, instead of a whitish coat; besides the cane was wanting, otherwise I might have supposed you in mourning.” Could anything exceed this touch about “a grey, instead of a whitish coat,” except the finishing one of the “mole upon your left cheek?” “To be sure on the Saturday you mention, I was dressing for court, as you supposed, and have never been in the Park upon a Sunday; but you cannot be sure that I have not seen you. How came I to know that you have a mole upon your left cheek? But not to make myself appear more knowing than I am, I’ll tell you, Sir, that I have only seen you in effigy, in company with your Clarissa at Mr. Highmore’s, where I design making you another visit shortly.” All this and much more is followed by a most tantalizing and puzzling P.S. to poor Richardson. His fair, or rather “brown as an oak-wainscot, with a good deal-of-country-red in her cheeks” correspondent, requests him “to direct only to C. L., and enclose it to Miss J., to be left at Mrs. G.’s” etc. etc., previously observing that, “whenever there happens to be a fine Saturday I shall look for you in the Park, that being the day on which I suppose you are called that way.” Roused into desperation, Richardson on the 2nd February writes to Mrs. Belfour as follows:— “What pains does my unkind correspondent take to conceal herself! Loveless thought himself at liberty to change names without Act of Parliament. I wish, madam, that Lovelace—‘A sad dog,’ said a certain lady once, ‘why was he made so wicked, yet so agreeable?’