My brother left the room with these words. My mother was downright in a passion, but soon cooled on his withdrawing. My spirits were quite fatigued; and my mother left me, that I might take a little rest. What a strange alteration have a few days produced! our domestic peace broke in upon by the unlucky difference between my mother and my brother. My near prospect of--of--oh! let me be ingenuous, and say Happiness, vanished--Poor Mr Faulkland! _Poor_ do I call him? for shame, Sidney--but let the word go; I will not blot it. Mr Faulkland forbid the house, myself harassed by a cruel disorder, and hardly able to crawl out of bed. All this fallen on me within these last fourteen black days. Then I dread the going abroad, or seeing company, I shall look so silly; for the intended wedding began to be talked of;--and the curiosity of people to know the cause of it's being broke off--What wild guesses will be made by some, and what lies invented by others! Then the ill-natured mirth of one half of the girls of my acquaintance, and the _as_ provoking condolements of the other hand--I am fretted at the thoughts of it--but it cannot be helped; I must bear it all--I wish I were well enough to get into the country, to be out of the reach of such impertinence. I long to know who this ill-fated girl is, that has been the cause of all this. _A gentlewoman, and very pretty; one that loves Mr Faulkland, and will shortly make him a parent._ Thus my mother described her to Mr Faulkland, and he assented to it. Oh! fie, fie, Mr Faulkland, how could you be so cruel to _her_? How could you use _me_ so ill? and Sir George knew of all this, and makes light of it! it is a strange story! My mother is severe in her virtue, but she is in the right--My brother would sacrifice every consideration to aggrandize his family--To make a purchase of the unhappy creature, and that without her knowlege too, it is horrid! Away, away from my thoughts, thou vile intruder--Return to your Bath mistress, she has a better right to you than I have; she implores your pity; she has no refuge but you; and she may be every way preferable to me--I wish I knew her name, but what is it to me; _mine_ will never be Faulkland, _hers_ ought. Perhaps Mr Faulkland may be induced to marry her, when he sees her in her present interesting situation. He says he will provide a retreat for her; to be sure he will have the compassion to visit her: and then who knows what may happen? If I know my own heart, I think I do most sincerely wish he may make her his wife; but then I would not chuse to have it known suddenly; that might look as if he forsook me for her. _That_, I own, would a little hurt my pride. I wish not the truth to be known, for Mr Faulkland's sake; but then I should not like to have a slur thrown on me. I will add no more to this, but send the packet off at all events; I think it will find you at Paris. _August 1_