This idea disgusted me; and in a fit of anger I wrote to the Marquis of Lorne, merely to say that, if he would walk up to Duke's Row, Somers-town, he would meet a most lovely girl. This was his answer,-- "If you are but half as lovely as you think yourself, you must be well worth knowing; but how is that to be managed? Not in the street! but come to No. 39 Portland-street and ask for me. "L." My reply was this,-- "No! our first meeting must be on the high road, in order that I may have room to run away, in case I don't like you. "HARRIETTE." The marquis rejoined,-- "Well then, fair lady, to-morrow at four, near the turnpike, look for me on horseback, and then you know I can gallop away. "L." We met. The duke--he has since succeeded to the title--did not gallop away; and for my part I had never seen a countenance I had thought half so beautifully expressive. I was afraid to look at it, lest a closer examination might destroy all the new and delightful sensations his first glance had inspired in my breast. His manner was most gracefully soft and polished. We walked together for about two hours. "I never saw such a sunny, happy countenance as yours in my whole life," said Argyle to me. "Oh, but I am happier than usual to-day," answered I, very naturally. Before we parted, the duke knew as much of me and my adventures as I knew myself. He was very anxious to be allowed to call on me. "And how will your particular friend Frederick Lamb like that?" inquired I. The duke laughed. "Well then," said his grace, "do me the honour, some day, to come and dine or sup with me at Argyle House." "I shall not be able to run away, if I go there," I answered, laughingly, in allusion to my last note. "Shall you want to run away from me?" said Argyle; and there was something unusually beautiful and eloquent in his countenance, which brought a deep blush into my cheek. "When we know each other better?" added Argyle, beseechingly. "_En attendant_, will you walk again with me to-morrow?" I assented, and we parted. I returned to my home in unusual spirits: they were a little damped, however, by the reflection that I had been doing wrong. "I cannot," I reasoned with myself, "I cannot, I fear, become what the world calls a steady, prudent, virtuous woman. That time is past, even if I was ever fit for it. Still I must distinguish myself from those in the like unfortunate situations, by strict probity and love of truth. I will never become vile. I will always adhere to good faith, as long as anything like kindness or honourable principle is shown towards me: and, when I am ill used, I will leave my lover rather than deceive him.