On reading over, for the second or third time,
your last letter (which, by the by, was written in such hieroglyphics
that, at the first hasty perusal, I could hardly make out two
consecutive words), I find you intimate that if I leave this journey
till Thursday I shall be too late. I grieve that I should have so
inconvenienced you; but I need not talk of either Friday or Saturday
now, for I rather imagine there is small chance of my ever going at
all. The elders of the house have never cordially acquiesced in the
measure; and now that impediments seem to start up at every step,
opposition grows more open. Papa, indeed, would willingly indulge me,
but this very kindness of his makes me doubt whether I ought to draw
upon it; so, though I could battle out aunt's discontent, I yield to
papa's indulgence. He does not say so, but I know he would rather I
stayed at home; and aunt meant well too, I dare say, but I am provoked
that she reserved the expression of her decided disapproval till all
was settled between you and myself. Reckon on me no more; leave me
out in your calculations: perhaps I ought, in the beginning, to have
had prudence sufficient to shut my eyes against such a prospect of
pleasure, so as to deny myself the hope of it. Be as angry as you
please with me for disappointing you.
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