He wrote to me twice or thrice from F--, but his letters were most provokingly unsatisfactory, dealing in generalities or in trifles that I cared nothing about, or replete with fancies and reflections equally unwelcome to me at the time, saying next to nothing about his sister, and little more about himself.

I would wait, however, till he came back; perhaps I could get something more out of him then.

At all events, I would not write to her now, while she was with him and her aunt, who doubtless would be still more hostile to my presumptuous aspirations than himself.
When she was returned to the silence and solitude of her own home, it would be my fittest opportunity.
When Lawrence came, however, he was as reserved as ever on the subject of my keen anxiety.

He told me that his sister had derived considerable benefit from her stay at F-- that her son was quite well, and--alas! that both of them were gone, with Mrs.Maxwell, back to Staningley, and there they stayed at least three months.

But instead of boring you with my chagrin, my expectations and disappointments, my fluctuations of dull despondency and flickering hope, my varying resolutions, now to drop it, and now to persevere--now to make a bold push, and now to let things pass and patiently abide my time,--I will employ myself in settling the business of one or two of the characters introduced in the course of this narrative, whom I may not have occasion to mention again.
Some time before Mr.Huntingdon's death Lady Lowborough eloped with another gallant to the Continent, where, having lived a while in reckless gaiety and dissipation, they quarrelled and parted.