.—Matilda joined us, and read the letter she had written to Captain L—. I did not think that it sufficiently described either my affection or my distress; but as my mother approved of it, I did not presume to make any objection, but only engaged her promise to add a defence of my conduct, from the misapprehensions or misrepresentatations he seemed to have conceived or received before, with regard to it.
You know, my Edward, that my mother was integrity itself; she could not therefore bear to be guilty of the smallest deceit; and though Mr. W— had not pressed for any answer to his proposal,

on account of the accident that had happened to me, she resolved to tell him that there was a friend in America, without whose consent I was determined never to marry; that this person had been written to, and that he should be informed of his answer, the moment it arrived.
Mr. W— received this information with a very ill grace, but acquiesced so far as to say, that he could have no doubt of this unheard of guardian's consent to such an offer as his; and as an answer might arrive before I was perfectly restored to my health, there was no great harm in asking it; but he did not suppose that we should be weak enough to refuse his alliance, even though this particular friend might not approve of it.

My mother, though extremely disgusted at the roughness of his reply, concealed the coarseness of his expression from me, and I considered myself extremely obliged to him for not persecuting me any further, for the present, with his ungracious and unwelcome passion.
Matilda was obliged to return to her house at Bath; and as my mother spent most of her time in my chamber, and that Mr. W— was not permitted to make long visits to me, on pretence of the necessity of my being kept quiet, he grew weary of passing his domestic hours alone, and to my very great joy, set out for London.
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I have written so long, my dear Louisa, that I am scarce able to hold the pen, but I could not possibly stop in this interesting narrative, such I hope you will think it, till I came to what may properly be called a resting place—For though we do not leave Maria happy, her hopes and fears are held in equipoise, and this perhaps may not be one of the least eligible situations in human life.
Since I wrote to you I have had
