Chapter iii. — In which the history looks a little backwards.
Before we proceed farther in our history we shall recount a short scene to our reader which passed between Amelia and Mrs. Ellison whilst Booth was on his visit to Colonel Bath. We have already observed that Amelia had conceived an extraordinary affection for Mrs. Bennet, which had still encreased every time she saw her; she thought she discovered something wonderfully good and gentle in her countenance and disposition, and was very desirous of knowing her whole history.
She had a very short interview with that lady this morning in Mrs. Ellison’s apartment. As soon, therefore, as Mrs. Bennet was gone, Amelia acquainted Mrs. Ellison with the good opinion she had conceived of her friend, and likewise with her curiosity to know her story: “For there must be something uncommonly good,” said she, “in one who can so truly mourn for a husband above three years after his death.”
“O!” cries Mrs. Ellison, “to be sure the world must allow her to have been one of the best of wives. And, indeed, upon the whole, she is a good sort of woman; and what I like her the best for is a strong resemblance that she bears to yourself in the form of her person, and still more in her voice. But for my own part, I know nothing remarkable in her fortune, unless what I have told you, that she was the daughter of a clergyman, had little or no fortune, and married a poor parson for love, who left her in the utmost distress. If you please, I will shew you a letter which she writ to me at that time, though I insist upon your promise never to mention it to her; indeed, you will be the first person I ever shewed it to.” She then opened her scrutore, and, taking out the letter, delivered it to Amelia, saying, “There, madam, is, I believe, as fine a picture of distress as can well be drawn.”
“DEAR MADAM,
“As I have no other friend on earth but yourself, I hope you will pardon my writing to you at this season; though I do not know that you can relieve my distresses, or, if you can, have I any pretence to expect that you should. My poor dear, O Heavens—my—-lies dead in the house; and, after I had procured sufficient to bury him, a set of ruffians have entered my house, seized all I have, have seized his dear, dear corpse, and threaten to deny it burial. For Heaven’s sake, send me, at least, some advice; little Tommy stands now by me crying for bread, which I have not to give him. I can say no more than that I am Your most distressed humble servant, M. BENNET.”
Amelia read the letter over twice, and then returning it with tears in her eyes, asked how the poor creature could possibly get through such distress.
“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Mrs. Ellison, “the moment I read this account I posted away immediately to the lady. As to the seizing the body, that I found was a mere bugbear; but all the rest was literally true. I sent immediately for the same gentleman that I recommended to Mr. Booth, left the care of burying the corpse to him, and brought my friend and her little boy immediately away to my own house, where she remained some months in the most miserable condition. I then prevailed with her to retire into the country, and procured her a lodging with a friend at St Edmundsbury, the air and gaiety of which place by degrees recovered her; and she returned in about a twelve-month to town, as well, I think, as she is at present.”
“I am almost afraid to ask,” cries Amelia, “and yet I long methinks to know what is become of the poor little boy.”
“He hath been dead,” said Mrs. Ellison, “a little more than half a year; and the mother lamented him at first almost as much as she did her husband, but I found it indeed rather an easier matter to comfort her, though I sat up with her near a fortnight upon the latter occasion.”
“You are a good creature,” said Amelia, “and I love you dearly.”
“Alas! madam,” cries she, “what could I have done if it had not been for the goodness of that best of men, my noble cousin! His lordship no sooner heard of the widow’s distress from me than he immediately settled one hundred and fifty pounds a year upon her during her life.”
“Well! how noble, how generous was that!” said Amelia. “I declare I begin to love your cousin, Mrs. Ellison.”
“And I declare if you do,” answered she, “there is no love lost, I verily believe; if you had heard what I heard him say yesterday behind your back—-”
“Why, what did he say, Mrs. Ellison?” cries Amelia.
“He said,” answered the other, “that you was the finest woman his eyes ever beheld.—Ah! it is in vain to wish, and yet I cannot help wishing too.—O, Mrs. Booth! if you had been a single woman, I firmly believe I could have made you the happiest in the world. And I sincerely think I never saw a woman who deserved it more.”
“I am obliged to you, madam,” cries Amelia, “for your good opinion; but I really look on myself already as the happiest woman in the world. Our circumstances, it is true, might have been a little more fortunate; but O, my dear Mrs. Ellison! what fortune can be put in the balance with such a husband as mine?”
“I am afraid, dear madam,” answered Mrs. Ellison, “you would not hold the scale fairly.—I acknowledge, indeed, Mr. Booth is a very pretty gentleman; Heaven forbid I should endeavour to lessen him in your opinion; yet, if I was to be brought to confession, I could not help saying I see where the superiority lies, and that the men have more reason to envy Mr. Booth than the women have to envy his lady.”
“Nay, I will not bear this,” replied Amelia. “You will forfeit all my love if you have the least disrespectful opinion of my husband. You do not know him, Mrs. Ellison; he is the best, the kindest, the worthiest of all his sex. I have observed, indeed, once or twice before, that you have taken some dislike to him. I cannot conceive for what reason. If he hath said or done anything to disoblige you, I am sure I can justly acquit him of design. His extreme vivacity makes him sometimes a little too heedless; but, I am convinced, a more innocent heart, or one more void of offence, was never in a human bosom.”
“Nay, if you grow serious,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “I have done. How is it possible you should suspect I had taken any dislike to a man to whom I have always shewn so perfect a regard; but to say I think him, or almost any other man in the world, worthy of yourself, is not within my power with truth. And since you force the confession from me, I declare, I think such beauty, such sense, and such goodness united, might aspire without vanity to the arms of any monarch in Europe.”
“Alas! my dear Mrs. Ellison,” answered Amelia, “do you think happiness and a crown so closely united? how many miserable women have lain in the arms of kings?—Indeed, Mrs. Ellison, if I had all the merit you compliment me with, I should think it all fully rewarded with such a man as, I thank Heaven, hath fallen to my lot; nor would I, upon my soul, exchange that lot with any queen in the universe.”
“Well, there are enow of our sex,” said Mrs. Ellison, “to keep you in countenance; but I shall never forget the beginning of a song of Mr. Congreve’s, that my husband was so fond of that he was always singing it:—
When ‘tis not with ambition join’d.
Love without interest makes but an unsavoury dish, in my opinion.”
“And pray how long hath this been your opinion?” said Amelia, smiling.
“Ever since I was born,” answered Mrs. Ellison; “at least, ever since I can remember.”
“And have you never,” said Amelia, “deviated from this generous way of thinking?”
“Never once,” answered the other, “in the whole course of my life.”
“O, Mrs. Ellison! Mrs. Ellison!” cries Amelia; “why do we ever blame those who are disingenuous in confessing their faults, when we are so often ashamed to own ourselves in the right? Some women now, in my situation, would be angry that you had not made confidantes of them; but I never desire to know more of the secrets of others than they are pleased to intrust me with. You must believe, however, that I should not have given you these hints of my knowing all if I had disapproved your choice. On the contrary, I assure you I highly approve it. The gentility he wants, it will be easily in your power to procure for him; and as for his good qualities, I will myself be bound for them; and I make not the least doubt, as you have owned to me yourself that you have placed your affections on him, you will be one of the happiest women in the world.”
“Upon my honour,” cries Mrs. Ellison very gravely, “I do not understand one word of what you mean.”
“Upon my honour, you astonish me,” said Amelia; “but I have done.”
“Nay then,” said the other, “I insist upon knowing what you mean.”
“Why, what can I mean,” answered Amelia, “but your marriage with serjeant Atkinson?”
“With serjeant Atkinson!” cries Mrs. Ellison eagerly, “my marriage with a serjeant!”
“Well, with Mr. Atkinson, then, Captain Atkinson, if you please; for so I hope to see him.”
“And have you really no better opinion of me,” said Mrs. Ellison, “than to imagine me capable of such condescension? What have I done, dear Mrs. Booth, to deserve so low a place in your esteem? I find indeed, as Solomon says, Women ought to watch the door of their lips. How little did I imagine that a little harmless freedom in discourse could persuade any one that I could entertain a serious intention of disgracing my family! for of a very good family am I come, I assure you, madam, though I now let lodgings. Few of my lodgers, I believe, ever came of a better.”
“If I have offended you, madam,” said Amelia, “I am very sorry, and ask your pardon; but, besides what I heard from yourself, Mr. Booth told me—”
“O yes!” answered Mrs. Ellison, “Mr. Booth, I know, is a very good friend of mine. Indeed, I know you better than to think it could be your own suspicion. I am very much obliged to Mr. Booth truly.”
“Nay,” cries Amelia, “the serjeant himself is in fault; for Mr. Booth, I am positive, only repeated what he had from him.”
“Impudent coxcomb!” cries Mrs. Ellison. “I shall know how to keep such fellows at a proper distance for the future—I will tell you, dear madam, all that happened. When I rose in the morning I found the fellow waiting in the entry; and, as you had exprest some regard for him as your foster-brother—nay, he is a very genteel fellow, that I must own—I scolded my maid for not shewing him into my little back-room; and I then asked him to walk into the parlour. Could I have imagined he would have construed such little civility into an encouragement?”
“Nay, I will have justice done to my poor brother too,” said Amelia. “I myself have seen you give him much greater encouragement than that.”
“Well, perhaps I have,” said Mrs. Ellison. “I have been always too unguarded in my speech, and can’t answer for all I have said.” She then began to change her note, and, with an affected laugh, turned all into ridicule; and soon afterwards the two ladies separated, both in apparent good humour; and Amelia went about those domestic offices in which Mr. Booth found her engaged at the end of the preceding chapter.
Chapter iv. — Containing a very extraordinary incident.
In the afternoon Mr. Booth, with Amelia and her children, went to refresh themselves in the Park. The conversation now turned on what past in the morning with Mrs. Ellison, the latter part of the dialogue, I mean, recorded in the last chapter. Amelia told her husband that Mrs. Ellison so strongly denied all intentions to marry the serjeant, that she had convinced her the poor fellow was under an error, and had mistaken a little too much levity for serious encouragement; and concluded by desiring Booth not to jest with her any more on that subject.
Booth burst into a laugh at what his wife said. “My dear creature,” said he, “how easily is thy honesty and simplicity to be imposed on! how little dost thou guess at the art and falsehood of women! I knew a young lady who, against her father’s consent, was married to a brother officer of mine; and, as I often used to walk with her (for I knew her father intimately well), she would of her own accord take frequent occasions to ridicule and vilify her husband (for so he was at the time), and exprest great wonder and indignation at the report which she allowed to prevail that she should condescend ever to look at such a fellow with any other design than of laughing at and despising him. The marriage afterwards became publicly owned, and the lady was reputably brought to bed. Since which I have often seen her; nor hath she ever appeared to be in the least ashamed of what she had formerly said, though, indeed, I believe she hates me heartily for having heard it.”
“But for what reason,” cries Amelia, “should she deny a fact, when she must be so certain of our discovering it, and that immediately?”
“I can’t answer what end she may propose,” said Booth. “Sometimes one would be almost persuaded that there was a pleasure in lying itself. But this I am certain, that I would believe the honest serjeant on his bare word sooner than I would fifty Mrs. Ellisons on oath. I am convinced he would not have said what he did to me without the strongest encouragement; and, I think, after what we have been both witnesses to, it requires no great confidence in his veracity to give him an unlimited credit with regard to the lady’s behaviour.”
To this Amelia made no reply; and they discoursed of other matters during the remainder of a very pleasant walk.
When they returned home Amelia was surprized to find an appearance of disorder in her apartment. Several of the trinkets which his lordship had given the children lay about the room; and a suit of her own cloaths, which she had left in her drawers, was now displayed upon the bed.
She immediately summoned her little girl up-stairs, who, as she plainly perceived the moment she came up with a candle, had half cried her eyes out; for, though the girl had opened the door to them, as it was almost dark, she had not taken any notice of this phenomenon in her countenance.
The girl now fell down upon her knees and cried, “For Heaven’s sake, madam, do not be angry with me. Indeed, I was left alone in the house; and, hearing somebody knock at the door, I opened it—I am sure thinking no harm. I did not know but it might have been you, or my master, or Madam Ellison; and immediately as I did, the rogue burst in and ran directly up-stairs, and what he hath robbed you of I cannot tell; but I am sure I could not help it, for he was a great swinging man with a pistol in each hand; and, if I had dared to call out, to be sure he would have killed me. I am sure I was never in such a fright in my born days, whereof I am hardly come to myself yet. I believe he is somewhere about the house yet, for I never saw him go out.”
Amelia discovered some little alarm at this narrative, but much less than many other ladies would have shewn, for a fright is, I believe, sometimes laid hold of as an opportunity of disclosing several charms peculiar to that occasion. And which, as Mr. Addison says of certain virtues,
In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
Booth, having opened the window, and summoned in two chairmen to his assistance, proceeded to search the house; but all to no purpose; the thief was flown, though the poor girl, in her state of terror, had not seen him escape.
But now a circumstance appeared which greatly surprized both Booth and Amelia; indeed, I believe it will have the same effect on the reader; and this was, that the thief had taken nothing with him. He had, indeed, tumbled over all Booth’s and Amelia’s cloaths and the children’s toys, but had left all behind him.
Amelia was scarce more pleased than astonished at this discovery, and re-examined the girl, assuring her of an absolute pardon if she confessed the truth, but grievously threatening her if she was found guilty of the least falsehood. “As for a thief, child,” says she, “that is certainly not true; you have had somebody with you to whom you have been shewing the things; therefore tell me plainly who it was.”
The girl protested in the solemnest manner that she knew not the person; but as to some circumstances she began to vary a little from her first account, particularly as to the pistols, concerning which, being strictly examined by Booth, she at last cried—“To be sure, sir, he must have had pistols about him.” And instead of persisting in his having rushed in upon her, she now confessed that he had asked at the door for her master and mistress; and that at his desire she had shewn him up-stairs, where he at first said he would stay till their return home; “but, indeed,” cried she, “I thought no harm, for he looked like a gentleman-like sort of man. And, indeed, so I thought he was for a good while, whereof he sat down and behaved himself very civilly, till he saw some of master’s and miss’s things upon the chest of drawers; whereof he cried, ‘Hey-day! what’s here?’ and then he fell to tumbling about the things like any mad. Then I thinks, thinks I to myself, to be sure he is a highwayman, whereof I did not dare speak to him; for I knew Madam Ellison and her maid was gone out, and what could such a poor girl as I do against a great strong man? and besides, thinks I, to be sure he hath got pistols about him, though I can’t indeed, (that I will not do for the world) take my Bible-oath that I saw any; yet to be sure he would have soon pulled them out and shot me dead if I had ventured to have said anything to offend him.”
“I know not what to make of this,” cries Booth. “The poor girl, I verily believe, speaks to the best of her knowledge. A thief it could not be, for he hath not taken the least thing; and it is plain he had the girl’s watch in his hand. If it had been a bailiff, surely he would have staid till our return. I can conceive no other from the girl’s account than that it must have been some madman.”
“O good sir!” said the girl, “now you mention it, if he was not a thief, to be sure he must have been a madman: for indeed he looked, and behaved himself too, very much like a madman; for, now I remember it, he talked to himself and said many strange kind of words that I did not understand. Indeed, he looked altogether as I have seen people in Bedlam; besides, if he was not a madman, what good could it do him to throw the things all about the room in such a manner? and he said something too about my master just before he went down-stairs. I was in such a fright I cannot remember particularly, but I am sure they were very ill words; he said he would do for him—I am sure he said that, and other wicked bad words too, if I could but think of them.”
“Upon my word,” said Booth, “this is the most probable conjecture; but still I am puzzled to conceive who it should be, for I have no madman to my knowledge of my acquaintance, and it seems, as the girl says, he asked for me.” He then turned to the child, and asked her if she was certain of that circumstance.
The poor maid, after a little hesitation, answered, “Indeed, sir, I cannot be very positive; for the fright he threw me into afterwards drove everything almost out of my mind.”
“Well, whatever he was,” cries Amelia, “I am glad the consequence is no worse; but let this be a warning to you, little Betty, and teach you to take more care for the future. If ever you should be left alone in the house again, be sure to let no persons in without first looking out at the window and seeing who they are. I promised not to chide you any more on this occasion, and I will keep my word; but it is very plain you desired this person to walk up into our apartment, which was very wrong in our absence.”
Betty was going to answer, but Amelia would not let her, saying, “Don’t attempt to excuse yourself; for I mortally hate a liar, and can forgive any fault sooner than falsehood.”
The poor girl then submitted; and now Amelia, with her assistance, began to replace all things in their order; and little Emily hugging her watch with great fondness, declared she would never part with it any more.
Thus ended this odd adventure, not entirely to the satisfaction of Booth; for, besides his curiosity, which, when thoroughly roused, is a very troublesome passion, he had, as is I believe usual with all persons in his circumstances, several doubts and apprehensions of he knew not what. Indeed, fear is never more uneasy than when it doth not certainly know its object; for on such occasions the mind is ever employed in raising a thousand bugbears and fantoms, much more dreadful than any realities, and, like children when they tell tales of hobgoblins, seems industrious in terrifying itself.
Chapter v. — Containing some matters not very unnatural.
Matters were scarce sooner reduced into order and decency than a violent knocking was heard at the door, such indeed as would have persuaded any one not accustomed to the sound that the madman was returned in the highest spring-tide of his fury.
Instead, however, of so disagreeable an appearance, a very fine lady presently came into the room, no other, indeed, than Mrs. James herself; for she was resolved to shew Amelia, by the speedy return of her visit, how unjust all her accusation had been of any failure in the duties of friendship; she had, moreover, another reason to accelerate this visit, and that was, to congratulate her friend on the event of the duel between Colonel Bath and Mr. Booth.
The lady had so well profited by Mrs. Booth’s remonstrance, that she had now no more of that stiffness and formality which she had worn on a former occasion. On the contrary, she now behaved with the utmost freedom and good-humour, and made herself so very agreeable, that Amelia was highly pleased and delighted with her company.
An incident happened during this visit, that may appear to some too inconsiderable in itself to be recorded; and yet, as it certainly produced a very strong consequence in the mind of Mr. Booth, we cannot prevail on ourselves to pass it by.
Little Emily, who was present in the room while Mrs. James was there, as she stood near that lady happened to be playing with her watch, which she was so greatly overjoyed had escaped safe from the madman. Mrs. James, who exprest great fondness for the child, desired to see the watch, which she commended as the prettiest of the kind she had ever seen.
Amelia caught eager hold of this opportunity to spread the praises of her benefactor. She presently acquainted Mrs. James with the donor’s name, and ran on with great encomiums on his lordship’s goodness, and particularly on his generosity. To which Mrs. James answered, “O! certainly, madam, his lordship hath universally the character of being extremely generous-where he likes.”
In uttering these words she laid a very strong emphasis on the three last monosyllables, accompanying them at the same time with a very sagacious look, a very significant leer, and a great flirt with her fan.
The greatest genius the world hath ever produced observes, in one of his most excellent plays, that
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.
That Mr. Booth began to be possessed by this worst of fiends, admits, I think, no longer doubt; for at this speech of Mrs. James he immediately turned pale, and, from a high degree of chearfulness, was all on a sudden struck dumb, so that he spoke not another word till Mrs. James left the room.
The moment that lady drove from the door Mrs. Ellison came up-stairs. She entered the room with a laugh, and very plentifully rallied both Booth and Amelia concerning the madman, of which she had received a full account below-stairs; and at last asked Amelia if she could not guess who it was; but, without receiving an answer, went on, saying, “For my own part, I fancy it must be some lover of yours! some person that hath seen you, and so is run mad with love. Indeed, I should not wonder if all mankind were to do the same. La! Mr. Booth, what makes you grave? why, you are as melancholy as if you had been robbed in earnest. Upon my word, though, to be serious, it is a strange story, and, as the girl tells it, I know not what to make of it. Perhaps it might be some rogue that intended to rob the house, and his heart failed him; yet even that would be very extraordinary. What, did you lose nothing, madam?”
“Nothing at all,” answered Amelia. “He did not even take the child’s watch.”
“Well, captain,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “I hope you will take more care of the house to-morrow; for your lady and I shall leave you alone to the care of it. Here, madam,” said she, “here is a present from my lord to us; here are two tickets for the masquerade at Ranelagh. You will be so charmed with it! It is the sweetest of all diversions.”
“May I be damned, madam,” cries Booth, “if my wife shall go thither.”
Mrs. Ellison stared at these words, and, indeed, so did Amelia; for they were spoke with great vehemence. At length the former cried out with an air of astonishment, “Not let your lady go to Ranelagh, sir?”
“No, madam,” cries Booth, “I will not let my wife go to Ranelagh.”
“You surprize me!” cries Mrs. Ellison. “Sure, you are not in earnest?”
“Indeed, madam,” returned he, “I am seriously in earnest. And, what is more, I am convinced she would of her own accord refuse to go.”
“Now, madam,” said Mrs. Ellison, “you are to answer for yourself: and I will for your husband, that, if you have a desire to go, he will not refuse you.”
“I hope, madam,” answered Amelia with great gravity, “I shall never desire to go to any place contrary to Mr. Booth’s inclinations.”
“Did ever mortal hear the like?” said Mrs. Ellison; “you are enough to spoil the best husband in the universe. Inclinations! what, is a woman to be governed then by her husband’s inclinations, though they are never so unreasonable?”
“Pardon me, madam,” said Amelia; “I will not suppose Mr. Booth’s inclinations ever can be unreasonable. I am very much obliged to you for the offer you have made me; but I beg you will not mention it any more; for, after what Mr. Booth hath declared, if Ranelagh was a heaven upon earth, I would refuse to go to it.”
“I thank you, my dear,” cries Booth; “I do assure you, you oblige me beyond my power of expression by what you say; but I will endeavour to shew you, both my sensibility of such goodness, and my lasting gratitude to it.”
“And pray, sir,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “what can be your objection to your lady’s going to a place which, I will venture to say, is as reputable as any about town, and which is frequented by the best company?”
“Pardon me, good Mrs. Ellison,” said Booth: “as my wife is so good to acquiesce without knowing my reasons, I am not, I think, obliged to assign them to any other person.”
“Well,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “if I had been told this, I would not have believed it. What, refuse your lady an innocent diversion, and that too when you have not the pretence to say it would cost you a farthing?”
“Why will you say any more on this subject, dear madam?” cries Amelia. “All diversions are to me matters of such indifference, that the bare inclinations of any one for whom I have the least value would at all times turn the balance of mine. I am sure then, after what Mr. Booth hath said—”
“My dear,” cries he, taking her up hastily, “I sincerely ask your pardon; I spoke inadvertently, and in a passion. I never once thought of controuling you, nor ever would. Nay, I said in the same breath you would not go; and, upon my honour, I meant nothing more.”
“My dear,” said she, “you have no need of making any apology. I am not in the least offended, and am convinced you will never deny me what I shall desire.”
“Try him, try him, madam,” cries Mrs. Ellison; “I will be judged by all the women in town if it is possible for a wife to ask her husband anything more reasonable. You can’t conceive what a sweet, charming, elegant, delicious place it is. Paradise itself can hardly be equal to it.”
“I beg you will excuse me, madam,” said Amelia; “nay, I entreat you will ask me no more; for be assured I must and will refuse. Do let me desire you to give the ticket to poor Mrs. Bennet. I believe it would greatly oblige her.”
“Pardon me, madam,” said Mrs. Ellison; “if you will not accept of it, I am not so distressed for want of company as to go to such a public place with all sort of people neither. I am always very glad to see Mrs. Bennet at my own house, because I look upon her as a very good sort of woman; but I don’t chuse to be seen with such people in public places.”
Amelia exprest some little indignation at this last speech, which she declared to be entirely beyond her comprehension; and soon after, Mrs. Ellison, finding all her efforts to prevail on Amelia were ineffectual, took her leave, giving Mr. Booth two or three sarcastical words, and a much more sarcastical look, at her departure.
Chapter vi. — A scene in which some ladies will possibly think Amelia’s conduct exceptionable.
Booth and his wife being left alone, a solemn silence prevailed during a few minutes. At last Amelia, who, though a good, was yet a human creatures said to her husband, “Pray, my dear, do inform me what could put you into so great a passion when Mrs. Ellison first offered me the tickets for this masquerade?”
“I had rather you would not ask me,” said Booth. “You have obliged me greatly in your ready acquiescence with my desire, and you will add greatly to the obligation by not enquiring the reason of it. This you may depend upon, Amelia, that your good and happiness are the great objects of all my wishes, and the end I propose in all my actions. This view alone could tempt me to refuse you anything, or to conceal anything from you.”
“I will appeal to yourself,” answered she, “whether this be not using me too much like a child, and whether I can possibly help being a little offended at it?”
“Not in the least,” replied he; “I use you only with the tenderness of a friend. I would only endeavour to conceal that from you which I think would give you uneasiness if you knew. These are called the pious frauds of friendship.”
“I detest all fraud,” says she; “and pious is too good an epithet to be joined to so odious a word. You have often, you know, tried these frauds with no better effect than to teize and torment me. You cannot imagine, my dear, but that I must have a violent desire to know the reason of words which I own I never expected to have heard. And the more you have shown a reluctance to tell me, the more eagerly I have longed to know. Nor can this be called a vain curiosity, since I seem so much interested in this affair. If after all this, you still insist on keeping the secret, I will convince you I am not ignorant of the duty of a wife by my obedience; but I cannot help telling you at the same time you will make me one of the most miserable of women.”
“That is,” cries he, “in other words, my dear Emily, to say, I will be contented without the secret, but I am resolved to know it, nevertheless.”
“Nay, if you say so,” cries she, “I am convinced you will tell me. Positively, dear Billy, I must and will know.”
“Why, then, positively,” says Booth, “I will tell you. And I think I shall then shew you that, however well you may know the duty of a wife, I am not always able to behave like a husband. In a word then, my dear, the secret is no more than this; I am unwilling you should receive any more presents from my lord.”
“Mercy upon me!” cries she, with all the marks of astonishment; “what! a masquerade ticket!”—
“Yes, my dear,” cries he; “that is, perhaps, the very worst and most dangerous of all. Few men make presents of those tickets to ladies without intending to meet them at the place. And what do we know of your companion? To be sincere with you, I have not liked her behaviour for some time. What might be the consequence of going with such a woman to such a place, to meet such a person, I tremble to think. And now, my dear, I have told you my reason of refusing her offer with some little vehemence, and I think I need explain myself no farther.”
“You need not, indeed, sir,” answered she. “Good Heavens! did I ever expect to hear this? I can appeal to heaven, nay, I will appeal to yourself, Mr. Booth, if I have ever done anything to deserve such a suspicion. If ever any action of mine, nay, if ever any thought, had stained the innocence of my soul, I could be contented.”
“How cruelly do you mistake me!” said Booth. “What suspicion have I ever shewn?”
“Can you ask it,” answered she, “after what you have just now declared?”
“If I have declared any suspicion of you,” replied he, “or if ever I entertained a thought leading that way, may the worst of evils that ever afflicted human nature attend me! I know the pure innocence of that tender bosom, I do know it, my lovely angel, and adore it. The snares which might be laid for that innocence were alone the cause of my apprehension. I feared what a wicked and voluptuous man, resolved to sacrifice everything to the gratification of a sensual appetite with the most delicious repast, might attempt. If ever I injured the unspotted whiteness of thy virtue in my imagination, may hell—-”
“Do not terrify me,” cries she, interrupting him, “with such imprecations. O, Mr. Booth! Mr. Booth! you must well know that a woman’s virtue is always her sufficient guard. No husband, without suspecting that, can suspect any danger from those snares you mention; and why, if you are liable to take such things into your head, may not your suspicions fall on me as well as on any other? for sure nothing was ever more unjust, I will not say ungrateful, than the suspicions which you have bestowed on his lordship. I do solemnly declare, in all the times I have seen the poor man, he hath never once offered the least forwardness. His behaviour hath been polite indeed, but rather remarkably distant than otherwise. Particularly when we played at cards together. I don’t remember he spoke ten words to me all the evening; and when I was at his house, though he shewed the greatest fondness imaginable to the children, he took so little notice of me, that a vain woman would have been very little pleased with him. And if he gave them many presents, he never offered me one. The first, indeed, which he ever offered me was that which you in that kind manner forced me to refuse.”
“All this may be only the effect of art,” said Booth. “I am convinced he doth, nay, I am convinced he must like you; and my good friend James, who perfectly well knows the world, told me, that his lordship’s character was that of the most profuse in his pleasures with women; nay, what said Mrs. James this very evening? ‘His lordship is extremely generous—where he likes.’ I shall never forget the sneer with which she spoke those last words.”
“I am convinced they injure him,” cries Amelia. “As for Mrs. James, she was always given to be censorious; I remarked it in her long ago, as her greatest fault. And for the colonel, I believe he may find faults enow of this kind in his own bosom, without searching after them among his neighbours. I am sure he hath the most impudent look of all the men I know; and I solemnly declare, the very last time he was here he put me out of countenance more than once.”
“Colonel James,” answered Booth, “may have his faults very probably. I do not look upon him as a saint, nor do I believe he desires I should; but what interest could he have in abusing this lord’s character to me? or why should I question his truth, when he assured me that my lord had never done an act of beneficence in his life but for the sake of some woman whom he lusted after?”
“Then I myself can confute him,” replied Amelia: “for, besides his services to you, which, for the future, I shall wish to forget, and his kindness to my little babes, how inconsistent is the character which James gives of him with his lordship’s behaviour to his own nephew and niece, whose extreme fondness of their uncle sufficiently proclaims his goodness to them? I need not mention all that I have heard from Mrs. Ellison, every word of which I believe; for I have great reason to think, notwithstanding some little levity, which, to give her her due, she sees and condemns in herself, she is a very good sort of woman.”
“Well, my dear,” cries Booth, “I may have been deceived, and I heartily hope I am so; but in cases of this nature it is always good to be on the surest side; for, as Congreve says,
Here Amelia burst into tears, upon which Booth immediately caught her in his arms, and endeavoured to comfort her. Passion, however, for a while obstructed her speech, and at last she cried, “O, Mr. Booth! can I bear to hear the word jealousy from your mouth?”
“Why, my love,” said Booth, “will you so fatally misunderstand my meaning? how often shall I protest that it is not of you, but of him, that I was jealous? If you could look into my breast, and there read all the most secret thoughts of my heart, you would not see one faint idea to your dishonour.”
“I don’t misunderstand you, my dear,” said she, “so much as I am afraid you misunderstand yourself. What is it you fear?—you mention not force, but snares. Is not this to confess, at least, that you have some doubt of my understanding? do you then really imagine me so weak as to be cheated of my virtue?—am I to be deceived into an affection for a man before I perceive the least inward hint of my danger? No, Mr. Booth, believe me, a woman must be a fool indeed who can have in earnest such an excuse for her actions. I have not, I think, any very high opinion of my judgment, but so far I shall rely upon it, that no man breathing could have any such designs as you have apprehended without my immediately seeing them; and how I should then act I hope my whole conduct to you hath sufficiently declared.”
“Well, my dear,” cries Booth, “I beg you will mention it no more; if possible, forget it. I hope, nay, I believe, I have been in the wrong; pray forgive me.”
“I will, I do forgive you, my dear,” said she, “if forgiveness be a proper word for one whom you have rather made miserable than angry; but let me entreat you to banish for ever all such suspicions from your mind. I hope Mrs. Ellison hath not discovered the real cause of your passion; but, poor woman, if she had, I am convinced it would go no farther. Oh, Heavens! I would not for the world it should reach his lordship’s ears. You would lose the best friend that ever man had. Nay, I would not for his own sake, poor man; for I really believe it would affect him greatly, and I must, I cannot help having an esteem for so much goodness. An esteem which, by this dear hand,” said she, taking Booth’s hand and kissing it, “no man alive shall ever obtain by making love to me.”
Booth caught her in his arms and tenderly embraced her. After which the reconciliation soon became complete; and Booth, in the contemplation of his happiness, entirely buried all his jealous thoughts.