Anne Mitchell had tried to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it the week before at the Concert, but made wretched work of it⁠—it happened to become my odd face, I believe, at least Tilney told me so at the time, and said every eye was upon me; but he is the last man whose word I would take. I wear nothing but purple now: I know I look hideous in it, but no matter⁠—it is your dear brother’s favourite colour. Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Catherine, in writing to him and to me,

Who ever am,

etc.

Bath, April ⸻

My dearest Catherine,