20th .⁠—I hate Sir Percival! I flatly deny his good looks. I consider him to be eminently ill-tempered and disagreeable, and totally wanting in kindness and good feeling. Last night the cards for the married couple were sent home. Laura opened the packet and saw her future name in print for the first time. Sir Percival looked over her shoulder familiarly at the new card which had already transformed Miss Fairlie into Lady Glyde⁠—smiled with the most odious self-complacency, and whispered something in her ear. I don’t know what it was⁠—Laura has refused to tell me⁠—but I saw her face turn to such a deadly whiteness that I thought she would have fainted. He took no notice of the change⁠—he seemed to be barbarously unconscious that he had said anything to pain her. All my old feelings of hostility towards him revived on the instant, and all the hours that have passed since have done nothing to dissipate them. I am more unreasonable and more unjust than ever. In three words⁠—how glibly my pen writes them!⁠—in three words, I hate him.