"Oh! you ladies have such penetrating eyes," replied his Lordship, "that we poor men--and especially the married ones, ought to be careful how we conduct ourselves. But, my dear Lady Stanley, how have you been entertained? Was not Rauzzini exquisite?" "Can you ask how her Ladyship has been amused, when you have just informed her, her _Caro Sposo_ was seen with a favourite Sultana?" "Pshaw!" said his Lordship, "there is nothing in that--_tout la mode de François_. The conduct of an husband can not discompose a Lady of sense. What says the lovely Lady Stanley?" "I answer," I replied very seriously, "Sir William has an undoubted right to act as he pleases. I never have or ever intend to prescribe rules to him; sufficient, I think, to conduct self." "Bravo!" cried Lord Biddulph, "spoke like a heroine: and I hope my dear Lady Stanley will act as she pleases too." "I do when I can," I answered.--Then, turning to Lady Anne, "Not to break in on your amusement," I continued, "will you give me leave to wait on you to Brook-street? you know you have promised to sup with me." "Most chearfully," said she;--"but will you not ask the beaux to attend us?" Lord Biddulph said, he was most unfortunately engaged to Lady D--'s route. The Baron refused, as if he wished to be intreated. Lady Anne would take no denial; and, when I assured him his company would give me pleasure, he consented. I was handed to the coach by his Lordship, who took that opportunity of condemning Sir William's want of taste; and lavishing the utmost encomiums on your Julia--with whom they passed as nothing. If Sir William is unfaithful, Lord Biddulph is not the man to reconcile me to the sex. I feel his motives in too glaring colours. No, the soft timidity of Ton-hausen, which, while it indicates the profoundest respect, still betrays the utmost tenderness--he it is alone who could restore the character of mankind, and raise it again in my estimation. But what have I said? Dear Louisa, I blush at having discovered to you, that I am, past all doubt, the object of the Baron's tender sentiments. Ah! can I mistake those glances, which modest reserve and deference urge him to correct? Yet fear me not. I am married. My vows are registered in the book of heaven; and as, by their irreversible decree, I am bound to _honour_ and _obey_ my husband, so will I strive to _love_ him, and him alone; though I have long since ceased to be the object of his? Of what consequence, however, is that? I am indissolubly united to him; he was the man of my choice--to say he was the first man I almost ever saw--and to plead my youth and inexperience--oh! what does that avail? Nor does his neglect justify the least on my part. "For man the lawless libertine may rove."