She does not believe that she can find entire happiness in solitude, not even (or perhaps especially not) in a solitude of two; and she is at least as sure that he would not either.
Anyhow she has not the slightest intention of taking the chance.
It becomes increasingly clear that she had had about enough of this epistolary philandering, and she indicated this in no uncertain manner.
"I will never think of anything without the consent of my family," she wrote.

"Make no answer to this, if you can like me on my own terms.

'Tis not to me you must make the proposals; if not, to what purpose is our correspondence ?" And now comes a touch of the spur: "However, preserve me your friendship, which I think of with a great deal of pleasure.

If ever you see me married, I flatter myself you'll see a conduct you would not be sorry your wife should imitate." Even this did not bring Montagu to the point of asking Lord Dorchester for the hand of his daughter.

The correspondence, however, still continued, and soon they were hard at it again.
"Kindness, you say, would be your destruction," she wrote in August, 1710.