Five o’clock: in better spirits; hit upon a plan to get my debts paid; came home at six; feigned violent illness; sent for the Doctor; laid our heads together to hoax my Lord; the Doctor reported me to be delirious, adding that I had a slow fever, that I had been sleepless for many nights, and had put off attending to my malady, he feared, too long; it was a settled melancholy, a nervous depression of spirits, increased by my pretending to be gay and undisturbed, which exertion brought on fever. “What can the cause be?” cried my Lord. ‘Tis a very delicate thing to mention,’ replied my Physician. “What!” exclaimed my Lord, with one of his round oaths, “is it an attachment for some one?” ‘For your Lordship,’ answered the crafty Doctor, ‘and much uneasiness at your neglect.’ What a happy thought! although no one could be more indifferent on that subject than myself. “I’ll go to her directly.” ‘Not for the world; she must not be disturbed this night; I have given her a composing draught, but I fear that it will have no effect; another cause prevents her cure.’ “Name it,” said my Lord; (a little hesitation) ‘Her debts.’ “The devil!” ‘Yes, my Lord; in the absence of her reason, you observe,—in her hurry, as it were, when struggling against depression, and under the influence of fever, she was imprudent at play: mark ye, the mind must be occupied, it is a part of the malady.’ “Well, Doctor,” concluded my Lord, “I will cheerfully pay all her debts.” ‘Write her a few lines to that effect,’ replied the Apollo of all the Physicians, ‘and her maid shall put it on her dressing-table; it will have more effect than the draught’ (there he was right enough).