Meanwhile, how was the
Beauty occupied? Will it be believed that my severe aunt gave a great
entertainment to my Lady Yarmouth, presented her boy to her, and placed
poor little Miles under her ladyship's august protection? That, so
far, is certain; but can it be that she sent her daughter to stay at my
lady's house, which our gracious lord and master daily visited, and with
the views which old Aunt Bernstein attributed to her? "But for that
fit of apoplexy, my dear," Bernstein said, "that aunt of yours intended
there should have been a Countess in her own right in the Warrington
family!" [Compare Walpole's letters in Mr. Cunningham's excellent new
edition. See the story of the supper at N. House, to show what great
noblemen would do for a king's mistress, and the pleasant account of
the waiting for the Prince of Wales before Holland House.-EDITOR.] My
neighbour and kinswoman, my Lady Claypole, is dead and buried. Grow
white, ye daisies, upon Flora's tomb! I can see my pretty Miles, in a
gay little uniform of the Norfolk Militia, led up by his parent to the
lady whom the King delighted to honour, and the good-natured old Jezebel
laying her hand upon the boy's curly pate. I am accused of being but a
lukewarm royalist; but sure I can contrast those times with ours, and
acknowledge the difference between the late sovereign and the present,
who, born a Briton, has given to every family in the empire an example
of decorum and virtuous life. [The Warrington MS. is dated 1793.-ED.]

Thus my life sped in the pleasantest of all occupation; and, being so
happy myself, I could afford to be reconciled to those who, after all,
had done me no injury, but rather added to the zest of my happiness by
the brief obstacle which they had placed in my way. No specific plans
were formed, but Theo and I knew that a day would come when we need
say Farewell no more. Should the day befall a year hence--ten years
hence--we were ready to wait. Day after day we discussed our little
plans, with Hetty for our confidante. On our drives we spied out pretty
cottages that we thought might suit young people of small means; we
devised all sorts of delightful schemes and childish economies. We were
Strephon and Chloe to be sure. A cot and a brown loaf should content us!
Gumbo and Molly should wait upon us (as indeed they have done from that
day until this). At twenty, who is afraid of being poor? Our trials
would only confirm our attachment. The "sweet sorrow"