"Our employments in England, you see, are regular, and perhaps a little monotonous, but they are gaiety itself, compared with our amusements. I like these English, or rather, I should say, I respect them (mind, mamma, I do not call my husband a regular Englishman), but I think when they amuse themselves they appear to the greatest disadvantage.
"We were invited, George and I, the other day, to dine with our neighbour, Sir Marmaduke Umpleby. Heavens! what a strange name! We started at noon, because he lives three leagues off, and the roads are infamous; they are not paved like ours, but seem mere tracts through the fields and across the moor. It rained the whole journey; and though we had six horses, we stuck twice and were forced to get out and walk. George carried me in his arms that I might not wet my feet, and swore horribly, but with good humour, and only, as he says, en Mousquetaire! I was not a bit frightened—I never am with him. At last there we are arrived, a party of twenty to meet us, and dinner already served. I am presented to every lady in turn—there are nine of them—and they all shake hands with me; but, after that, content themselves with hoping I am not wet, and then they stare—how they stare! as if I were some wild animal caught in a trap. I do not know where to look. You cannot think, mamma, what a difference there is between a society in England and with us. The gentlemen are then presented to me, and I like these far better than the ladies; they are rather awkward perhaps and unpolished in manner, but they seem gentlemen at heart, terribly afraid of a woman, one and all, yet respecting her, obviously because she is a woman; and though they blush, and stammer, and tread on your dress, something seems to tell you that they are really ready to sacrifice for you their own vanity and convenience.
"This is to me more flattering than the external politeness of our French gallants, who bow indeed with an air of inimitable courtesy, and use the most refined phrases, while all the time they are saying things that make you feel quite hot. Now, George never puts one in a false position—I mean, he never used. He has an Englishman's heart, and the manners of a French prince; but then, you know, there is nobody like my own Musketeer.
