"Hard, cold, insensate man!" cried Lady Hamlet Vernon, when she reached her own apartment; "but he shall be met with an equal share of self-love. I will subdue this haughty nature, and mock at him, when his hour of suffering arrives. If he loved passionately any thing, even that doll, that infant, that piece of clock-work Lady Adeline Seymour, I could forgive him; but he does not, it is a systematical pursuit of an ideal perfection, that leaves his heart always cold and untouched, and fenced round as it were with adamant. Proud D'Esterre, thou shalt weep for this"--and she paused for a moment, then collecting all her thoughts, her final resolution was taken, and availing herself of a communication which she had to make to Mr. Foley, who she trusted might be instrumental to her purpose, with a breaking heart, and with contending feelings she seized a pen, and traced the following letter: "I am happy to inform you, my dear Mr. Foley, that the official patronage, which you have long wished me to procure for you, is now actually obtained, and your arrival in town is all that is wanted to arrange the necessary preliminaries. A letter received yesterday informs me of this; but in the interim, I wish you could make it convenient to pass a few days here on your road to London; for between ourselves, this place and its society is insufferably dull; and were it not for tilt and tournament between Lord Tonnerre and Lady Tilney (who you know under the rose cannot hear each other,) we must have all gone to sleep, or torn one another to pieces, or eaten our own paws, like antediluvian hyenas, from the absolute want of mental nourishment. But in this predicament, resembling people reduced to starvation on a sea voyage, we cast lots to see who should first be sacrificed for the benefit of the rest, and fortunately by the address of Lady Tilney, the lot was made to fall on Lord Tonnerre, who finished his existence amongst us, as he always lived, in a storm of passion; the only one of the party, I believe, who regrets his absence, is Lady Baskerville, who is now _sans cavalier_, and in the Roman phraseology, _d'impeccarsi_. I advise you then by all means to come quickly, and to supply the vacancy. "But to leave joking, I must tell you my dear friend, that I languish for a rational companion, and one who will kindly enter into my feelings; nobody understands me here;--too good, and too bad, I am like Mahomet's tomb, hanging between heaven and earth, and I find no resting place for my sick soul, nor shall I, 'till you come with your kindly smile, to solace my weary spirit. Come, therefore, and that without delay, for you well know that when any thing is to be done, it had best be done quickly--all delays are dangerous, and with me they are despair.