YOU will be again surprised, my dear Maria, at seeing whence I date my letter: but I have been very ill, and Mr. Villars was so much alarmed, that he not only insisted upon my accompanying Mrs. Selwyn hither, but earnestly desired she would hasten her intended journey.
We travelled very slowly, and I did not find myself so much fatigued as I expected. We are situated upon a most delightful spot; the prospect is beautiful, the air pure, and the weather very favourable to invalids. I am already better, and I doubt not but I shall soon be well; as well, in regard to mere health, as I wish to be.
I cannot express the reluctance with which I parted from my revered Mr. Villars: it was not like that parting which, last April, preceded my journey to Howard Grove, when, all expectation and hope, though I wept, I rejoiced, and, though I sincerely grieved to leave him, I yet wished to be gone: the sorrow I now felt was unmixed with any livelier sensation; expectation was vanished, and hope I had none! All that I held most dear upon earth I quitted; and that upon an errand, to the success of which I was totally indifferent, the re-establishment of my health. Had it been to have seen my sweet Maria, or her dear mother, I should not have repined.
Mrs. Selwyn is very kind and attentive to me. She is extremely clever: her understanding, indeed, may be called masculine: but, unfortunately, her manners deserve the same epithet; for, in studying to acquire the knowledge of the other sex, she has lost all the softness of her own. In regard to myself, however, as I have neither courage nor inclination to argue with her, I have never been personally hurt at her want of gentleness; a virtue which, nevertheless, seems so essential a part of the female character, that I find myself more awkward, and less at ease, with a woman who wants it, than I do with a man. She is not a favourite with Mr. Villars, who has often been disgusted at her unmerciful propensity to satire: but his anxiety that I should try the effect of the Bristol waters, overcame his dislike of committing me to her care. Mrs. Clinton is also here; so that I shall be as well attended as his utmost partiality could desire.
I will continue to write to you, my dear Miss Mirvan, with as much constancy as if I had no other correspondent; though, during my absence from Berry Hill, my letters may, perhaps, be shortened on account of the minuteness of the journal which I must write to my beloved Mr. Villars: but you, who know his expectations, and how many ties bind me to fulfil them, will I am sure, rather excuse any omission to yourself, than any negligence to him.
THE first fortnight that I passed here was so quiet, so serene, that it gave me reason to expect a settled calm during my stay; but if I may now judge of the time to come, by the present state of my mind, the calm will be succeeded by a storm, of which I dread the violence!
This morning, in my way to the pump-room with Mrs. Selwyn, we were both very much incommoded by three gentlemen, who were sauntering by the side of the Avon, laughing and talking very loud, and lounging so disagreeably, that we knew not how to pass them. They all three fixed their eyes very boldly upon me, alternately looking under my hat, and whispering one another. Mrs. Selwyn assumed an air of uncommon sternness, and said, “You will please, gentlemen, either to proceed yourselves, or to suffer us.”
“Oh! Ma’am,” cried one of them, “we will suffer you with the greatest pleasure in life.”
“You will suffer us both,” answered she, “or I am much mistaken: you had better, therefore, make way quietly; for I should be sorry to give my servant the trouble of teaching you better manners.”
Her commanding air struck them, yet they all chose to laugh; and one of them wished the fellow would begin his lesson, that he might have the pleasure of rolling him into the Avon; while another, advancing to me with a freedom which made me start, said, “By my soul, I did not know you!-but I am sure I cannot be mistaken;-had not I the honour of seeing you once at the Pantheon?”
I then recollected the nobleman, who, at that place, had so much embarrassed me. I courtsied without speaking. They all bowed, and making, though in a very easy manner, an apology to Mrs. Selwyn, they suffered us to pass on, but chose to accompany us.
“And where,” continued this Lord, “can you so long have hid yourself? do you know I have been in search of you this age? I could neither find you out, nor hear of you: not a creature could inform me what was become of you. I cannot imagine where you could be immured. I was at two or three public places every night, in hopes of meeting you. Pray, did you leave town?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“So early in the season!-what could possibly induce you to go before the birth-day?”
“I had nothing, my Lord, to do with the birth-day.”
“By my soul, all the women who had, may rejoice you were away. Have you been here any time?”
“Not above a fortnight, my Lord.”
“A fortnight!-how unlucky that I did not meet you sooner! but I have had a run of ill luck ever since I came. How long shall you stay?”
“Indeed, my Lord, I don’t know.”
“Six weeks, I hope; for I shall wish the place at the devil when you go.”
“Do you, then, flatter yourself, my Lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, who had hitherto listened in silent contempt, “that you shall see such a beautiful spot as this, when you visit the dominions of the devil?”
“Ha, ha, ha! Faith, my Lord,” said one of his companions, who still walked with us, though the other had taken leave, “the lady is rather hard upon you.”
“Not at all,” answered Mrs. Selwyn; “for as I cannot doubt but his Lordship’s rank and interest will secure him a place there, it would be reflecting on his understanding, to suppose he should not wish to enlarge and beautify his dwelling.”
Much as I was disgusted with this Lord, I must own Mrs. Selwyn’s severity rather surprised me: but you, who have so often observed it, will not wonder she took so fair an opportunity of indulging her humour.
“As to places,” returned he, totally unmoved, “I am so indifferent to them, that the devil take me if I care which way I go! objects, indeed, I am not so easy about; and, therefore, I expect, that those angels with whose beauty I am so much enraptured in this world, will have the goodness to afford me some little consolation in the other.”
“What, my Lord!” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “would you wish to degrade the habitation of your friend, by admitting into it the insipid company of the upper regions?”
“What do you do with yourself this evening?” said his Lordship, turning to me.
“I shall be at home, my Lord.”
“O, -e;-propos,-where are you?”
“Young ladies, my Lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “are no where.”
“Prithee,” whispered his Lordship, “is that queer woman your mother?”
Good Heavens, Sir, what words for such a question!
“No, my Lord.”
“Your maiden aunt then?”
“No.”
“Whoever she is, I wish she would mind her own affairs: I don’t know what the devil a woman lives for after thirty: she is only in other folk’s way. Shall you be at the assembly?”
“I believe not, my Lord.”
“No!-why then, how in the world can you contrive to pass your time?”
“In a manner which your Lordship will think very extraordinary,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “for the young lady reads.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Egad, my Lord,” cried the facetious companion, “you are got into bad hands.”
“You had better, Ma’am,” answered he, “attack Jack Coverley here, for you will make nothing of me.”
“Of you, my Lord,” cried she, “Heaven forbid I should ever entertain so idle an expectation! I only talk, like a silly woman, for the sake of talking; but I have by no means so low an opinion of your Lordship, as to suppose you vulnerable to censure.”
“Do, pray, Ma’am,” cried he, “turn to Jack Coverley; he’s the very man for you;-he’d be a wit himself if he was not too modest.”
“Prithee, my Lord, be quiet,” returned the other; “if the lady is contented to bestow all her favours upon you, why should you make such a point of my going snacks?”
“Don’t be apprehensive, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Selwyn, drily, “I am not romantic;-I have not the least design of doing good to either of you.”
“Have not you been ill since I saw you?” said his Lordship, again addressing himself to me.
“Yes, my Lord.”
“I thought so; you are paler than you was, and I suppose that’s the reason I did not recollect you sooner.”
“Has not your Lordship too much gallantry,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “to discover a young lady’s illness by her looks?”
“The devil a word can I speak for that woman,” said he, in a low voice; “do, prithee, Jack, take her in hand.”
“Excuse me, my Lord,” answered Mr. Coverley.
“When shall I see you again?” continued his Lordship; “do you go to the pump-room every morning?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Do you ride out?”
“No, my Lord.”
Just then we arrived at the pump-room, and an end was put to our conversation, if it is not an abuse of words to give such a term to a string of rude questions and free compliments.
He had not opportunity to say much more to me, as Mrs. Selwyn joined a large party, and I walked home between two ladies. He had, however, the curiosity to see us to the door.
Mrs. Selwyn was very eager to know how I had made acquaintance with this nobleman, whose manners so evidently announced the character of a confirmed libertine. I could give her very little satisfaction, as I was ignorant even of his name: but, in the afternoon, Mr. Ridgeway, the apothecary, gave us very ample information.
As his person was easily described, for he is remarkably tall, Mr. Ridgeway told us he was Lord Merton, a nobleman who is but lately come to his title, though he has already dissipated more than half his fortune; a professed admirer of beauty, but a man of most licentious character; that among men, his companions consisted chiefly of gamblers and jockeys, and among women he was rarely admitted.
“Well, Miss Anville,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “I am glad I was not more civil to him. You may depend upon me for keeping him at a distance.”
“O, Madam,” said Mr. Ridgeway, “he may now be admitted any where, for he is going to reform.”
“Has he, under that notion, persuaded any fool to marry him?”
“Not yet, Madam, but a marriage is expected to take place shortly: it has been some time in agitation; but the friends of the lady have obliged her to wait till she is of age: however, her brother, who has chiefly opposed the match, now that she is near being at her own disposal, is tolerably quiet. She is very pretty, and will have a large fortune. We expect her at the Wells every day.”
“What is her name?” said Mrs. Selwyn.
“Larpent,” answered he: “Lady Louisa Larpent, sister of Lord Orville.”
“Lord Orville!” repeated I, all amazement.
“Yes, Ma’am; his Lordship is coming with her. I have had certain information. They are to be at the Honourable Mrs. Beaumont’s. She is a relation of my Lord’s, and has a very fine house upon Clifton Hill.”
His Lordship is coming with her! -Good God, what an emotion did those words give me! How strange, my dear Sir, that, just at this time, he should visit Bristol! It will be impossible for me to avoid seeing him, as Mrs. Selwyn is very well acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont. Indeed, I have had an escape in not being under the same roof with him, for Mrs. Beaumont invited us to her house immediately upon our arrival; but the inconvenience of being so distant from the pump-room made Mrs. Selwyn decline her civility.
Oh that the first meeting were over!-or that I could quit Bristol without seeing him!-inexpressibly do I dread an interview! Should the same impertinent freedom be expressed by his looks, which dictated this cruel letter, I shall not know how to endure either him or myself. Had I but returned it, I should be easier, because my sentiments of it would then be known to him; but now, he can only gather them from my behaviour; and I tremble lest he should mistake my indignation for confusion!-lest he should misconstrue my reserve into embarrassment!-for how, my dearest Sir, how shall I be able totally to divest myself of the respect with which I have been used to think of him?-the pleasure with which I have been used to see him?
Surely he, as well as I, must recollect the letter at the moment of our meeting; and he will, probably, mean to gather my thoughts of it from my looks;-oh that they could but convey to him my real detestation of impertinence and vanity! then would he see how much he had mistaken my disposition when he imagined them my due.
There was a time when the very idea that such a man as Lord Merton should ever be connected with Lord Orville would have both surprised and shocked me; and even yet I am pleased to hear of his repugnance to the marriage.
But how strange, that a man of so abandoned a character should be the choice of a sister of Lord Orville! and how strange, that, almost at the moment of the union, he should be so importunate in gallantry to another woman! What a world is this we live in! how corrupt! how degenerate! well might I be contented to see no more of it! If I find that the eyes of Lord Orville agree with his pen,-I shall then think, that of all mankind, the only virtuous individual resides at Berry Hill.
OH, Sir, Lord Orville is still himself! still what, from the moment I beheld, I believed him to be-all that is amiable in man! and your happy Evelina, restored at once to spirits and tranquillity, is no longer sunk in her own opinion, nor discontented with the world;-no longer, with dejected eyes, sees the prospect of passing her future days in sadness, doubt, and suspicion!-with revived courage she now looks forward, and expects to meet with goodness, even among mankind:-though still she feels, as strongly as ever, the folly of hoping, in any second instance, to meet with perfection.
Your conjecture was certainly right; Lord Orville, when he wrote that letter, could not be in his senses. Oh that intemperance should have power to degrade so low, a man so noble!
This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to Clifton Hill, where, beautifully situated, is the house of Mrs. Beaumont. Most uncomfortable were my feelings during our walk, which was very slow; for the agitation of my mind made me more than usually sensible how weak I still continue. As we entered the house, I summoned all my resolution to my aid, determined rather to die than give Lord Orville reason to attribute my weakness to a wrong cause. I was happily relieved from my perturbation, when I saw Mrs. Beaumont was alone. We sat with her for, I believe, an hour without interruption; and then we saw a phaeton drive up to the gate, and a lady and gentleman alight from it.
They entered the parlour with the ease of people who were at home. The gentleman, I soon saw, was Lord Merton: he came shuffling into the room with his boots on, and his whip in his hand; and having made something like a bow to Mrs. Beaumont, he turned towards me. His surprise was very evident; but he took no manner of notice of me. He waited, I believe, to discover, first, what chance had brought me to that house, where he did not look much rejoiced at meeting me. He seated himself very quietly at the window, without speaking to any body.
Mean time the lady, who seemed very young, hobbling rather than walking into the room, made a passing courtsy to Mrs. Beaumont, saying, “How are you, Ma’am?” and then, without noticing any body else, with an air of languor she flung herself upon a sofa, protesting, in a most affected voice, and speaking so softly she could hardly be heard, that she was fatigued to death. “Really, Ma’am, the roads are so monstrous dusty,-you can’t imagine how troublesome the dust is to one’s eyes!-and the sun, too, is monstrous disagreeable!-I dare say I shall be so tanned: I shan’t be fit to be seen this age. Indeed, my Lord, I won’t go out with you any more, for you don’t care where you take one.”
“Upon my honour,” said Lord Merton, “I took you the pleasantest ride in England, the fault was in the sun, not me.”
“Your Lordship is in the right,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “to transfer the fault to the sun, because it has so many excellencies to counterbalance partial inconveniences that a little blame will not injure that in our estimation.”
Lord Merton looked by no means delighted at this attack; which I believe she would not so readily have made, but to revenge his neglect of us.
“Did you meet your brother, Lady Louisa?” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“No, Ma’am. Is he rode out this morning?”
I then found, what I had before suspected, that this lady was Lord Orville’s sister: how strange, that such near relations should be so different to each other! There is, indeed, some resemblance in their features; but, in their manners, not the least.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Beaumont, “and I believe he wished to see you.”
“My Lord drove so monstrous fast,” said Lady Louisa, “that perhaps we passed him. He frightened me out of my senses; I declare my head is quite giddy. Do you know, Ma’am, we have done nothing but quarrel all the morning?-You can’t think how I’ve scolded; have not I, my Lord?” and she smiled expressively at Lord Merton.
“You have been, as you always are,” said he, twisting his whip with his fingers, “all sweetness.”
“O fie, my Lord,” cried she, “I know you don’t think so; I know you think me very ill-natured;-don’t you, my Lord?”
“No, upon my honour;-how can your Ladyship ask such a question? Pray how goes time? my watch stands.”
“It is almost three,” answered Mrs. Beaumont.
“Lord, Ma’am, you frighten me!” cried Lady Louisa; and then, turning to Lord Merton, “why now, you wicked creature you, did you not tell me it was but one?”
Mrs. Selwyn then rose to take leave; but Mrs. Beaumont asked if she would look at the shrubbery. “I should like it much,” answered she, “but that I fear to fatigue Miss Anville.”
Lady Louisa, then, raising her head from her hand, on which it had leant, turned round to look at me; and having fully satisfied her curiosity, without any regard to the confusion it gave me, turned about, and, again leaning on her hand, took no further notice of me.
I declared myself very able to walk, and begged that I might accompany them. “What say you, Lady Louisa,” cried Mrs. Beaumont, “to a stroll in the garden?”
“Me, Ma’am!-I declare I can’t stir a step; the heat is so excessive, it would kill me. I’m half dead with it already; besides, I shall have no time to dress. Will any body be here to-day, Ma’am?”
“I believe not, unless Lord Merton will favour us with his company.”
“With great pleasure, Madam.”
“Well, I declare you don’t deserve to be asked,” cried Lady Louisa, “you wicked creature you!-I must tell you one thing, Ma’am,-you can’t think how abominable he was! do you know we met Mr. Lovel in his new phaeton, and my Lord was so cruel as to drive against it?-we really flew. I declare I could not breathe. Upon my word, my Lord, I’ll never trust myself with you again,-I won’t indeed.”
We then went into the garden, leaving them to discuss the point at their leisure.
Do you remember a pretty but affected young lady I mentioned to have seen, in Lord Orville’s party, at the Pantheon? How little did I then imagine her to be his sister! yet Lady Louisa Larpent is the very person. I can now account for the piqued manner of her speaking to Lord Merton that evening, and I can now account for the air of displeasure with which Lord Orville marked the undue attention of his future brother-in-law to me.
We had not walked long, ere, at a distance, I perceived Lord Orville, who seemed just dismounted from his horse, enter the garden. All my perturbation returned at the sight of him!-yet I endeavoured to repress every feeling but resentment. As he approached us, he bowed to the whole party; but I turned away my head to avoid taking any share in his civility. Addressing himself immediately to Mrs. Beaumont, he was beginning to enquire after his sister: but, upon seeing my face, he suddenly exclaimed, “Miss Anville!-” and then he advanced, and made his compliments to me,-not with an air of vanity or impertinence, nor yet with a look of consciousness or shame;-but with a countenance open, manly, and charming!-with a smile that indicated pleasure, and eyes that sparkled with delight!-on my side was all that consciousness; for by him, I really believe, the letter was, at that moment, entirely forgotten.
With what politeness did he address me! with what sweetness did he look at me! the very tone of his voice seemed flattering! he congratulated himself upon his good fortune in meeting with me;-hoped I should spend some time in Bristol, and enquired, even with anxiety enquired, if my health was the cause of my journey; in which case his satisfaction would be converted into apprehension.
Yet, struck as I was with his manner, and charmed to find him such as he was wont to be, imagine not, my dear Sir, that I forgot the resentment I owe him, or the cause he has given me of displeasure; no, my behaviour was such, as I hope, had you seen, you would not have disapproved: I was grave and distant; I scarce looked at him when he spoke, or answered him when he was silent.
As he must certainly observe this alteration in my conduct, I think it could not fail making him both recollect and repent the provocation he had so causelessly given me; for surely he was not so wholly lost to reason, as to be now ignorant he had ever offended me.
The moment that, without absolute rudeness, I was able, I turned entirely from him, and asked Mrs. Selwyn if we should not be late home? How Lord Orville looked I know not, for I avoided meeting his eyes; but he did not speak another word as we proceeded to the garden gate. Indeed, I believe, my abruptness surprised him, for he did not seem to expect I had so much spirit. And, to own the truth, convinced as I was of the propriety, nay, necessity, of showing my displeasure, I yet almost hated myself for receiving his politeness so ungraciously.
When we were taking leave, my eyes accidentally meeting his, I could not but observe that his gravity equalled my own; for it had entirely taken place of the smiles and good humour with which he had met me.
“I am afraid this young lady,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “is too weak for another long walk till she is again rested.”
“If the ladies will trust to my driving,” said Lord Orville, “and are not afraid of a phaeton, mine shall be ready in a moment.”
“You are very good, my Lord, “said Mrs. Selwyn, “but my will is yet unsigned, and I don’t choose to venture in a phaeton with a young man while that is the case.”
“O,” cried Mrs. Beaumont, “you need not be afraid of my Lord Orville, for he is remarkably careful.”
“Well, Miss Anville,” answered she, “what say you?”
“Indeed,” cried I, “I had much rather walk-.” But then, looking at Lord Orville, I perceived in his face a surprise so serious at my abrupt refusal, that I could not forbear adding, “for I should be sorry to occasion so much trouble.”
Lord Orville, brightening at these words, came forward, and pressed his offer in a manner not to be denied;-so the phaeton was ordered! And indeed, my dear Sir,-I know not how it was;-but, from that moment, my coldness and reserve insensibly wore away! You must not be angry,-it was my intention, nay, my endeavour, to support them with firmness: but when I formed the plan, I thought only of the letter,-not of Lord Orville!-and how is it possible for resentmen to subsist without provocation? yet, believe me, my dearest Sir, had he sustained the part he began to act when he wrote this ever-to-be-regretted letter, your Evelina would have not forfeited her title to your esteem, by contentedly submitting to be treated with indignity.
We continued in the garden till the phaeton was ready. When we parted from Mrs. Beaumont, she repeated her invitation to Mrs. Selwyn to accept an apartment in her house; but the reason I have already mentioned made it be again declined.
Lord Orville drove very slow, and so cautiously, that, notwithstanding the height of the phaeton, fear would have been ridiculous. I supported no part in the conversation; but Mrs. Selwyn extremely well supplied the place of two. Lord Orville himself did not speak much; but the excellent sense and refined good-breeding which accompany every word he utters, give value and weight to whatever he says.
“I suppose, my Lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, when we stopped at our lodgings, “you would have been extremely confused had we met any gentlemen who have the honour of knowing you.”
“If I had,” answered he, gallantly, “it would have been from mere compassion at their envy.”
“No, my Lord,” answered she, “it would have been from mere shame, that, in an age so daring, you alone should be such a coward as to forbear to frighten women.”
“O,” cried he, laughing, “when a man is in a fright for himself, the ladies cannot but be in security; for you have not had half the apprehension for the safety of your persons, that I have for that of my heart.” He then alighted, handed us out, took leave, and again mounting the phaeton, was out of sight in a minute.
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Selwyn, when he was gone, “there must have been some mistake in the birth of that young man; he was, undoubtedly, designed for the last age; for he is really polite!”
And now, my dear Sir, do not you think, according to the present situation of affairs, I may give up my resentment, without imprudence or impropriety? I hope you will not blame me. Indeed, had you, like me, seen his respectful behaviour, you would have been convinced of the impracticability of supporting any further indignation.
YESTERDAY morning Mrs. Selwyn received a card from Mrs. Beaumont, to ask her to dine with her to-day: and another, to the same purpose, came to me. The invitation was accepted, and we are but just arrived from Clifton Hill.
We found Mrs. Beaumont alone in the parlour. I will write you the character of that lady, in the words of our satirical friend Mrs. Selwyn. “She is an absolute Court Calendar bigot; for, chancing herself to be born of a noble and ancient family, she thinks proper to be of opinion, that birth and virtue are one and the same thing. She has some good qualities; but they rather originate from pride than principle, as she piques herself upon being too high-born to be capable of an unworthy action, and thinks it incumbent upon her to support the dignity of her ancestry. Fortunately for the world in general, she has taken it into her head, that condescension is the most distinguishing virtue of high life; so that the same pride of family which renders others imperious, is with her the motive of affability. But her civility is too formal to be comfortable, and too mechanical to be flattering. That she does me the honour of so much notice, is merely owing to an accident, which, I am sure, is very painful to her remembrance; for it so happened, that I once did her some service, in regard to an apartment at Southampton; and I have since been informed, that, at the time she accepted my assistance, she thought I was a woman of quality; and I make no doubt but she was miserable when she discovered me to be a mere country gentlewoman: however, her nice notions of decorum have made her load me with favours ever since. But I am not much flattered by her civilities, as I am convinced I owe them neither to attachment nor gratitude; but solely to a desire of cancelling an obligation, which she cannot brook being under, to one whose name is no where to be found in the Court Calendar.”
You well know, my dear Sir, the delight this lady takes in giving way to her satirical humour.
Mrs. Beaumont received us very graciously, though she some what distressed me by the questions she asked concerning my family;-such as, Whether I was related to the Anvilles in the North?-Whether some of my name did not live in Lincolnshire? and many other inquiries, which much embarrassed me.
The conversation next turned upon the intended marriage in her family. She treated the subject with reserve; but it was evident she disapproved Lady Louisa’s choice. She spoke in terms of the highest esteem of Lord Orville, calling him, in Marmontel’s words, “Un jeune homme comme il y en a peu.”
I did not think this conversation very agreeably interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Lovel. Indeed I am heartily sorry he is now at the Hot Wells. He made his compliments with the most obsequious respect to Mrs. Beaumont, but took no sort of notice of any other person.
In a few minutes Lady Louisa Larpent made her appearance. The same manners prevailed; for, courtsying, with “I hope you are well, Ma’am,” to Mrs. Beaumont, she passed straight forward to her seat on the sofa; where, leaning her head on her hand, she cast her languishing eyes round the room, with a vacant stare, as if determined, though she looked, not to see who was in it.
Mr. Lovel, presently approaching her, with reverence the most profound, hoped her Ladyship was not indisposed.
“Mr. Lovel!” cried she, raising her head, “I declare I did not see you: have you been here long?”
“By my watch, Madam,” said he, “only five minutes,-but by your Ladyship’s absence as many hours.”
“O! now I think of it,” cried she, “I am very angry with you;-so go along, do; for I sha’n’t speak to you all day.”
“Heaven forbid your La’ship’s displeasure should last so long! in such cruel circumstances, a day would seem an age. But in what have I been so unfortunate as to offend?”
“O, you half killed me the other morning, with terror! I have not yet recovered from my fright. How could you be so cruel as to drive your phaeton against my Lord Merton’s?”
“‘Pon honour, Ma’am, your La’ship does me wrong;-it was all owing to the horses,-there was no curbing them. I protest I suffered more than your Ladyship, from the terror of alarming you.”
Just then entered Lord Merton; stalking up to Mrs. Beaumont, to whom alone he bowed, he hoped he had not made her wait; and then, advancing to Lady Louisa, said, in a careless manner, “How is your Ladyship this morning?”
“Not well at all,” answered she; “I have been dying with the head-ache ever since I got up.”
“Indeed!” cried he, with a countenance wholly unmoved, “I am very unhappy to hear it. But should not your Ladyship have some advice?”
“I am quite sick of advice,” answered she, “Mr. Ridgeway has but just left me,-but he has done me no good. Nobody here knows what is the matter with me, yet they all see how indifferent I am.”
“Your Ladyship’s constitution,” said Mr. Lovel, “is infinitely delicate.”
“Indeed it is,” cried she, in a low voice, “I am nerve all over!”
“I am glad, however,” said Lord Merton, “that you did not take the air this morning, for Coverley has been driving against me as if he was mad: he has got two of the finest spirited horses I ever saw.”
“Pray my Lord,” cried she, “why did not you bring Mr. Coverley with you? he’s a droll creature; I like him monstrously.”
“Why, he promised to be here as soon as me. I suppose he’ll come before dinner’s over.”
In the midst of this trifling conversation Lord Orville made his appearance. O how different was his address! how superior did he look and move, to all about him! Having paid his respects to Mrs. Beaumont, and then to Mrs. Selwyn, he came up to me, and said, “I hope Miss Anville has not suffered from the fatigue of Monday morning?” Then, turning to Lady Louisa, who seemed rather surprised at his speaking to me, he added, “Give me leave, sister, to introduce Miss Anville to you.”
Lady Louisa, half-rising, said, very coldly, that she should be glad of the honour of knowing me; and then, abruptly turning to Lord Merton and Mr. Lovel, continued, in a half-whisper, her conversation.
For my part, I had risen and courtsied, and now, feeling very foolish, I seated myself again: first I blushed at the unexpected politeness of Lord Orville, and immediately afterwards at the contemptuous failure of it in his sister. How can that young lady see her brother so universally admired for his manners and deportment, and yet be so unamiably opposite to him in hers! but while his mind, enlarged and noble, rises superior to the little prejudices of rank, hers, feeble and unsteady, sinks beneath their influence.
Lord Orville, I am sure, was hurt and displeased: he bit his lips, and, turning from her, addressed himself wholly to me, till we were summoned to dinner. Do you think I was not grateful for his attention? yes, indeed, and every angry idea I had entertained was totally obliterated.
As we were seating ourselves at the table, Mr. Coverley came into the room; he made a thousand apologies in a breath for being so late, but said he had been retarded by a little accident, for that he had overturned his phaeton, and broke it all to pieces. Lady Louisa screamed at this intelligence, and, looking at Lord Merton, declared she would never go into a phaeton again.
“O,” cried he, “never mind Jack Coverley; for he does not know how to drive.”
“My Lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “I’ll drive against you for a thousand pounds.”
“Done!” returned the other; “name your day, and we’ll each choose a judge.”
“The sooner the better,” cried Mr. Coverley; “to-morrow, if the carriage can be repaired.”
“These enterprises,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “are very proper for men of rank, since ’tis a million to one but both parties will be incapacitated for any better employment.”
“For Heaven’s sake,” cried Lady Louisa, changing colour, “don’t talk so shockingly! Pray, my Lord, pray, Mr. Coverley, don’t alarm me in this manner.”
“Compose yourself, Lady Louisa,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “the gentlemen will think better of the scheme; they are neither of them in earnest.”
“The very mention of such a scheme,” said Lady Louisa, taking out her salts, “makes me tremble all over! Indeed, my Lord, you have frightened me to death! I sha’n’t eat a morsel of dinner.”
“Permit me,” said Lord Orville, “to propose some other subject for the present, and we will discuss this matter another time.”
“Pray, brother, excuse me; my Lord must give me his word to drop the project,-for I declare it has made me sick as death.”
“To compromise the matter,” said Lord Orville, “suppose, if both parties are unwilling to give up the bet, that, to make the ladies easy, we change its object to something less dangerous?”
This proposal was so strongly seconded by all the party, that both Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley were obliged to comply with it; and it was then agreed that the affair should be finally settled in the afternoon.
“I shall now be entirely out of conceit with phaetons again,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “though Lord Orville had almost reconciled me to them.”
“My Lord Orville!” cried the witty Mr. Coverley, “why, my Lord Orville is as careful,-egad, as careful as an old woman! Why, I’d drive a one-horse cart against my Lord’s phaeton for a hundred guineas!”
This sally occasioned much laughter; for Mr. Coverley, I find, is regarded as a man of infinite humour.
“Perhaps, Sir,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “you have not discovered the reason my Lord Orville is so careful?”
“Why, no, Ma’am; I must own I never heard any particular reason for it.”
“Why, then, Sir, I’ll tell it you; and I believe you will confess it to be very particular; his Lordship’s friends are not yet tired of him.”
Lord Orville laughed and bowed. Mr. Coverley, a little confused, turned to Lord Merton, and said, “No foul play, my Lord! I remember your Lordship recommended me to the notice of this lady the other morning, and, egad, I believe you have been doing me the same office to-day.”
“Give you joy, Jack!” cried Lord Merton, with a loud laugh.
After this the conversation turned wholly upon eating, a subject which was discussed with the utmost delight; and, had I not known they were men of rank and fashion, I should have imagined that Lord Merton, Mr. Lovel, and Mr. Coverley, had all been professed cooks; for they displayed so much knowledge of sauces and made-dishes, and of the various methods of dressing the same things, that I am persuaded they must have given much time, and much study, to make themselves such adepts in this art. It would be very difficult to determine, whether they were most to be distinguished as gluttons or epicures; for they were, at once, dainty and voracious, understood the right and the wrong of every dish, and alike emptied the one and the other. I should have been quite sick of their remarks, had I not been entertained by seeing that Lord Orville, who, I am sure, was equally disgusted, not only read my sentiments, but, by his countenance, communicated to me his own.
When dinner was over, Mrs. Beaumont recommended the gentlemen to the care of Lord Orville, and then attended the ladies to the drawing-room.
The conversation, till tea-time, was extremely insipid; Mrs. Selwyn reserved herself for the gentlemen, Mrs. Beaumont was grave, and Lady Louisa languid.
But, at tea, every body revived; we were joined by the gentlemen, and gaiety took the place of dullness.
Since I, as Mr. Lovel says, am Nobody, I seated myself quietly at a window, and not very near to any body: Lord Merton, Mr. Coverley, and Mr. Lovel, severally passed me without notice, and surrounded the chair of Lady Louisa Larpent. I must own, I was rather piqued at the behaviour of Mr. Lovel, as he had formerly known me. It is true, I most sincerely despise his foppery; yet I should be grieved to meet with contempt from any body. But I was by no means sorry to find, that Lord Merton was determined not to know me before Lady Louisa, as his neglect relieved me from much embarrassment. As to Mr. Coverley, his attention or disregard were equally indifferent to me. Yet, altogether, I feel extremely uncomfortable in finding myself considered in a light very inferior to the rest of the company.
But when Lord Orville appeared, the scene changed: he came up stairs last; and, seeing me sit alone, not only spoke to me directly, but drew a chair next mine, and honoured me with his entire attention.
He enquired very particularly after my health, and hoped I had already found benefit from the Bristol air. “How little did I imagine,” added he, “when I had last the pleasure of seeing you in town, that ill health would in so short a time have brought you hither! I am ashamed of myself for the satisfaction I feel at seeing you,-yet, how can I help it?”
He then enquired after the Mirvan family, and spoke of Mrs. Mirvan in terms of most just praise. “She is gentle and amiable,” said he, “a true feminine character.”
“Yes, indeed,” answered I: “and her sweet daughter, to say every thing of her at once, is just the daughter such a mother deserves.”
“I am glad of it,” said he, “for both their sakes, as such near relations must always reflect credit or disgrace on each other.”
After this he began to speak of the beauties of Clifton; but, in a few moments, he was interrupted by a call from the company, to discuss the affair of the wager. Lord Merton and Mr. Coverley, though they had been discoursing upon the subject some time, could not fix upon the thing that satisfied them both.
When they asked the assistance of Lord Orville, he proposed that every body present should vote something; and that the two gentlemen should draw lots which, from the several votes, should decide the bet.
“We must then begin with the ladies,” said Lord Orville; and applied to Mrs. Selwyn.
“With all my heart,” answered she, with her usual readiness; “and, since the gentlemen are not allowed to risk their necks, suppose we decide the bet by their heads?”
“By our heads?” cried Mr. Coverley. “Egad, I don’t understand you.”
“I will then explain myself more fully. As I doubt not but you are both excellent classics, suppose, for the good of your own memories, and the entertainment and surprise of the company, the thousand pounds should fall to the share of him who can repeat by heart the longest ode of Horace?”
Nobody could help laughing, the two gentlemen applied to excepted; who seemed, each of them, rather at a loss in what manner to receive this unexpected proposal. At length Mr. Coverley, bowing low, said, “Will your Lordship please to begin?”
“Devil take me if I do!” answered he, turning on his heel, and stalking to the window.
“Come, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “why do you hesitate? I am sure you cannot be afraid of a weak woman? Besides, if you should chance to be out, Mr. Lovel, I dare say, will have the goodness to assist you.”
The laugh now turned against Mr. Lovel, whose change of countenance manifested no great pleasure at the transition.
“Me, Madam!” said he, colouring; “no, really I must beg to be excused.”
“Why so, Sir?”
“Why so, Ma’am!-Why, really-as to that,-’pon honour, Ma’am, you are rather-a little severe;-for how is it possible for a man who is in the house, to study the classics? I assure you, Ma’am, (with an affected shrug) I find quite business enough for my poor head in studying politics.”
“But, did you study politics at school, and at the university?”
“At the university!” repeated he, with an embarrassed look; “why, as to that, Ma’am,-no, I can’t say I did; but then, what with riding,-and -and-and so forth,-really, one has not much time, even at the university, for mere reading.”
“But, to be sure, Sir, you have read the classics?”
“O dear, yes, Ma’am!-very often,-but not very-not very lately.”
“Which of the Odes do you recommend to these gentlemen to begin with?”
“Which of the Odes!-Really, Ma’am, as to that, I have no very particular choice;-for, to own the truth, that Horace was never a very great favourite with me.”
“In truth I believe you!” said Mrs. Selwyn, very drily.
Lord Merton, again advancing into the circle, with a nod and a laugh, said, “Give you joy, Lovel!”
Lord Orville next applied to Mrs. Beaumont for her vote.
“It would very agreeably remind me of past times,” said she, “when bowing was in fashion, if the bet was to depend upon the best made bow.”
“Egad, my Lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “there I should beat you hollow, for your Lordship never bows at all.”
“And pray, Sir, do you?” said Mrs. Selwyn.
“Do I, Ma’am?” cried he; “why, only see!”
“I protest,” cried she, “I should have taken that for a shrug, if you had not told me ’twas a bow.”
“My lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “let’s practise;” and then, most ridiculously, they pranced about the room, making bows.
“We must now,” said Lord Orville, turning to me, “call upon Miss Anville.”
“O no, my Lord,” cried I; “indeed I have nothing to propose.” He would not, however, be refused; but urged me so much to say something, that at last, not to make him wait any longer, I ventured to propose an extempore couplet upon some given subject. Mr. Coverley instantly made me a bow, or, according to Mrs. Selwyn, a shrug, crying, “Thank you, Ma’am; egad, that’s my forte!-why, my Lord, the Fates seem against you.”
Lady Louisa was then applied to; and every body seemed eager to hear her opinion. “I don’t know what to say, I declare,” cried she, affectedly; “can’t you pass me?”
“By no means,” said Lord Merton.
“Is it possible your Ladyship can make so cruel a request?” said Mr. Lovel.
“Egad,” cried Mr. Coverley, “if your Ladyship does not help us in this dilemma, we shall be forced to return to our phaetons.”
“Oh!” cried Lady Louisa, screaming; “you frightful creature, you, how can you be so abominable?”
I believe this trifling lasted near half an hour; when at length, every body being tired, it was given up, and she said she would consider against another time.
Lord Orville now called upon Mr. Lovel; who, after about ten minutes’ deliberation, proposed, with a most important face, to determine the wager by who should draw the longest straw!
I had much difficulty to forbear laughing at this unmeaning scheme; but saw, to my great surprise, not the least change of countenance in any other person: and, since we came home, Mrs. Selwyn has informed me, that to draw straws is a fashion of betting by no means uncommon. Good God! my dear Sir, does it not seem as if money were of no value or service, since those who possess, squander it away in a manner so infinitely absurd?
It now only remained for Lord Orville to speak; and the attention of the company showed the expectations he had raised; yet, I believe, they by no means prevented his proposal from being heard with amazement; for it was no other, than that the money should be his due, who, according to the opinion of the judges, should bring the worthiest object with whom to share it!
They all stared, without speaking. Indeed, I believe every one, for a moment at least, experienced something like shame, from having either proposed or countenanced an extravagance so useless and frivolous. For my part, I was so much struck and affected by a rebuke so noble to these spendthrifts, that I felt my eyes filled with tears.
The short silence and momentary reflection into which the company was surprised, Mr. Coverley was the first to dispel, by saying, “Egad, my Lord, your Lordship has a most remarkable odd way of taking things.”
“Faith,” said the incorrigible Lord Merton, “if this scheme takes, I shall fix upon my Swiss to share with me; for I don’t know a worthier fellow breathing.”
After a few more of these attempts at wit, the two gentlemen agreed that they would settle the affair the next morning.
The conversation then took a different turn; but I did not give it sufficient attention to write any account of it. Not long after, Lord Orville, resuming his seat near mine, said, “Why is Miss Anville so thoughtful?”
“I am sorry, my Lord,” said I, “to consider myself among those who have so justly incurred your censure.”
“My censure!-you amaze me!”
“Indeed, my Lord, you have made me quite ashamed of myself for having given my vote so foolishly, when an opportunity offered, if, like your Lordship, I had had the sense to use it, of showing some humanity.”
“You treat this too seriously,” said he, smiling; “and I hardly know if you do not now mean a rebuke to me.”
“To you, my Lord!”
“Nay, who are most deserving of it; those who adapt their conversation to the company, or those who affect to be superior to it?”
“O, my Lord, who else would do you so little justice?”
“I flatter myself,” answered he, “that, in fact, your opinion and mine, in this point, are the same, though you condescended to comply with the humour of the company. It is for me, therefore, to apologize for so unseasonable a gravity, which, but for the particular interest that I now take in the affairs of Lord Merton, I should not have been so officious to display.”
Such a compliment as this could not fail to reconcile me to myself; and with revived spirits, I entered into a conversation, which he supported with me till Mrs. Selwyn’s carriage was announced; and we returned home.
During our ride, Mrs. Selwyn very much surprised me, by asking, if I thought my health would now permit me to give up my morning walks to the pump-room, for the purpose of spending a week at Clifton? “for this poor Mrs. Beaumont,” added she, “is so eager to have a discharge in full of her debt to me, that out of mere compassion, I am induced to listen to her. Besides, she has always a house full of people; and, though they are chiefly fools and cox-combs, yet there is some pleasure in cutting them up.”
I begged I might not, by any means, prevent her following her inclination, as my health was now very well established. And so, my dear Sir, to-morrow we are to be actually the guests of Mrs. Beaumont.
I am not much delighted at this scheme; for, greatly as I am flattered by the attention of Lord Orville, it is not very comfortable to be neglected by every body else. Besides, as I am sure I owe the particularity of his civility to a generous feeling for my situation, I cannot expect him to support it so long as a week.
How often do I wish, since I am absent from you, that I was under the protection of Mrs. Mirvan! It is true, Mrs. Selwyn is very obliging, and, in every respect, treats me as an equal; but she is contented with behaving well herself, and does not, with a distinguishing politeness, raise and support me with others. Yet I mean not to blame her, for I know she is sincerely my friend; but the fact is, she is herself so much occupied in conversation, when in company, that she has neither leisure nor thought to attend to the silent.
Well, I must take my chance! But I knew not, till now, how requisite are birth and fortune to the attainment of respect and civility.