I had faith in his good intentions, but doubted his ability.
Hamilton and I had become fast friends, and by his help my suit of his sister Mary had prospered to the extent of a partial engagement of marriage.

That is to say, Mary's mother, an old worldling of the hardest type, had thought it well to secure me and to keep me dangling, to be landed in case no better fish took the hook.

I was aware of the mother's selfish purposes, but did not believe that Mary shared them, though I knew her to be an obedient child.

This peculiar condition of affairs somewhat nettled me, though I do not remember that I was at all unhappy because of it.
But to come back to George.

One day, a fortnight before Frances's arrival in London, while he and I were watching the royal brothers, King Charles and the Duke of York, playing pall-mall, I expressed my doubts and fears of his ultimate success in reformation so long as he remained in any way associated with Crofts, Berkeley, Wentworth, and others of the vicious clique.
"Yes, I know it is an uphill journey," returned George, laughing with a touch of bitterness, "but think of my reward if I succeed!" "Do you mean my cousin ?" I asked.
"Yes, but I have little hope," he replied, though perhaps he had more hope than he expressed.
I had told him of her intention to come to London, hoping that he would leave before her arrival, as he did, though neither he nor I knew when she was coming.