HOW agitated, my dear Sir, is the present life of your Evelina! every day seems important, and one event only a prelude to another.
Mrs. Selwyn, upon her return this morning from the Hot Wells, entering my room very abruptly, said, “Oh, my dear, I have terrible news for you!”
“For me, Ma’am!-Good God! what now?”
“Arm yourself,” cried she, “with all your Berry Hill philosophy;-con over every lesson of fortitude or resignation you ever learnt in your life;-for know,-you are next week to be married to Lord Orville!”
Doubt, astonishment, and a kind of perturbation I cannot describe, made this abrupt communication alarm me extremely; and, almost breathless, I could only exclaim, “Good God, Madam, what do you tell me!”
“You may well be frightened, my dear,” said she, ironically; “for really there is something mighty terrific in becoming, at once, the wife of the man you adore,-and a Countess!”
I entreated her to spare her raillery, and tell me her real meaning. She could not prevail with herself to grant the first request, though she readily complied with the second.
My poor father, she said, was still in the utmost uneasiness: he entered upon his affairs with great openness, and told her, he was equally disturbed how to dispose either of the daughter he had discovered, or the daughter he was now to give up; the former he dreaded to trust himself with again beholding, and the latter he knew not how to shock with the intelligence of her disgrace. Mrs. Selwyn then acquainted him with my situation in regard to Lord Orville: this delighted him extremely; and, when he heard of his Lordship’s eagerness, he said he was himself of opinion, the sooner the union took place the better; and, in return, he informed her of the affair of Mr. Macartney. “And, after a very long conversation,” continued Mrs. Selwyn, “we agreed, that the most eligible scheme for all parties would be, to have both the real and the fictitious daughter married without delay. Therefore, if either of you have any inclination to pull caps for the title of Miss Belmont, you must do it with all speed, as next week will take from both of you all pretensions to it.”
“Next week!-dear Madam, what a strange plan!-without my being consulted,-without applying to Mr. Villars,-without even the concurrence of Lord Orville!”
“As to consulting you, my dear, it was out of all question; because, you know, young ladies’ hearts and hands are always to be given with reluctance;-as to Mr. Villars, it is sufficient we know him for your friend;-and as for Lord Orville, he is a party concerned.”
“A party concerned!-you amaze me!”
“Why, yes; for, as I found our consultation likely to redound to his advantage, I persuaded Sir John to send for him.”
“Send for him!-Good God!”
“Yes; and Sir John agreed. I told the servant, that if he could not hear of his Lordship in the house, he might be pretty certain of encountering him in the arbour.-Why do you colour, my dear?-Well, he was with us in a moment: I introduced him to Sir John; and we proceeded to business.”
“I am very, very sorry for it!-Lord Orville must himself think this conduct strangely precipitate.”
“No, my dear, you are mistaken; Lord Orville has too much good sense. Everything was then discussed in a rational manner. You are to be married privately, though not secretly, and then go to one of his Lordship’s country seats: and poor little Miss Green and your brother, who have no house of their own, must go to one of Sir John’s.”
“But why, my dear Madam, why all this haste? why may we not be allowed a little longer time?”
“I could give you a thousand reasons,” answered she, “but that I am tolerably certain two or three will be more than you can controvert, even with all the logic of genuine coquetry. In the first place, you doubtless wish to quit the house of Mrs. Beaumont: to whose, then, can you with such propriety remove as to Lord Orville’s?”
“Surely, Madam,” cried I, “I am not more destitute now than when I thought myself an orphan.”
“Your father, my dear,” answered she, “is willing to save the little impostor as much of the mortification of her disgrace as is in his power; now, if you immediately take her place, according to your right, as Miss Belmont, why, not all that either of you can do for her, will prevent her being eternally stigmatized as the bantling of Dame Green, wash-woman and wet nurse, of Berry Hill, Dorsetshire. Now such a genealogy will not be very flattering, even to Mr. Macartney, who, all-dismal as he is, you will find by no means wanting in pride and self-consequence.”
“For the universe,” interrupted I, “I would not be accessary to the degradation you mention; but surely, Madam, I may return to Berry Hill?”
“By no means,” said she; “for though compassion may make us wish to save the poor girl the confusion of an immediate and public fall, yet justice demands you should appear henceforward in no other light than that of Sir John Belmont’s daughter. Besides, between friends, I, who know the world, can see that half this prodigious delicacy for the little usurper is the mere result of self-interest; for, while her affairs are hushed up, Sir John’s, you know, are kept from being brought further to light. Now the double marriage we have projected obviates all rational objections. Sir John will give you immediately L.30,000; all settlements, and so forth, will be made for you in the name of Evelina Belmont:-Mr. Macartney will at the same time take poor Polly Green; and yet, at first, it will only be generally known that a daughter of Sir John Belmont is married.”
In this manner, though she did not convince me, yet the quickness of her arguments silenced and perplexed me. I enquired, however, if I might not be permitted to again see my father, or whether I must regard myself as banished his presence for ever?
“My dear,” said she, “he does not know you: he concludes that you have been brought up to detest him; and therefore he is rather prepared to dread than to love you.”
This answer made me very unhappy: I wished, most impatiently, to remove his prejudice, and endeavour, by dutiful assiduity, to engage his kindness; yet knew not how to propose seeing him, while conscious he wished to avoid me.
This evening, as soon as the company was engaged with cards, Lord Orville exerted his utmost eloquence to reconcile me to this hasty plan; but how was I startled when he told me that next Tuesday was the day appointed by my father to be the most important of my life!
“Next Tuesday!” repeated I, quite out of breath, “Oh, my Lord!-”
“My sweet Evelina,” said he, “the day which will make me the happiest of mortals, would probably appear awful to you, were it to be deferred a twelvemonth. Mrs. Selwyn has, doubtless, acquainted you with the many motives which, independent of my eagerness, require it to be speedy; suffer, therefore, its acceleration, and generously complete my felicity, by endeavouring to suffer it without repugnance.”
“Indeed, my Lord, I would not wilfully raise objections, nor do I desire to appear insensible of the honour of your good opinion;-but there is something in this plan-so very hasty-so unreasonably precipitate:-besides, I shall have no time to hear from Berry Hill;-and believe me, my Lord, I should be for ever miserable, were I, in an affair so important, to act without the sanction of Mr. Villars’s advice.”
He offered to wait on you himself: but I told him I had rather write to you. And then he proposed, that, instead of my immediately accompanying him to Lincolnshire, we should first pass a month at my native Berry Hill.
This was, indeed, a grateful proposal to me, and I listened to it with undisguised pleasure. And, in short, I was obliged to consent to a compromise in merely deferring the day till Thursday! He readily undertook to engage my father’s concurrence in this little delay; and I besought him, at the same time, to make use of his influence to obtain me a second interview, and to represent the deep concern I felt in being thus banished his sight.
He would then have spoken of settlements; but I assured him I was almost ignorant of the word.
And now, my dearest Sir, what is your opinion of these hasty proceedings? Believe me, I half regret the simple facility with which I have suffered myself to be hurried into compliance; and, should you start but the smallest objection, I will yet insist upon being allowed more time.
I must now write a concise account of the state of my affairs to Howard Grove, and to Madame Duval.
Adieu, dearest and most honoured Sir! everything at present depends upon your single decision; to which, though I yield in trembling, I yield implicitly.
YESTERDAY morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Lord Orville went to the Hot Wells, to wait upon my father with my double petition.
Mrs. Beaumont then, in general terms, proposed a walk in the garden. Mrs. Selwyn said she had letters to write; but Lady Louisa rose to accompany Mrs. Beaumont.
I had had some reason to imagine, from the notice with which her Ladyship had honoured me during breakfast, that her brother had acquainted her with my present situation: and her behaviour now confirmed my conjectures: for, when I would have gone up stairs, instead of suffering me, as usual, to pass disregarded, she called after me with an affected surprise, “Miss Anville, don’t you walk with us?”
There seemed something so little-minded in this sudden change of conduct, that, from an involuntary motion of contempt, I thanked her with a coldness like her own, and declined her offer. Yet, observing that she blushed extremely at my refusal, and recollecting she was sister to Lord Orville, my indignation subsided; and, upon Mrs. Beaumont repeating the invitation, I accepted it.
Our walk proved extremely dull: Mrs. Beaumont, who never says much, was more silent than usual; Lady Louisa strove in vain to lay aside the restraint and distance she has hitherto preserved; and, as to me, I was too conscious of the circumstances to which I owed their attention, to feel either pride or pleasure from receiving it.
Lord Orville was not long absent: he joined us in the garden with a look of gaiety and good humour that revived us all. “You are just the party,” said he, “I wished to see together. Will you, Madam (taking my hand), allow me the honour of introducing you, by your real name, to two of my nearest relations? Mrs. Beaumont, give me leave to present to you the daughter of Sir John Belmont, a young lady who, I am sure, must long since have engaged your esteem and admiration, though you were a stranger to her birth.”
“My Lord,” said Mrs. Beaumont, graciously saluting me, “the young lady’s rank in life, your Lordship’s recommendation, or her own merit, would, any one of them, have been sufficient to have entitled her to my regard; and I hope she has always met with that respect in my house which is so much her due; though, had I been sooner made acquainted with her family, I should doubtless have better known how to have secured it.”
“Miss Belmont,” said Lord Orville, “can receive no lustre from family, whatever she may give to it. Louisa, you will, I am sure, be happy to make yourself an interest in the friendship of Miss Belmont, whom I hope shortly (kissing my hand, and joining it with her Ladyship’s) to have the happiness of presenting to you by yet another name, and by the most endearing of all titles.”
I believe it would be difficult to say whose cheeks were, at that moment, of the deepest dye, Lady Louisa’s or my own; for the conscious pride with which she has hitherto slighted me, gave to her an embarrassment which equalled the confusion that an introduction so unexpected gave to me. She saluted me, however; and, with a faint smile said, “I shall esteem myself very happy to profit by the honour of Miss Belmont’s acquaintance.”
I only courtsied, and we walked on; but it was evident, from the little surprise they expressed, that they had been already informed of the state of the affair.
We were soon after joined by more company: and Lord Orville then, in a low voice, took an opportunity to tell me the success of his visit. In the first place, Thursday was agreed to; and, in the second, my father, he said, was much concerned to hear of my uneasiness; sent me his blessing; and complied with my request of seeing him, with the same readiness he should agree to any other I could make. Lord Orville, therefore, settled that I should wait upon him in the evening, and, at his particular request, unaccompanied by Mrs. Selwyn.
This kind message, and the prospect of so soon seeing him, gave me sensations of mixed pleasure and pain, which wholly occupied my mind till the time of my going to the Hot Wells.
Mrs. Beaumont lent me her chariot, and Lord Orville absolutely insisted upon attending me. “If you go alone,” said he, “Mrs. Selwyn will certainly be offended; but if you allow me to conduct you, though she may give the freer scope to her raillery, she cannot possibly be affronted: and we had much better suffer her laughter, than provoke her satire.”
Indeed, I must own, I had no reason to regret being so accompanied; for his conversation supported my spirits from drooping, and made the ride seem so short, that we actually stopped at my father’s door, before I knew we had proceeded ten yards.
He handed me from the carriage, and conducted me to the parlour, at the door of which I was met by Mr. Macartney. “Ah, my dear brother,” cried I, “how happy am I to see you here!”
He bowed, and thanked me. Lord Orville, then, holding out his hand, said, “Mr. Macartney, I hope we shall be better acquainted; I promise myself much pleasure from cultivating your friendship.”
“Your Lordship does me but too much honour,” answered Mr. Macartney.
“But where,” cried I, “is my sister? for so I must already call, and always consider her:-I am afraid she avoids me;-you must endeavour, my dear brother, to prepossess her in my favour, and reconcile her to owning me.”
“Oh, Madam,” cried he, “you are all goodness and benevolence! but at present I hope you will excuse her, for I fear she has hardly fortitude sufficient to see you: in a short time perhaps-”
“In a very short time, then,” said Lord Orville, “I hope you will yourself introduce her, and that we shall have the pleasure of wishing you both joy:-allow me, my Evelina, to say we, and permit me, in your name, as well as my own, to entreat that the first guests we shall have the happiness of receiving may be Mr. and Mrs. Macartney.”
A servant then came to beg I would walk up stairs.
I besought Lord Orville to accompany me; but he feared the displeasure of Sir John, who had desired to see me alone. He led me, however, to the foot of the stairs, and made the kindest efforts to give me courage: but indeed he did not succeed; for the interview appeared to me in all its terrors, and left me no feeling but apprehension.
The moment I reached the landing-place, the drawing-room door was opened: and my father, with a voice of kindness, called out, “My child, is it you?”
“Yes, Sir,” cried I, springing forward, and kneeling at his feet, “it is your child, if you will own her!”
He knelt by my side, and, folding me in his arms, “Own thee,” repeated he, “yes, my poor girl, and Heaven knows with what bitter contrition!” Then, raising both himself and me, he brought me into the drawing-room, shut the door, and took me to the window; where, looking at me with great earnestness, “Poor unhappy Caroline!” cried he; and, to my inexpressible concern, he burst into tears. Need I tell you, my dear Sir, how mine flowed at the sight?
I would again have embraced his knees; but, hurrying from me, he flung himself upon a sofa, and, leaning his face on his arms, seemed for some time absorbed in bitterness of grief.
I ventured not to interrupt a sorrow I so much respected; but waited in silence, and at a distance, till he recovered from its violence. But then it seemed in a moment to give way to a kind of frantic fury; for starting suddenly, with a sternness which at once surprised and frightened me, “Child,” cried he, “hast thou yet sufficiently humbled thy father?-if thou hast, be contented with this proof of my weakness, and no longer force thyself into my presence!”
Thunderstruck by a command so unexpected, I stood still and speechless, and doubted whether my own ears did not deceive me.
“Oh go, go!” cried he, passionately; “in pity-in compassion,-if thou valuest my senses, leave me,-and for ever!”
“I will, I will,” cried I, greatly terrified; and I moved hastily towards the door: yet, stopping when I reached it, and, almost involuntarily, dropping on my knees, “Vouchsafe,” cried I, “Oh, Sir, vouchsafe but once to bless your daughter, and her sight shall never more offend you!”
“Alas,” cried he, in a softened voice, “I am not worthy to bless thee!-I am not worthy to call thee daughter!-I am not worthy that the fair light of Heaven should visit my eyes!-Oh God! that I could but call back the time ere thou wast born,-or else bury its remembrance in eternal oblivion!”
“Would to Heaven,” cried I, “that the sight of me were less terrible to you! that, instead of irritating, I could soothe your sorrows!-Oh Sir, how thankfully would I then prove my duty, even at the hazard of my life!”
“Are you so kind?” cried he, gently; “come hither, child;-rise, Evelina:-Alas, it is for me to kneel,-not you;-and I would kneel,-I would crawl upon the earth,-I would kiss the dust,-could I, by such submission, obtain the forgiveness of the representative of the most injured of women!”
“Oh, Sir,” exclaimed I, “that you could but read my heart!-that you could but see the filial tenderness and concern with which it overflows!-you would not then talk thus,-you would not then banish me your presence, and exclude me from your affection!”
“Good God,” cried he, “is it then possible that you do not hate me?-Can the child of the wronged Caroline look at,-and not execrate me? Wast thou not born to abhor, and bred to curse me? Did not thy mother bequeath thee her blessing on condition that thou should’st detest and avoid me ?”
“Oh no, no, no!” cried I; “think not so unkindly of her, nor so hardly of me.” I then took from my pocketbook her last letter; and, pressing it to my lips, with a trembling hand, and still upon my knees, I held it out to him.
Hastily snatching it from me, “Great Heaven!” cried he, “’tis her writing-Whence comes this?-who gave it you-why had I it not sooner?”
I made no answer; his vehemence intimidated me, and I ventured not to move from the suppliant posture in which I had put myself.
He went from me to the window, where his eyes were for some time rivetted upon the direction of the letter, though his hand shook so violently he could hardly hold it. Then, bringing it to me, “Open it,"-cried he,-“for I cannot!”
I had myself hardly strength to obey him: but when I had, he took it back, and walked hastily up and down the room, as if dreading to read it. At length, turning to me, “Do you know,” cried he, “its contents?”
“No, Sir,” answered I, “it has never been unsealed.”
He then again went to the window, and began reading. Having hastily run it over, he cast up his eyes with a look of desperation; the letter fell from his hand, and he exclaimed, “Yes! thou art sainted!-thou art blessed!-and I am cursed for ever!” He continued some time fixed in this melancholy position; after which, casting himself with violence upon the ground, “Oh wretch,” cried he, “unworthy life and light, in what dungeon canst thou hide thy head?”
I could restrain myself no longer; I rose and went to him; I did not dare speak; but, with pity and concern unutterable, I wept and hung over him.
Soon after, starting up, he again seized the letter, exclaiming, “Acknowledge thee, Caroline!-yes, with my heart’s best blood would I acknowledge thee!-Oh that thou could’st witness the agony of my soul!-Ten thousand daggers could not have wounded me like this letter!”
Then, after again reading it, “Evelina,” he cried, “she charges me to receive thee;-wilt thou, in obedience to her will, own for thy father the destroyer of thy mother?”
What a dreadful question!-I shuddered, but could not speak.
“To clear her fame, and receive her child,” continued he, looking stedfastly at the letter, “are the conditions upon which she leaves me her forgiveness: her fame I have already cleared;-and Oh, how willingly would I take her child to my bosom, fold her to my heart,-call upon her to mitigate my anguish, and pour the balm of comfort on my wounds, were I not conscious I deserve not to receive it, and that all my affliction is the result of my own guilt!”
It was in vain I attempted to speak; horror and grief took from me all power of utterance.
He then read aloud from the letter, “Look not like thy unfortunate mother!” “Sweet soul, with what bitterness of spirit hast thou written!-Come hither, Evelina: Gracious Heaven! (looking earnestly at me) never was likeness more striking!-the eyes-the face-the form-Oh, my child, my child!” Imagine, Sir,-for I can never describe my feelings, when I saw him sink upon his knees before me! “Oh, dear resemblance of thy murdered mother!-Oh, all that remains of the most injured of women! behold thy father at thy feet!-bending thus lowly to implore you would not hate him.-Oh, then, thou representative of my departed wife, speak to me in her name, and say that the remorse which tears my soul tortures me not in vain!”
“Oh, rise, rise, my beloved father,” cried I, attempting to assist him; “I cannot bear to see you thus; reverse not the law of nature; rise yourself, and bless your kneeling daughter!”
“May Heaven bless thee, my child!-“cried he, “for I dare not.” He then rose; and, embracing me most affectionately, added, “I see, I see that thou art all kindness, softness, and tenderness; I need not have feared thee, thou art all the fondest father could wish, and I will try to frame my mind to less painful sensations at thy sight. Perhaps the time may come, when I may know the comfort of such a daughter;-at present I am only fit to be alone: dreadful as are my reflections, they ought merely to torment myself.-Adieu, my child;-be not angry,-I cannot stay with thee;-Oh, Evelina! thy countenance is a dagger to my heart!-just so thy mother looked,-just so-”
Tears and sighs seemed to choak him;-and, waving his hand, he would have left me;-but, clinging to him, “Oh, Sir,” cried I, “will you so soon abandon me?-am I again an orphan!-Oh, my dear, my long-lost father, leave me not, I beseech you! take pity on your child, and rob her not of the parent she so fondly hoped would cherish her!”
“You know not what you ask,” cried he; “the emotions which now rend my soul are more than my reason can endure; suffer me then, to leave you;-impute it not to unkindness, but think of me as well as thou canst. Lord Orville has behaved nobly;-I believe he will make thee happy.” Then, again embracing me, “God bless thee, my dear child,” cried he, “God bless thee, my Evelina!-endeavour to love,-at least not to hate me,-and to make me an interest in thy filial bosom, by thinking of me as thy father.”
I could not speak; I kissed his hands on my knees: and then, with yet more emotion, he again blessed me, and hurried out of the room,-leaving me almost drowned in tears.
Oh, Sir, all goodness as you are, how much will you feel for your Evelina, during a scene of such agitation! I pray Heaven to accept the tribute of his remorse, and restore him to tranquillity!
When I was sufficiently composed to return to the parlour, I found Lord Orville waiting for me with the utmost anxiety:-and then a new scene of emotion, though of a far different nature, awaited me; for I learned by Mr. Macartney, that this noblest of men had insisted the so-long supposed Miss Belmont should be considered, indeed, as my sister, and as the co-heiress of my father; though not in law, in justice, he says, she ought ever to be treated as the daughter of Sir John Belmont.
Oh! Lord Orville!-it shall be the sole study of my happy life, to express, better than by words, the sense I have of your exalted benevolence and greatness of mind!
THIS morning, early, I received the following letter from Sir Clement Willoughby:
“To Miss Anville.
“I HAVE this moment received intelligence that preparations are actually making for your marriage with Lord Orville.
“Imagine not that I write with the imbecile idea of rendering those preparations abortive. No, I am not so mad. My sole view is to explain the motive of my conduct in a particular instance, and to obviate the accusation of treachery which may be laid to my charge.
“My unguarded behaviour, when I last saw you, has, probably, already acquainted you, that the letter I then saw you reading was written by myself. For your further satisfaction, let me have the honour of informing you, that the letter you had designed for Lord Orville, had fallen into my hands.
“However I may have been urged on by a passion the most violent that ever warmed the heart of man, I can by no means calmly submit to be stigmatized for an action seemingly so dishonourable; and it is for this reason that I trouble you with this justification.
“Lord Orville,-the happy Orville, whom you are so ready to bless,-had made me believe he loved you not;-nay, that he held you in contempt.
“Such were my thoughts of his sentiments of you, when I got possession of the letter you meant to send him. I pretend not to vindicate either the means I used to obtain it, or the action of breaking the seal; but I was impelled, by an impetuous curiosity, to discover the terms upon which you wrote to him.
“The letter, however, was wholly unintelligible to me, and the perusal of it only added to my perplexity.
“A tame suspense I was not born to endure, and I determined to clear my doubts at all hazards and events.
“I answered it, therefore, in Orville’s name.
“The views which I am now going to acknowledge, must, infallibly, incur your displeasure;-yet I scorn all palliation.
“Briefly, then, I concealed your letter to prevent a discovery of your capacity; and I wrote you an answer, which I hoped would prevent your wishing for any other.
“I am well aware of every thing which can be said upon this subject. Lord Orville will, possibly, think himself ill-used; but I am extremely indifferent as to his opinion; nor do I now write by way of offering any apology to him, but merely to make known to yourself the reasons by which I have been governed.
“I intend to set off next week for the Continent. Should his Lordship have any commands for me in the mean time, I shall be glad to receive them. I say not this by way of defiance,-I should blush to be suspected of so doing through an indirect channel; but simply that, if you show him this letter, he may know I dare defend, as well as excuse, my conduct. “CLEMENT WILLOUGHBY.”
What a strange letter! how proud and how piqued does its writer appear! To what alternate meanness and rashness do the passions lead, when reason and self-denial do not oppose them! Sir Clement is conscious he has acted dishonourably; yet the same unbridled vehemence, which urged him to gratify a blameable curiosity, will sooner prompt him to risk his life, than, confess his misconduct. The rudeness of his manner of writing to me, springs, from the same cause: the proof which he has received of my indifference to him, has stung him to the soul, and he has neither the delicacy nor forbearance to disguise his displeasure.
I determined not to show this letter to Lord Orville, and thought it most prudent to let Sir Clement know I should not. I therefore wrote the following note:
“To Sir Clement Willoughby.
“SIR,
“The letter you have been pleased to address to me, is so little calculated to afford Lord Orville any satisfaction, that you may depend upon my carefully keeping it from his sight. I will bear you no resentment for what is past; but I most earnestly intreat, nay implore, that you will not write again, while in your present frame of mind, by any channel, direct or indirect.
“I hope you will have much pleasure in your promised expedition; and I beg leave to assure you of my good wishes.”
Not knowing by what name to sign, I was obliged to send it without any.
The preparations which Sir Clement mentions, go on just as if your consent were arrived: it is in vain that I expostulate; Lord Orville says, should any objections be raised, all shall be given up; but that, as his hopes forbid him to expect any, he must proceed as if already assured of your concurrence.
We have had, this afternoon, a most interesting conversation, in which we have traced our sentiments of each other from our first acquaintance. I have made him confess how ill he thought of me upon my foolish giddiness at Mrs. Stanley’s ball; but he flatters me with assurances, that every succeeding time he saw me, I appeared to something less and less disadvantage.
When I expressed my amazement that he could honour with his choice a girl who seemed so infinitely, in every respect, beneath his alliance, he frankly owned, that he had fully intended making more minute inquiries into my family and connections; particularly concerning those people he saw me with at Marybone, before he acknowledged his prepossession in my favour: but seeing me again, put him quite off his guard; and, “divesting him of prudence, left him nothing but love.” These were his words; and yet, he has repeatedly assured me, that his partiality has known no bounds from the time of my residing at Clifton. * * * * * *
Mr. Macartney has just been with me, on an embassy from my father. He has sent me his kindest love and assurances of favour; and desired to know if I am happy in the prospect of changing my situation, and if there is any thing I can name which he can do for me. And, at the same time, Mr. Macartney delivered to me a draught on my father’s banker for a thousand pounds, which he insisted that I should receive entirely for my own use, and expend in equipping myself properly for the new rank of life to which I seem destined.
I am sure I need not say how much I was penetrated by this goodness: I wrote my thanks, and acknowledged, frankly, that if I could see him restored to tranquillity, my heart would be without a wish.
THE time approaches now when I hope we shall meet;-yet I cannot sleep;-great joy is a restless as sorrow,-and therefore I will continue my journal.
As I had never had an opportunity of seeing Bath, a party was formed last night for showing me that celebrated city; and this morning, after breakfast, we set out in three phaetons. Lady Louisa and Mrs. Beaumont with Lord Merton; Mr. Coverley, Mr. Lovel, and Mrs. Selwyn; and myself with Lord Orville.
We had hardly proceeded half a mile, when a gentleman from the post-chaise which came gallopping after us, called out to the servants, “Holla, my lads!-pray, is one Miss Anville in any of them thing-em-bobs?”
I immediately recollected the voice of Captain Mirvan; and Lord Orville stopped the phaeton. He was out of the chaise, and with us in a moment. “So, Miss Anville,” cried he, “how do you do? So I hear you’re Miss Belmont now;-pray, how does old Madame French do?”
“Madame Duval,” said I, “is, I believe, very well.”
“I hope she is in good case,” said he, winking significantly, “and won’t flinch at seeing service: she has laid by long enough to refit and be made tight. And pray how does poor Monseer Doleful do? Is he as lank-jawed as ever?”
“They are neither of them,” said I, “in Bristol.”
“No!” cried he, with a look of disappointment; “but surely the old dowager intends coming to the wedding! ’twill be a most excellent opportunity to show off her best Lyons silk. Besides, I purpose to dance a new fashioned jig with her. Don’t you know when she’ll come?”
“I have no reason to expect her at all.”
“No!-’Fore George, this here’s the worst news I’d wish to hear!-why I’ve thought of nothing all the way, but what trick I should serve her.”
“You have been very obliging!” said I, laughing.
“O, I promise you,” cried he, “our Moll would never have wheedled me into this jaunt, if I’d known she was not here; for, to let you into the secret, I fully intended to have treated the old buck with another frolic.”
“Did Miss Mirvan, then, persuade you to this journey?”
“Yes, and we’ve been travelling all night.”
“We!” cried I: “Is Miss Mirvan, then, with you?”
“What, Molly?-yes, she’s in that there chaise.”
“Good God, Sir, why did you not tell me sooner?” cried I; and immediately, with Lord Orville’s assistance, I jumped out of the phaeton, and ran to the dear girl. Lord Orville opened the chaise door; and I am sure I need not tell you what unfeigned joy accompanied our meeting.
We both begged we might not be parted during the ride; and Lord Orville was so good as to invite Captain Mirvan into his phaeton.
I think I was hardly ever more rejoiced than at this so seasonable visit from my dear Maria; who had no sooner heard the situation of my affairs, than with the assistance of Lady Howard, and her kind mother, she besought her father with such earnestness to consent to the journey, that he had not been able to withstand their united intreaties; though she owned that, had he not expected to have met with Madame Duval, she believes he would not so readily have yielded. They arrived at Mrs. Beaumont’s but a few minutes after we were out of sight, and overtook us without much difficulty.
I say nothing of our conversation, because you may so well suppose both the subjects we chose, and our manner of discussing them.
We all stopped at a great hotel, where we were obliged to enquire for a room, as Lady Louisa, fatigued to death, desired to take something before we began our rambles.
As soon as the party was assembled, the Captain, abruptly saluting me, said, “So, Miss Belmont, I wish you joy; so I hear you’ve quarrelled with your new name already?”
“Me!-no, indeed, Sir.”
“Then please for to tell me the reason you’re in such a hurry to change it?”
“Miss Belmont!” cried Mr. Lovel. Looking around him with the utmost astonishment: “I beg pardon;-but, if it is not impertinent,-I must beg leave to say I always understood that lady’s name was Anville.”
“‘Fore George,” cried the Captain, “it runs in my head, I’ve seen you somewhere before! And now I think on’t, pray a’n’t you the person I saw at the play one night, and who didn’t know, all the time, whether it was a tragedy or a comedy, or a concert of fiddlers?”
“I believe, Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, stammering, “I, had once,-I think-the pleasure of seeing you last spring.”
“Aye, and if I live an hundred springs,” answered he, “I shall never forget it; by Jingo, it has served me for a most excellent good joke ever since. Well, howsomever, I’m glad to see you still in the land of the living,” (shaking him roughly by the hand.) “Pray, if a body may be so bold, how much a night may you give at present to keep the undertakers aloof?”
“Me, Sir!” said Mr. Lovel, very much discomposed; “I protest I never thought myself in such imminent danger as to-really, Sir, I don’t understand you.”
“O, you don’t! why then I’ll make free for to explain myself. Gentlemen and Ladies, I’ll tell you what; do you know this here gentleman, simple as he sits there, pays five shillings a-night to let his friends know he’s alive!”
“And very cheap too,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “if we consider the value of the intelligence.”
Lady Louisa being now refreshed, we proceeded upon our expedition.
The charming city of Bath answered all my expectations. The Crescent, the prospect from it, and the elegant symmetry of the Circus, delighted me. The Parades, I own, rather disappointed me; one of them is scarce preferable to some of the best paved streets in London; and the other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, a charming view of Prior Park and of the Avon, yet wanted something in itself of more striking elegance than a mere broad pavement, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it.
At the pump-room, I was amazed at the public exhibition of the ladies in the bath; it is true, their heads are covered with bonnets; but the very idea of being seen, in such a situation, by whoever pleases to look, is indelicate.
“‘Fore George,” said the Captain, looking into the bath, “this would be a most excellent place for old Madame French to dance a fandango in! By Jingo, I wou’dn’t wish for better sport than to swing her round this here pond!”
“She would be very much obliged to you,” said Lord Orville, “for so extraordinary a mark of your favour.”
“Why, to let you know,” answered the Captain, “she hit my fancy mightily; I never took so much to an old tabby before.”
“Really now,” cried Mr. Lovel, looking also into the bath, “I must confess it is, to me, very incomprehensible why the ladies choose that frightful unbecoming dress to bathe in! I have often pondered very seriously upon the subject, but could never hit upon the reason.”
“Well, I declare,” said Lady Louisa, “I should like of all things to set something new a-going; I always hated bathing, because one can get no pretty dress for it! now do, there’s a good creature, try to help me to something.”
“Who, me!-O, dear Ma’am,” said he, simpering, “I can’t pretend to assist a person of your Ladyship’s tastes; besides, I have not the least head for fashions.-I really don’t think I ever invented above three in my life! But I never had the least turn for dress,-never any notion of fancy or elegance.”
“O fie, Mr. Lovel! how can you talk so?-don’t we all know that you lead the ton in the beau monde? I declare, I think you dress better than any body.”
“O, dear Ma’am, you confuse me to the last degree! I dress well!-I protest I don’t think I’m ever fit to be seen! I’m often shocked to death to think what a figure I go. If your Ladyship will believe me, I was full half an hour this morning thinking what I should put on!”
“Odds my life,” cried the Captain, “I wish I’d been near you! I warrant I’d have quickened your motions a little; Half an hour thinking what you’d put on; and who the deuce do you think cares the snuff of a candle whether you’ve any thing on or not?”
“O pray, Captain,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “don’t be angry with the gentleman for thinking, whatever be the cause, for I assure you he makes no common practice of offending in that way.”
“Really, Ma’am, you’re prodigiously kind,” said Mr. Lovel, angrily.
“Pray now,” said the Captain, “did you ever get a ducking in that there place yourself?”
“A ducking, Sir!” repeated Mr. Lovel: “I protest I think that’s rather an odd term!-but if you mean a bathing, it is an honour I have had many times.”
“And pray, if a body may be so bold, what do you do with that frizle-frize top of your own? Why, I’ll lay you what you will, there is fat and grease enough on your crown to buoy you up, if you were to go in head downwards.”
“And I don’t know,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “but that might be the easiest way; for I’m sure it would be the lightest.”
“For the matter of that there,” said the Captain, “you must make him a soldier, before you can tell which is lightest, head or heels. Howsomever, I’d lay ten pounds to a shilling, I could whisk him so dexterously over into the pool, that he should light plump upon his foretop and turn round like a tetotum.”
“Done!” cried Lord Merton; “I take your odds.”
“Will you?” returned he; “why, then, ‘fore George, I’d do it as soon as say Jack Robinson.”
“He, he!” faintly laughed Mr. Lovel, as he moved abruptly from the window; “‘pon honour, this is pleasant enough; but I don’t see what right any body has to lay wagers about one without one’s consent.”
“There, Lovel, you are out,” cried Mr. Coverley, “any man may lay what wager about you he will; your consent is nothing to the purpose: he may lay that your nose is a sky-blue, if he pleases.”
“Ay,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “or that your mind is more adorned than your person;-or any absurdity whatsoever.”
“I protest,” said Mr. Lovel, “I think it’s a very disagreeable privilege, and I must beg that nobody may take such a liberty with me.”
“Like enough you may,” cried the Captain;” but what’s that to the purpose? Suppose I’ve a mind to lay that you’ve never a tooth in your head-pray, how will you hinder me?”
“You’ll allow me, at least, Sir, to take the liberty of asking how you’ll prove it?”
“How?-why, by knocking them all down your throat.”
“Knocking them all down my throat, Sir!” repeated Mr. Lovel, with a look of horror; “I protest I never heard any thing so shocking in my life! And I must beg leave to observe, that no wager, in my opinion, could justify such a barbarous action.”
Here Lord Orville interfered, and hurried us to our carriages.
We returned in the same order we came. Mrs. Beaumont invited all the party to dinner, and has been so obliging as to beg Miss Mirvan may continue at her house during her stay. The Captain will lodge at the Wells.
The first half-hour after our return was devoted to hearing Mr. Lovel’s apologies for dining in his riding-dress.
Mrs. Beaumont then, addressing herself to Miss Mirvan and me, inquired how we liked Bath?
“I hope,” said Mr. Lovel, “the ladies do not call this seeing Bath.”
“No!-what should ail ‘em?” cried the Captain, “do you suppose they put their eyes in their pockets?”
“No, Sir; but I fancy you will find no person-that is-no person of any condition-call going about a few places in a morning seeing Bath.”
“Mayhap, then,” said the literal Captain, “you think we should see it better by going about at midnight?”
“No, Sir, no,” said Mr. Lovel, with a supercilious smile, “I perceive you don’t understand me;-we should never call it seeing Bath, without going at the right season.”
“Why, what a plague, then,” demanded he, “can you only see at one season of the year?”
Mr. Lovel again smiled; but seemed superior to making any answer.
“The Bath amusements,” said Lord Orville, “have a sameness in them, which, after a short time, renders them rather insipid; but the greatest objection that can be made to the place, is the encouragement it gives to gamesters.”
“Why, I hope, my Lord, you would not think of abolishing gaming,” cried Lord Merton, “’tis the very zest of life! Devil take me if I could live without it.”
“I am sorry for it,” said Lord Orville, gravely, and looking at Lady Louisa.
“Your Lordship is no judge of this subject,” continued the other; “but if once we could get you to a gaming-table, you’d never be happy away from it!”
“I hope, my Lord,” cried Lady Louisa, “that nobody here ever occasions your quitting it.”
“Your Ladyship,” said Lord Merton, recollecting himself, “has power to make me quit any thing.”
“Except herself,” said Mr. Coverley. “Egad, my Lord, I think I’ve helpt you out there!”
“You men of wit, Jack,” answered his Lordship, “are always ready;-for my part, I don’t pretend to any talents that way.”
“Really, my Lord?” asked the sarcastic Mrs. Selwyn; “well, that is wonderful, considering success would be so much in your power.”
“Pray, Ma’am,” said Mr. Lovel to Lady Louisa, “has your Ladyship heard the news?”
“News!-what news?”
“Why, the report circulating at the Wells concerning a certain person.”
“O Lord, no: pray tell me what it is?”
“O no, Ma’am, I beg your La’ship will excuse me; ’tis a profound secret, and I would not have mentioned it, if I had not thought you knew it.”
“Lord, now, how can you be so monstrous? I declare, now, you’re a provoking creature! But come, I know you’ll tell me;-won’t you now?”
“Your La’ship knows I am but too happy to obey you; but, ‘pon honour, I can’t speak a word, if you won’t all promise me the most inviolable secrecy.”
“I wish you’d wait for that from me,” said the Captain, “and I’ll give you my word you’d be dumb for one while. Secrecy, quoth-a!-’Fore George, I wonder you an’t ashamed to mention such a word, when you talk of telling it to a woman. Though, for the matter of that, I’d as lieve blab it to the whole sex at once, as to go for to tell it to such a thing as you.”
“Such a thing as me, Sir!” said Mr. Lovel, letting fall his knife and fork, and looking very important; “I really have not the honour to understand your expression.”
“It’s all one for that,” said the Captain; “you may have it explained whenever you like it.”
“‘Pon honour, Sir,” returned Mr. Lovel, “I must take the liberty to tell you, that I should be extremely offended, but that I suppose it to be some sea-phrase; and therefore I’ll let it pass without further notice.”
Lord Orville, then, to change the discourse, asked Miss Mirvan if she should spend the ensuing winter in London?
“No, to be sure,” said the Captain, “what should she for? She saw all that was to be seen before.”
“Is London, then,” said Mr. Lovel, smiling at Lady Louisa, “only to be regarded as a sight?”
“Why, pray, Mr. Wiseacre, how are you pleased for to regard it yourself?-Answer me to that.”
“O Sir, my opinion, I fancy, you would hardly find intelligible. I don’t understand sea-phrases enough to define it to your comprehension. Does not your La’ship think the task would be rather difficult?”
“O Lard, yes,” cried Lady Louisa; “I declare I’d as soon teach my parrot to talk Welsh.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Admirable;-’Pon honour, your La’ship’s quite in luck to-day; but that, indeed, your La’ship is every day. Though, to be sure, it is but candid to acknowledge, that the gentlemen of the ocean have a set of ideas, as well as a dialect, so opposite to our’s, that it is by no means surprising they should regard London as a mere show, that may be seen by being looked at. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha!” echoed Lady Louisa; “Well, I declare you are the drollest creature.”
“He! he! ‘Pon honour, I can’t help laughing at the conceit of seeing London in a few weeks!”
“And what a plague should hinder you?” cried the Captain; “do you want to spend a day in every street?”
Here again Lady Louisa and Mr. Lovel interchanged smiles.
“Why, I warrant you, if I had the showing it, I’d haul you from St. James’s to Wapping the very first morning.”
The smiles were now, with added contempt, repeated; which the Captain observing, looked very fiercely at Mr. Lovel, and said, “Hark’ee my spark, none of your grinning!-’tis a lingo I don’t understand; and if you give me any more of it, I shall go near to lend you a box o’ the ear.”
“I protest, Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, turning extremely pale, “I think it’s taking a very particular liberty with a person, to talk to one in such a style as this!”
“It’s like you may,” returned the Captain: “but give a good gulp, and I’ll warrant you’ll swallow it.” Then, calling for a glass of ale, with a very provoking and significant nod, he drank to his easy digestion.
Mr. Lovel made no answer, but looked extremely sullen; and, soon after, we left the gentlemen to themselves.
I had then two letters delivered to me; one from Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, which contained the kindest congratulations; and the other from Madame Duval;-but not a word from you,-to my no small surprise and concern.
Madame Duval seems greatly rejoiced at my late intelligence: a violent cold, she says, prevents her coming to Bristol. The Branghtons, she tells me, are all well; Miss Polly is soon to be married to Mr. Brown; but Mr. Smith has changed his lodgings, “which,” she adds, “has made the house extremely dull. However, that’s not the worst news; pardi, I wish it was! but I’ve been used like nobody,-for Monsieur Du Bois has had the baseness to go back to France without me.” In conclusion, she assures me, as you prognosticated she would, that I shall be sole heiress of all she is worth, when Lady Orville.
At tea-time, we were joined by all the gentlemen but Captain Mirvan, who went to the hotel where he was to sleep, and made his daughter accompany him, to separate her trumpery, as he called it, from his clothes.
As soon as they were gone, Mr. Lovel, who still appeared extremely sulky, said, “I protest, I never saw such a vulgar, abusive fellow in my life, as that Captain: ‘pon honour, I believe he came here for no purpose in the world but to pick a quarrel; however, for my part, I vow I wo’n’t humour him.”
“I declare,” cried Lady Louisa, “he put me in a monstrous fright;-I never heard any body talk so shocking in my life!”
“I think,” said Mrs. Selwyn, with great solemnity, “he threatened to box your ears, Mr. Lovel;-did not he?”
“Really, Ma’am,” said Mr. Lovel, colouring, “if one was to mind every thing those low kind of people say, one should never be at rest for one impertinence or other; so I think the best way is to be above taking any notice of them.”
“What,” said Mrs. Selwyn, with the same gravity, “and so receive the blow in silence!”
During this discourse, I heard the Captain’s chaise stop at the door, and ran downstairs to meet Maria. She was alone, and told me that her father, who, she was sure, had some scheme in agitation against Mr. Lovel, had sent her on before him. We continued in the parlour till his return, and were joined by Lord Orville, who begged me not to insist on a patience so unnatural, as submitting to be excluded our society. And let me, my dear Sir, with a grateful heart let me own, I never before passed half an hour in such perfect felicity.
I believe we were all sorry when the Captain returned; yet his inward satisfaction, from however different a cause, did not seem inferior to what our’s had been. He chucked Maria under the chin, rubbed his hands, and was scarce able to contain the fullness of his glee. We all attended him to the drawing room; where, having composed his countenance, without any previous attention to Mrs. Beaumont, he marched up to Mr. Lovel, and abruptly said, “Pray, have you e’er a brother in these here parts?”
“Me, Sir?-no, thank Heaven, I’m free from all encumbrances of that sort.”
“Well,” cried the Captain, “I met a person just now so like you, I could have sworn he had been your twin brother.”
“It would have been a most singular pleasure to me,” said Mr. Lovel, “if I also could have seen him; for, really, I have not the least notion what sort of a person I am, and I have a prodigious curiosity to know.”
Just then the Captain’s servant, opening the door, said, “A little gentleman below desires to see one Mr. Lovel.”
“Beg him to walk up stairs,” said Mrs. Beaumont. “But, pray what is the reason William is out of the way?”
The man shut the door without any answer.
“I can’t imagine who it is,” said Mr. Lovel: “I recollect no little gentleman of my acquaintance now at Bristol,-except, indeed the Marquis of Charlton;-but I don’t much fancy it can be him. Let me see, who else is there so very little?”
A confused noise among the servants now drew all eyes towards the door: the impatient Captain hastened to open it; and then, clapping his hands, called out, “‘Fore George, ’tis the same person I took for your relation!”
And then, to the utter astonishment of every body but himself, he hauled into the room a monkey, full-dressed, and extravagantly -e; la mode!
The dismay of the company was almost general. Poor Mr. Lovel seemed thunderstruck with indignation and surprise: Lady Louisa began a scream, which for some time was incessant; Miss Mirvan and I jumped involuntarily upon the seats of our chairs; Mrs. Beaumont herself followed our example; Lord Orville placed himself before me as a guard; and Mrs. Selwyn, Lord Merton, and Mr. Coverley, burst into a loud, immoderate, ungovernable fit of laughter, in which they were joined by the Captain, till, unable to support himself, he rolled on the floor.
The first voice which made its way through this general noise was that of Lady Louisa, which her fright and screaming rendered extremely shrill. “Take it away!” cried she, “take the monster away;-I shall faint, I shall faint if you don’t!”
Mr. Lovel, irritated beyond endurance, angrily demanded of the Captain what he meant?
“Mean?” cried the Captain, as soon as he was able to speak; “why only to shew you in your proper colours.” Then rising, and pointing to the monkey, “Why now, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be judged by you all!-Did you ever see any thing more like?-Odds my life, if it wasn’t for this here tail, you wouldn’t know one from t’other.”
“Sir,” cried Mr. Lovel, stamping, “I shall take a time to make you feel my wrath.”
“Come now,” continued the regardless Captain, “just for the fun’s sake, doff your coat and waistcoat, and swop with Monseer Grinagain here; and I’ll warrant you’ll not know yourself which is which.”
“Not know myself from a monkey!-I assure you, Sir, I’m not to be used in this manner, and I won’t bear it-curse me if I will!”
“Why, hey-day!” cried the Captain, “what, is master in a passion?-well, don’t be angry:-come, he shan’t hurt you;-here, shake a paw with him:-why, he’ll do you no harm, man!-come, kiss and be friends!”
“Who, I?” cried Mr. Lovel, almost mad with vexation; “as I’m a living creature, I would not touch him for a thousand worlds!”
“Send him a challenge,” cried Mr. Coverley, “and I’ll be your second.”
“Ay, do,” said the Captain; “and I’ll be second to my friend, Monseer Clapperclaw here. Come to it at once!-tooth and nail!”
“God forbid!” cried Mr. Lovel, retreating, “I would sooner trust my person with a mad bull!”
“I don’t like the look of him myself,” said Lord Merton, “for he grins most horribly.”
“Oh, I’m frightened out of my senses!” cried Lady Louisa, “take him away, or I shall die!”
“Captain,” said Lord Orville, “the ladies are alarmed; and I must beg you would send the monkey away.”
“Why, where can be the mighty harm of one monkey more than another?” answered the Captain: “howsomever, if its agreeable to the ladies, suppose we turn them out together?”
“What do you mean by that, Sir?” cried Mr. Lovel, lifting up his cane.
“What do you mean?” cried the Captain, fiercely, “be so good as to down with your cane.”
Poor Mr. Lovel, too much intimidated to stand his ground, yet too much enraged to submit, turned hastily round, and, forgetful of consequences, vented his passion by giving a furious blow to the monkey.
The creature darting forwards, sprung instantly upon him; and, clinging round his neck, fastened his teeth to one of his ears.
I was really sorry for the poor man; who, though an egregious fop, had committed no offence that merited such chastisement.
It was impossible now to distinguish whose screams were loudest, those of Mr. Lovel, or of the terrified Lady Louisa, who I believe, thought her own turn was approaching: but the unrelenting Captain roared with joy.
Not so Lord Orville: ever humane, generous, and benevolent he quitted his charge, who he saw was wholly out of danger, and seizing the monkey by the collar, made him loosen the ear; and then with a sudden swing, flung him out of the room, and shut the door.
Poor Mr. Lovel, almost fainting with terror, sunk upon the floor, crying out, “Oh, I shall die, I shall die!-Oh, I’m bit to death!”
“Captain Mirvan,” said Mrs. Beaumont, with no little indignation, “I must own I don’t perceive the wit of this action; and I am sorry to have such cruelty practised in my house.”
“Why Lord, Ma’am,” said the Captain, when his rapture abated sufficiently for speech, “how could I tell they’d fall out so?-By jingo, I brought him to be a messmate for t’other.”
“Egad,” said Mr. Coverley, “I would not have been served so for a thousand pounds.”
“Why, then, there’s the odds of it,” said the Captain; “for you see he is served so for nothing. But come,” turning to Mr. Lovel, “be of good heart, all may end well yet, and you and Monseer Longtail be as good friends as ever.”
“I’m surprised, Mrs. Beaumont,” cried Mr. Lovel, starting up, “that you can suffer a person under your roof to be treated so inhumanly.”
“What argufies so many words?” said the unfeeling Captain; “it is but a slit of the ear; it only looks as if you had been in the pillory.”
“Very true,” added Mrs. Selwyn; “and who knows but it may acquire you the credit of being an anti-ministerial writer?”
“I protest,” cried Mr. Lovel, looking ruefully at his dress, “my new riding suit’s all over blood!”
“Ha, ha, ha,” cried the Captain, “see what comes of studying for an hour what you shall put on!”
Mr. Lovel then walked to the glass; and, looking at the place, exclaimed, “Oh heaven, what a monstrous wound! my ear will never be fit to be seen again!”
“Why then,” said the Captain, “you must hide it;-’tis but wearing a wig.”
“A wig!” repeated the affrighted Mr. Lovel; “I wear a wig?-no, not if you would give me a thousand pounds an hour!”
“I declare,” said Lady Louisa, “I never heard such a shocking proposal in my life!”
Lord Orville, then, seeing no prospect that the altercation would cease, proposed to the Captain to walk. He assented; and having given Mr. Lovel a nod of exultation, accompanied his Lordship down stairs.
“‘Pon honour,” said Mr. Lovel, the moment the door was shut, “that fellow is the greatest brute in nature! he ought not to be admitted into a civilized society.”
“Lovel,” said Mr. Coverley, affecting to whisper, “you must certainly pink him: you must not put up with such an affront.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Lovel, “with any common person I should not deliberate an instant; but really with a fellow who has done nothing but fight all his life, ‘pon honour, Sir, I can’t think of it!”
“Lovel,” said Lord Merton, in the same voice, “you must call him to account.”
“Every man,” said he, pettishly, “is the best judge of his own affairs; and I don’t ask the honour of any person’s advice.”
“Egad, Lovel,” said Mr. Coverley, “you’re in for it!-you can’t possibly be off!”
“Sir,” cried he, very impatiently, “upon any proper occasion I should be as ready to show my courage as any body; but as to fighting for such a trifle as this-I protest I should blush to think of it!”
“A trifle!” cried Mrs. Selwyn, “good Heaven! and have you made this astonishing riot about a trifle?”
“Ma’am,” answered the poor wretch, in great confusion, “I did not know at first but that my cheek might have been bit; but as ’tis no worse, why, it does not a great deal signify. Mrs. Beaumont, I have the honour to wish you a good evening; I’m sure my carriage must be waiting.” And then, very abruptly, he left the room.
What a commotion has this mischief-loving Captain raised! Were I to remain here long, even the society of my dear Maria could scarce compensate for the disturbances which he excites.
When he returned, and heard of the quiet exit of Mr. Lovel, his triumph was intolerable. “I think, I think,” he cried, “I have peppered him well! I’ll warrant he won’t give an hour tomorrow morning to settling what he shall put on; why, his coat,” turning to me, “would be a most excellent match for old Madame Furbelow’s best Lyons silk! ‘Fore George, I’d desire no better sport than to have that there old cat here to go her snacks!”
All the company the, Lord Orville, Miss Mirvan, and myself excepted, played at cards; and we -oh, how much better did we pass our time!
While we were engaged in a most delightful conversation, a servant brought me a letter, which he told me had by some accident been mislaid. Judge of my feelings when I saw, my dearest Sir, your revered hand-writing! My emotions soon betrayed to Lord Orville whom the letter was from; the importance of the contents he well knew; and, assuring me I should not be seen by the card-players, he besought me to open it without delay.