Saturday, March 10, 1832

 1832 March

Saturday 10

10

12 5/..

Bowels all wrong again. Fine sunny morning – F 59° at 10 1/4 in my room and 50° at 10 3/4 in the balcony – Breakfast at 11 – Came upstairs at 12 10/.. – Read the newspaper –

Out with Miss Hobart at 1 10/.. Went to Mr. Wooll’s – She paid her bill – Then walked under the East hill a turn or 2, and along the beach home – Miss H- left her card for Mrs. and the Miss Timpesons, No. 10 Crescent, and we both called (had no cards to leave) on Mrs. Morland –

Home at 2 40/.. – dawdling over 1 thing or other – languid – sleepy – not well somehow or other – lay down at 3 and slept till 4 20/.. – Then got up feeling better and wrote all the journal of yesterday and so far of today till 6 10/.. –

Dressed – Dinner at 6 3/4 in 35 minutes – Music – Looking over Smith’s Italy – Won 2 hits at backgammon – From 9 40/.. in an hour, read aloud from page 50 to end of page 93, end of Chapter 52, Volume X, Gibbon –

Came upstairs at 11 10/.. and to my room at 11 20/.. Very good friends, but I quiet and very proper.

Mentioned this morning my thought of going from here to Dover and missing London altogether – I had hinted it just before setting off yesterday –

Very fine day.  F 62° in my room now at 11 35/.. and 40° at 12 3/4 in the balcony – F 40° at 12 3/4 tonight.

Somehow I get more annoyed at this business with Miss H-. The idea of her ‘suffering’ irritates and humiliates.   On slightly saying tonight she might do as she liked without danger, and adding she might make me suffer if she liked,  Oh, no, said she, it would be I that would suffer.

She hoped last night I should never try the same thing with anybody else; it might be less safe, and hoped this evening I should not try it again and echouer.  I said last night I had certainly made a very bad hit in choosing, and had at least the comfort that I could not make a worse.  I said tonight (thinking of Mariana) that I could, if I liked, have a person in a very month’s [time] who would go with me anywhere and want no maid where dress and civilization were not required.  And still, said she, you wont.  I made no answer.  She asked if she was a little one.  No, said I, nearly or about as tall as myself.

What a noodle I am to pother, for after all, it is less from regard or love than for want of something else to do and to excite me with.  I shall not grieve much over her absence.  A better or another nail would easily drive her out.  She would not like this, and on this she is the dog in the manger. 

Perhaps on account of interest, she does not wish to lose the opportunity of being so taken to Italy; nor, if no good enough match offers the occasion of a better home than she has money to make by herself.  She would have the influence of love without all owing me one of its comforts or privileges, though she did say last night when I said something of getting out of the way,  then you would leave ‘the little thing’ (the name I have lately called her by) to die.  She might go hang. Oh no, [I] said she would not hang, she has too much sense.  Said she, ‘I don't know that.’

Tonight she held out her forehead [and]I kissed it.  Then, said she, you have not made a vow no little one. Now, said she, I am better if I am the little one again.  Yet amid all ‘tis suffering to her.  Think of this.

I have just finished so far of this page and feel better.  ’Tis 12 3/4.  Away to bed – May wearying thought be lulled to rest!

 

WYAS Finding Numbers SH:7/ML/E/15/0036 and SH:7/ML/E/15/0037