But it was no use.

Lady Blore's arrow had penetrated a joint in his harness.
After all he need take no notice of any of these monstrous effusions.
He was disgusted with opening letters.

Nevertheless he hurried on.
Perhaps he should find others less intolerable.
A somewhat formal letter from his cousin the Bishop of Lostford, who had never been cordial to him since his engagement to Magdalen had been broken off.

The Bishop pointed out certain grave abuses connected with house property at Lostford, at which the late Lord Lossiemouth had persistently connived, but which he hoped his successor might enquire into personally and redress.
Quantities of other letters were torn open and aimed in balls at the empty grate.

But at last he came to a long one which he read breathlessly.
It was from the mother of the girl who had so recently refused him, an involved tortuous epistle, which implied that the daughter was seriously attached to him, and hinted that if he were to come forward again he would not be refused a second time.