At supper, after a great many arguments used to comfort and reconcile me to my fate, he told me that his name was H..., brother to the Earl of L.... and that having, by the suggestions of my landlady, been led to see me, he had found me perfectly to his taste, and given her a commission to procure me at any rate, and that at length he had succeeded, as much to his satisfaction as he passionately wished it might be to mine adding, withal, some flattering assurances, that I should have no cause to repent my knowledge of him. I had now got down at least half a partridge, and three or four glasses of wine, which he compelled me to drink by way of restoring nature, but whether there was any thing extraordinary put into the wine, or whether there wanted no more to revive the natural warmth of my constitution, and give fire to the old train, I began no longer to look with that constraint, not to say disguise, on Mr. H...., which I had hitherto done but, withal, there was not the least grain of love mixed with this softening of my sentiments: any other man would have been just the same to me as Mr. H..., that stood in the same circumstances, and had done for me, and with me, what he had done. There are not, on earth at least, eternal griefs; mine were, if not at an end, at least suspended: my heart, which had been so long overloaded with anguish and vexation, began to dilate and open to the last gleam of diversion or amusement. I wept a little, and my tears relieved me; I sighed, and my sighs seemed to lighten me of a load that oppressed me; my countenance grew, if not cheerful, at least more composed and free.