I write gayly
enough, for there is no use in bewailing such a hopeless mischance. We
have not drawn the great prize in the lottery, dear Blanche: But I
shall be contented enough without it, if you can be so; and I repeat,
with all my heart, that I will do my best to make you happy.
"And now, what news shall I give you? My uncle is very unwell, and
takes my refusal of the seat in Parliament in sad dudgeon: the scheme
was his, poor old gentleman, and he naturally bemoans its failure. But
Warrington, Laura, and I had a council of war: they know this awful
secret, and back me in my decision. You must love George as you love
what is generous and upright and noble; and as for Laura--she must be
our sister, Blanche, our saint, our good angel. With two such friends
at home, what need we care for the world with-out, or who is member
for Clavering, or who is asked or not asked to the great balls of
the season?"
To this frank communication came back the letter from Blanche to
Laura, and one to Pen himself, which perhaps his own letter justified.
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