I wonder what has become of Major Sanford. Has he, too, forsaken me? Is
it possible for him wilfully to neglect me? I will not entertain so
injurious a suspicion. Yet, if it were the case, it would not affect me
like Mr. Boyer's disaffection; for I frankly own that my fancy, and a
taste for gayety of life, induced me to cherish the idea of a connection
with Major Sanford; while Mr. Boyer's real merit has imprinted those
sentiments of esteem and love in my heart which time can never efface.
Instead of two or three, more than twelve months have elapsed, and I
have not received a line from Major Sanford in all that time, which I
fully expected, though he made no mention of writing; nor have I heard a
syllable about him, except a report circulated by his servants, that he
is on the point of marrying, which I do not believe. No; it is
impossible. I am persuaded that his passion for me was sincere, however
deceitful he may have been with others. But I will not bestow an anxious
thought upon him. My design relative to Mr. Boyer demands my whole
attention.
My hopes and fears alternately prevail, and my resolution is extremely
fluctuating. How it finally terminates you shall hear in my next. Pray
write to me soon. I stand in need of the consoling power of friendship.
Nothing can beguile my pensive hours, and exhilarate my drooping
spirits, like your letters.
Let me know how you are to be entertained this winter at the theatre.
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