Your character and principles, which I believed of the purest kind, your supposed extreme piety, together with your age, and other causes, which I shall be silent on, preserved me from feeling any sensations like jealousy, which I might have felt had any other but yourself been in question.
Whatever resentment I felt or expressed, solely arose from my domestic comfort being interrupted by Mr. G.'s living so entirely out of his home.
From my first acquaintance until you left Ireland, I both loved and respected you with so great a degree of enthusiasm, that I could well excuse what I believed similar sensations in Mr. G.; nor can you deny that your conduct to me was such as might have deceived a more suspicious mind than I am possessed of.
Confident in your supposed worth, I trusted you to my utter destruction: though my life was no longer comfortable, yet by a strange contrivance I did not think you to blame; Miss W. generally appeared the cause of what I complained of.
On my coming to England, I soon found a visible change in your manners. Besides giving up my cause so shamefully as you did after (I may justly call it) seducing me on the strength of your professions to resign all those comforts which you knew and partook of with me, you no longer appeared the same person: your manners were cool, distant, and sometimes even haughty: whenever I was at your house, it seemed more as if you thought you ought to ask me than as if you found any gratification in my society.
Mr. G. was entrusted with all your plans, &c. and if he mentioned them to me, it seemed a heinous offence. I then too

late began to see into your real character; you never spoke confidentially on any subject to me, as formerly, but on the continual abuse of Mr. Siddons, who, from the first hour of our acquaintance, you had taught me to detest for his supposed ill-treatment of you.
You had particularly complained of his cruelty in having, as you said, forced you to come to Dublin, and leave your dear daughter in so bad a state of health, that you feared you might never behold her again - this was your constant theme: yet, though the accounts you continually received, seemed to confirm your fears, you made engagements one after the other to complete nearly a year.
This Mr. Siddons could not, I saw, be blamed for, as it was your own voluntary act; on the contrary, his letters from the time Miss S. grew seriously ill, urged you in the strongest manner to return home: you had no plea for not doing so, but an engagement to be fulfilled.
Good Heaven! what ought to detain a mother from the death bed of her expiring child? but other bonds held you, other gratifications and attachments were stronger than maternal affection.
Another source of resentment against Mr. Siddons, and on which you dwelt with the greatest bitterness, I shall forbear to explain not from respect to you but for a person I now consider in a very different light to what I was then taught to look upon him, and that conduct you so much censure him for, I now believe proceeded from motives the most respectable.
I even then (blind as I was to you) thought the subject of your