"Suppose he were to love me!" thought I, and the idea caused my heart to beat wildly. I would not dwell upon it. It was ridiculous. It would only expose me to after-disappointment. What was I, that Lord Ponsonby should think about me? What could I ever be to him? Still there was no reason which I could discover, why I might not love Lord Ponsonby. I was made for love, and I looked for no return. I should have liked him to have been assured that for the rest of his life mine was devoted to him. In short, though I scarcely ventured to admit it, hope did begin to predominate. I was young, and my wishes had hitherto rarely been suppressed by disappointment. My reflections were interrupted by my servant, who brought me a letter from George Brummell, full of nonsensical vows and professions. "When," he wrote, "beautiful Harriette, will you admit me into your house? Why so obstinately refuse my visits? Tell me, I do entreat you, when I may but throw myself at your feet without fear of derision from a public homage on the pavement, or dislocation from the passing hackney coaches?" The rest I have forgotten. Wellington called on me the next morning before I had finished my breakfast. I tried him on every subject I could muster. On all, he was most impenetrably taciturn. At last he started an original idea of his own; actual copyright, as Stockdale would call it. "I wonder you do not get married, Harriette!" (By-the-bye, ignorant people are always wondering.) "Why so?" Wellington, however, gives no reason for anything unconnected with fighting, at least since the Convention of Cintra, and he therefore again became silent. Another burst of attic sentiment blazed forth. "I was thinking of you last night, after I got into bed," resumed Wellington. "How very polite to the duchess," I observed. "Apropos to marriage, duke, how do you like it?" Wellington, who seems to make a point of never answering one, continued, "I was thinking--I was thinking that you will get into some scrape, when I go to Spain." "Nothing so serious as marriage neither, I hope!" "I must come again to-morrow, to give you a little advice," continued Wellington. "Oh, let us have it all out now, and have done with it." "I cannot," said Wellington, putting on his gloves, and taking a hasty leave of me. "I am glad he is off," thought I, "for this is indeed very uphill work. This is worse than Lord Craven." As soon as he was gone, I hastened to Curzon Street. The window-shutters of Lord Ponsonby's house were all closed. How disappointed and low-spirited I felt at the idea that his lordship had left town! Suspense was insufferable; so I ventured to send my servant to inquire when the family were expected in London. "In about a month," was the answer. "I must forget this man," thought I, "it is far too great a bore": and yet I felt that to forget him was impossible.