"'Fair lady, since I have been allowed to make so very valuable an acquaintance as that of your horse-marine, my conscience will not permit me to interfere with his happiness:' and we hastened out of the house before the lady could recover from her confusion and surprise." "Now, duke," said I, "there's the door," placing myself before the fire, and pointing to it in humble imitation of Fitzgerald. Leinster took this gentle, delicate hint, with much good-nature, and left me at about two o'clock. I felt really ashamed of myself and, hurrying on my travelling dress, was soon with my maid, on our road to _The Cock_ at Sutton. Fred Lamb was waiting at the door, and his joy, on perceiving my carriage, overcame all his late vexation. "I shall be nicely quizzed and laughed at," said Fred Lamb. "Harry Wyndham and Lord Egremont alighted here this morning, on their road to his lordship's house at Brighton. They asked me so many questions as to where I was going, that I was obliged to confess I was waiting for somebody to meet me. They remained with me an hour. 'Why you will not wait any longer, surely,' said Harry! 'Who can the cruel fair one be?' It was too bad of you." "Well, do not scold," I answered, "for I could not help it." Fred Lamb had a book in his pocket, and he read to me in the garden while our dinner was preparing. His remarks on the fine poem he read were very sensible; but his manner of reading, like that of his brother William, I dislike: it might rather be called singing; and yet some say it is proper, and all admit it to be the fashion to read so. We had an excellent dinner and, as long as I saw daylight, I kept in pretty good spirits; but when the waiter brought us candles, and we seemed as though settled for the night at _The Cock_ at Sutton, my heart completely failed me. I tried hard to reason myself out of this repugnance. I argued with myself that, since I had already been under Frederick's protection, one night more or less could not make much difference,--that to leave him now were to treat him really ill and make, perhaps, a bitter enemy of a man well disposed towards me: but all would not do. "I cannot help it," said I to myself, in a sort of frenzy, "I would rather die than pass another whole night with Fred Lamb, now the thing is gone by and I have been so attached to another." My case was desperate; for I almost equally dreaded telling Lamb I would not stay with him. "Fred Lamb," said I, at last, absolutely pale with terror, "I really must return to town to night. Do not ask me why, for you may be sure, if I wished to stay, I should not go, and, if I do not, my society cannot be worth having, to a man of taste, who can easily make himself beloved and desired by more likeable objects than I am. You will, I know, have a right to reproach me with caprice, because my good heart made me wish to avoid the appearance of unkindness towards an old friend; _mais vous savez bien que les passions ne se commandent pas._"