e you, that if I never see any thing in Mr. Lovelace that looks
like a design to humble me, his insolence shall never make me discover a
weakness unworthy of a person distinguished by your friendship; that is
to say, unworthy either of my sex, or of my former self.

But I hope, as I am out of all other protection, that he is not capable
of mean or low resentments. If he has had any extraordinary trouble on
my account, may he not thank himself for it? He may; and lay it, if he
pleases, to his character; which, as I have told him, gave at least a
pretence to my brother against him. And then, did I ever make him any
promises? Did I ever profess a love for him? Did I ever wish for the
continuance of his address? Had not my brother's violence precipitated
matters, would not my indifference to him in all likelihood (as I
designed it should) have tired out his proud spirit,* and make him set
out for London, where he used chiefly to reside? And if he had, would
not there have been an end of all his pretensions and hopes? For no
encouragement had I given him; nor did I then correspond with him.
Nor, believe me, should I have begun to do so--the fatal rencounter
not having then happened; which drew me in afterwards for others' sakes
(fool that I was!) and not for my own. And can you think, or can he,
that even this but temporarily-intended correspondence (which, by the
way, my mother* connived at) would have ended thus, had I not been
driven on one hand, and teased on the other, to continue it, the
occasion which had at first induced it continuing? What pretence then
has he, were I to be absolutely in his power, to avenge himself on me
for the faults of others, and through which I have suffered more than
he? It cannot, cannot be, that I should have cause to apprehend him to
be so ungenerous, so bad a man.

* See Vol.I. Letter IV.

You bid me not to be concerned at the bickerings between your mother and
you. Can I avoid concern, when those bickerings are on my account? That
they are raised (instigated shall I say?) by my uncle, and my other
relations, surely must add to my concern.

But I must observe, perhaps too critically for the state my mind is in
at present, that the very sentences you give from your mother, as in so
many imperatives, which you take amiss, are very severe reflections upon
yourself. For instance--You shall, I tell you, Nancy, implies that you
had disputed her will--and so of the rest.

And furth