Chapter XVII
Is of less importance than the former, yet must not be omitted
Lady Mellasin having vented her spleen on those who, by their stations, were obliged to bear it, and the object of it removed out of the house, became extremely cheerful the remaining part of the day. The fashion in which it might be supposed Miss Betsy would be accosted by the tarpaulin inamorato, and the reception she would give his passion, occasioned a good deal of merriment; and even Mr. Goodman, seeing his dear wife took part in it, would sometimes throw in his joke.
'Well, well,' cried Miss Betsy, to heighten the diversion, 'what will you say now, if I should take a fancy to the captain, so far as to prefer him to any of those who think it worth their while to solicit me on the score of love?'
'This is quite ungenerous in you,' cried Miss Flora; 'did you not promise to turn the captain over to me when you had done with him?'--'That may not happen a great while,' replied the other; 'for, I assure you, I have seen him three or four times, when he has called here on business to Mr. Goodman; and think, to part with a lover of his formidable aspect, would be to deprive myself of the most conspicuous of my whole train of admirers. But suppose,' continued she, in the same gay strain, 'I resign to you Mr. Staple or Mr. Trueworth, would that not do as well?'
'Do not put me in the head of either of them, I beseech you,' said Miss Flora, 'for fear I should think too seriously on the matter, and it should not be in your power to oblige me.'
'All that must be left to chance,' cried Miss Betsy; 'but so far I dare promise you, as to do enough to make them heartily weary of their courtship to me, and at liberty to make their addresses elsewhere.'
After this, they fell into some conversation concerning the merits of the two last-mentioned gentlemen. They allowed Mr. Staple to have the finest face; and that Mr. Trueworth was the best shaped, and had the most graceful air in every thing he did. Mr. Staple had an infinity of gaiety both in his look and behaviour: Mr. Trueworth had no less of sweetness; and if his deportment seemed somewhat too serious for a man of his years, it was well atoned for by the excellence of his understanding. Miss Flora, however, said, upon the whole, that both of them were charming men; and Lady Mellasin added, that it was a great pity that either of them should have bestowed his heart where there was so little likelihood of ever receiving any recompence. 'Why so, my dear?' cried Mr. Goodman. 'If my pretty charge is at present in a humour to make as many fools as she can in this world, I hope she is not determined to lead apes in another. I warrant she will change her mind one time or other: I only wish she may not, as the old saying is, outstand her market.'
While they were thus discoursing, a servant brought a letter from Mr. Staple, directed to Miss Betsy Thoughtless, which was immediately delivered to her. On being told from whence it came, she gave it to Mr. Goodman, saying, 'I shall make no secret of the contents; therefore, dear guardian, read it for the benefit of the company.'
Mr. Goodman shook his head at the little sensibility she testified of his friend's devoirs; but said nothing, being willing to gratify the curiosity he doubted not but they were all in, Miss Betsy herself not excepted, as careless as she affected to be; which he did by reading, in an audible voice, these lines.
'To the most amiable and most accomplished of her sex.
Madam,
If the face be the index of the mind, (as I think one of our best poets takes upon him to assert) your soul must certainly be all made up of harmony, and consequently take delight in what has so great a similitude of it's own heavenly nature. I flatter myself, therefore, you will not be offended that I presume to intreat you will grace with your presence a piece of musick, composed by the so justly celebrated Signior Bononcini; and, I hope, will have justice done it in the performance, they being the best hands in town that are employed.
I do myself the honour to inclose tickets for the ladies of Mr. Goodman's family; and beg leave to wait on you this afternoon, in the pleasing expectation, not only of being permitted to attend you to the concert, but also of an opportunity of renewing those humble and sincere professions I yesterday began to make of a passion, which only charms such as yours could have the power of inspiring in any heart; and can be felt by none with greater warmth, zeal, tenderness, and respect, than by that of him who is, and ever must be, Madam, your most passionate, and most faithful admirer,
T. STAPLE.
P.S. If there are any other ladies of your acquaintance, to whom you think the entertainment may be agreeable, be pleased to make the invitation. I shall bring tickets with me to accommodate whoever you chuse to accompany you. Once more, I beseech you, Madam, to believe me, as above, your, &c.'
Mr. Goodman had scarce finished reading this letter, when Lady Mellasin and her daughter both cried out at the same time, 'O Miss Betsy! how unlucky this happens! What will you do with the captain now?'
'We will take him with us to the concert,' replied she: 'and, in my opinion, nothing could have fallen out more fortunately. The captain has appointed to visit me at five; Mr. Staple will doubtless be here about that time, if not before, in order to usher us to the entertainment; so that my tar cannot expect any answer from me to his letter, and consequently I shall gain time.'
Though Mr. Goodman was far from approving this way of proceeding, yet he could not forbear smiling, with the rest, at Miss Betsy's contrivance; and told her, it was a pity she was not a man--she would have made a rare minister of state.
'Well, since it is so,' said Lady Mellasin, 'I will have the honour of complimenting the captain with the ticket Mr. Staple intended for me.' Both Miss Flora and Miss Betsy pressed her ladyship to be of their company; and Mr. Goodman likewise endeavoured to persuade her to go: but she excused herself, saying, 'A concert was never among those entertainments she took pleasure in.' On which they left off speaking any farther on it: but Miss Betsy was not at a loss in her own mind to guess the true reason of her ladyship's refusal, and looked on it as a confirmation of the truth of what Nanny had told her concerning the diamond-necklace.
There seemed, notwithstanding, one difficulty still remaining for Miss Betsy to get over; which was, the probability of Mr. Trueworth's making her a visit that afternoon; she did not chuse to leave him to go to the concert, nor yet to ask him to accompany them to it, because she thought it would be easy for a man of his penetration to discover that Mr. Staple was his rival; which she was by no means willing he should do before he had made a declaration to her of his own passion.
She was beginning to consider how she should manage in a point which she looked upon as pretty delicate, when a letter from that gentleman eased her of all the apprehensions she at present had on this score. The manner in which he expressed himself was as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
I remember, (as what can be forgot in which you have the least concern?) that the first time I had the honour of seeing you at Oxford, you seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in the pretty tricks of a squirrel, which a lady in the company had on her arm. One of those animals (which, they tell me, has been lately catched) happening to fall in my way, I take the liberty of presenting him to you; intreating you will permit him to give you such diversion as is in his power. Were the little denizens of the woods endued with any share of human reason, how happy would he think himself in the loss of his liberty, and how hug those chains which entitle him to so glorious a servitude!
I had waited on you in person, in the hope of obtaining pardon for approaching you with so trifling an offering; but am deprived of that satisfaction by the pressing commands of an old aunt, who insists on my passing this evening with her. But what need is there to apologize for the absence of a person so little known to you, and whose sentiments are yet less so! I rather ought to fear that the frequency of those visits I shall hereafter make, may be looked upon as taking too presuming an advantage of the permission you have been so good to give me. I will not, however, anticipate so great a misfortune, but endeavour to prevent it, by proving, by all the ways I am able, that I am, with the most profound submission, Madam, your very humble, obedient, and eternally devoted servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
Miss Betsy, after having read this letter, ordered the person who brought it should come into the parlour; on which he delivered to her the present mentioned in the letter, which she received with a great deal of sweetness, gave the fellow something to drink her health, and sent her service to his master, with thanks, and an assurance she should be glad to see him whenever it suited with his convenience.
All the ladies then began to examine the squirrel, which was, doubtless, the most beautiful creature of it's kind that could be purchased. The chain, which fastened it to it's habitation, was gold, the links very thick, and curiously wrought. Every one admired the elegance of the donor's taste.
Miss Betsy herself was charmed to an excess, both with the letter and the present; but as much as she was pleased with the respectful passion of Mr. Trueworth, she could not find in her heart to think of parting with the assiduities of Mr. Staple, nor even the blunt addresses of Captain Hysom, at least till she had exercised all the power her beauty gave her over them.
As the two last-mentioned gentlemen were the friends of Mr. Goodman, he went out somewhat before the hour in which either of them was expected to come, chusing not to seem to know what it was not in his power to amend, and determined, as he had promised Miss Betsy, not to interfere between her and any of those who pretended to court her.
These two lovers came to the door at the same time; and Mr. Staple saying to the footman that opened the door, that he was come to wait on Miss Betsy--'I want to speak to that young gentlewoman, too,' cried the captain, 'if she be at leisure. Tell her my name is Hysom.'
Mr. Staple was immediately shewed up into the drawing-room, and the captain into the parlour, till Miss Betsy should be told his name. 'That spark,' said he to himself, 'is known here: I suppose he is one of those Mr. Goodman told me of, that has a mind to Miss Betsy; but, as she knew I was to be here, I think she might have left some orders concerning me; and not make me wait till that young gew-gaw had spoke his mind to her.'
The fellow not coming down immediately, he grew very angry, and began to call and knock with his cane against the floor; which, it may be easily imagined, gave some sport to those above. Miss Betsy, however, having told Mr. Staple the character of the man, and the diversion she intended to make of his pretensions, would not vex him too much; and, to atone for having made him attend so long, went to the top of the stairs herself, and desired him to walk up.
The reception she gave him was full of all the sweetness she could assume, and excused having made him wait, and laid the blame on the servant, who, she pretended, could not presently recollect his name. This put him into an exceeding good-humour. 'Nay, fair lady,' said he, 'as to that, I have staid much longer sometimes, before I could get to the speech of some people, who I have not half the respect for as I have for you. But you know,' continued he, giving her a kiss, the smack of which might be heard three rooms off, 'that I have business with you--business that requires dispatch; and that made me a little impatient.'
All the company had much ado to refrain laughing outright; but Miss Betsy kept her countenance to a miracle. 'We will talk of business another time,' said she: 'we are going to hear a fine entertainment of musick. You must not refuse giving us your company; Lady Mellasin has got a ticket on purpose for you.'--'I am very much obliged to her ladyship,' replied the captain; 'but I do not know whether Mr. Goodman may think well of it or not; for he would fain have put me off from visiting his charge here. I soon found, by his way of speaking, the wind did not fit fair for me from that quarter; so tacked about, shifted my sails, and stood for the port directly.'
'Manfully resolved, indeed!' said Mr. Staple; 'but I hope, captain, you have kept a good look-out, in order to avoid any ship of greater burden that might else chance to overset you.'--'Oh, Sir! as to that,' replied the captain, 'you might have spared yourself the trouble of giving me this caution; there are only two small pinks in my way, and they had best stand clear, or I shall run foul on them.'
Though Mr. Staple had been apprized before hand of the captain's pretences, and that Miss Betsy intended to encourage them only by way of amusement to herself and friends, yet the rough manner in which his rival had uttered these words, brought the blood into his cheeks; which Lady Mellasin perceiving, and fearing that what was begun in jest might, in the end, become more serious than could be wished, turned the conversation; and, addressing herself to the captain on the score of what he had said concerning Mr. Goodman, made many apologies for her husband's behaviour in this point; assured him, that he had not a more sincere friend in the world, nor one who would be more ready to serve him, in whatever was in his power.
The captain had a fund of good-nature in his heart; but was somewhat too much addicted to passion, and frequently apt to resent without a cause; but when once convinced he had been in the wrong, no one could be more ready to acknowledge and ask pardon for his mistake. He had been bred at sea: his conversation, for almost his whole life, had been chiefly among those of his own occupation; he was altogether unacquainted with the manners and behaviour of the polite world, and equally a stranger to what is called genteel raillery, as he was to courtly complaisance. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that he was often rude, without designing to be so, and took many things as affronts, which were not meant as such.
Lady Mellasin, who never wanted words, and knew how to express herself in the most persuasive terms whenever she pleased to make use of them, had the address to convince the captain that Mr. Goodman was no enemy to his suit, though he would not appear to encourage it.
While the captain was engaged with her ladyship in this discourse, Miss Betsy took the opportunity of telling Mr. Staple that she insisted upon it, that he should be very civil to a rival from whose pretensions he might be certain he had nothing to apprehend; and, moreover, that when she gave him her hand to lead her into the concert-room, he should give his to Miss Flora, without discovering the least marks of discontent: the lover looked on this last injunction as too severe a trial of his patience; but she would needs have it so, and he was under a necessity of obeying, or of suffering much greater mortification from her displeasure.
Soon after this, they all four went to the entertainment in Mr. Goodman's coach, which Lady Mellasin had ordered to be got ready. The captain was mightily pleased with the musick, and had judgment enough in it to know it was better than the band he had on board his ship. 'When they have done playing,' said he, 'I will ask them what they will have to go with me the next voyage.' But Mr. Staple told him it would be affront; that they were men who got more by their instruments than the best officer either by sea or land did by his commission. This mistake, as well as many others the captain fell into, made not only the company he was with, but those who sat near enough to hear him, a good deal of diversion.
Nothing of moment happening either here or at Mr. Goodman's, where they all supped together, it would be needless to repeat any particulars of the conversation; what has been said already of their different sentiments and behaviour, may be a sufficient sample of the whole.
Chapter XVIII
Treats on no fresh matters, but serves to heighten those already mentioned
Mr. Goodman had staid abroad till very late that night the concert had been performed, so was not a witness of any thing that had passed after the company came home: but on Lady Mellasin's repeating to him every thing she remembered, was very well pleased to hear that she had reconciled the captain to him; though extremely sorry that the blunt ill-judged affection of that gentleman had exposed him to the ridicule, not only of Miss Betsy, but also of all her followers.
That young lady, in the mean time, was far from having any commiseration for the anxieties of those who loved her; on the contrary, she triumphed in the pains she gave, if it can be supposed that she, who was altogether ignorant of them in herself, could look upon them as sincere in others. But, I am apt to believe, ladies of this cast regard all the professions of love made to them (as, indeed, many of them are) only as words of course--the prerogative of youth and beauty in the one sex, and a duty incumbent on the other to pay: they value themselves on the number and quality of their lovers, as they do upon the number and richness of their cloaths; because it makes them of consideration in the world, and never take the trouble of reflecting how dear it may sometimes cost those to whom they are indebted for indulging this vanity.
That this, at least, was the motive which induced Miss Betsy to treat her lovers in the manner she did, is evident to a demonstration, from every other action of her life. She had a certain softness in her disposition, which rendered her incapable of knowing the distress of any one, without affording all the relief that was in her power to give; and had she sooner been convinced of the reality of the woes of love, the sooner she had left off the ambition of inflicting them, and, perhaps, have been brought to regard those who laboured under them, rather with too much than too little compassion. But of this the reader will be able to judge on proceeding farther in this history.
There were now three gentlemen, who all of them addressed this young lady on the most honourable terms; yet did her giddy mind make no distinction between the serious passion they had for her, and the idle gallantry she received from those who either had no design in making them, or such as tended to her undoing.
Impatient to hear in what manner Mr. Trueworth would declare himself, and imagining he would come the next day, as he had made so handsome an apology for not having waited on her the preceding one, she told Mr. Staple and Captain Hysom, in order to prevent their coming, that she was engaged to pass that whole afternoon and evening with some ladies of her acquaintance. Neither the captain nor Mr. Staple suspected the truth of what she said; but the former was in too much haste to know some issue of his fate to be quite contented with this delay.
Miss Betsy was not deceived in her expectations. Soon after dinner was over, she was told Mr. Trueworth had sent to know if she was at home, and begged leave to wait upon her. Lady Mellasin having a great deal of company that day in the dining-room, she went into an adjacent one to receive him. He was charmed at finding her alone; a happiness he could not flatter himself with on entering the house: he was assured, by the number of footman that he saw in the hall, that many visitors were there before him. This unexpected piece of good fortune (as he then thought it, especially as he found her playing with the squirrel he had sent to her the day before) so much elated him, that it brightened his whole aspect, and gave a double share of vivacity to his eyes. 'May I hope your pardon, Madam,' said he, 'for presuming to approach you with so trifling a present as that little creature?'--'Oh, Mr. Trueworth!' answered she, 'I will not forgive you if you speak slight of my squirrel, though I am indebted to you for the pleasure he gives me. I love him excessively! You could not have made me a more obliging present.'
'How, Madam!' cried he; 'I should be miserable, indeed, if I had nothing in my power to offer more worthy your acceptance than that animal. What think you, Madam, of an adoring and passionately devoted heart?'
'A heart!' rejoined she; 'oh, dear! a heart may be a pretty thing, for aught I know to the contrary: but there is such an enclosure of flesh and bone about it, that it is utterly impossible for one to see into it; and, consequently, to know whether one likes it or not.'
'The heart, Madam, in the sense I mean,' said he, 'implies the soul; which being a spirit, and invisible, can only be known by its effects. If the whole services of mine may render it an oblation, such as may obtain a gracious reception from the amiable Miss Thoughtless, I shall bless the hour in which I first beheld her charms, as the most fortunate one I ever had to boast of.' In ending these words he kissed her hand, with a look full of the greatest respect and tenderness.
She then told him, the services of the soul must needs be valuable, because they were sincere; but, as she knew not of what nature those services were he intended to render her, he must excuse her for not so readily accepting them. On which, it is not to be doubted, but that he assured her they should be only such as were dictated by the most pure affections, and accompanied by the strictest honour.
He was going on with such protestations as may be imagined a man, so much enamoured, would make to the object of his wishes; when he was interrupted by Miss Flora, who came hastily into the room, and told him that her mamma, hearing that he was in the house, expected he would not leave it without letting her have the pleasure of seeing him; that they were just going to tea, and that her ladyship intreated he would join company with those friends she had already with her.
Mr. Trueworth would have been glad to have found some plausible pretence for not complying with this invitation; but as he could not make any that would not be looked on as favouring of ill manners, and Miss Betsy insisted on his going, they all went together into the dining-room.
The lover had now no farther opportunity of prosecuting his suit in this visit; but he made another the next day, more early than before, and found nobody but Mr. Goodman with Miss Betsy, Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora being gone among the shops, either to buy something they wanted, or to tumble over goods, as they frequently did, merely for the sake of seeing new fashions. Mr. Trueworth having never been seen by Mr. Goodman, Miss Betsy presented him to him with these words--'Sir, this is a gentleman from Oxford, an intimate friend of brother Frank's, and who did me the favour to bring me a letter from him.' There needed no more to make Mr. Goodman know, both who he was, and the business on which he was come. He received him with a great deal of good manners; but, knowing his absence would be most agreeable, after some few compliments, pretended he was called abroad by urgent business, and took his leave.
How much it rejoiced the sincerely devoted heart of Mr. Trueworth, to find himself once more alone with the idol of his wishes, may easily be conceived by those who have had any experience of the passion he so deeply felt: but his felicity was of short continuance, and he profited but little by the complaisance of Mr. Goodman.
He was but just beginning to pour forth some part of those tender sentiments, with which his soul overflowed, when he was prevented from proceeding, by a second interruption, much more disagreeable than the former had been.
Mr. Staple, and Captain Hysom, for whom Miss Betsy had not left the same orders she had done the day before, came both to visit her; the former had the advantage of being there somewhat sooner than the other, and accosted her with an air which made the enamoured heart of Mr. Trueworth immediately beat an alarm to jealousy. Mr. Staple, who had seen him there once before, when he brought her brother's letter to her, did not presently know him for his rival, nor imagined he had any other intent in his visits, than to pay his compliments to the sister of his friend.
They were all three engaged in a conversation which had nothing particular in it, when Miss Betsy was told Captain Hysom desired to speak with her; on which she bid the fellow desire him to walk in. 'He is in the back-parlour, Madam,' replied he: 'I told him you had company, so he desires you will come to him there; for he says he has great business with you, and must needs speak with you.' Both Miss Betsy and Mr. Staple laughed immoderately at this message; but Mr. Trueworth, who was not in the secret, looked a little grave, as not knowing what to think of it. 'You would scarce believe, Sir,' said Mr. Staple to him, 'that this embassy came from the court of Cupid; yet I assure you the captain is one of this lady's most passionate admirers.'--'Yes, indeed,' added Miss Betsy; 'and threatens terrible things to every one who should dare to dispute the conquest of my heart with him.--But go,' continued she to the footman, 'tell him I have friends with me whom I cannot be so rude to leave, and that I insist on his giving us his company in this room.'
The captain, on this, was prevailed upon to come in, though not very well pleased at finding himself obliged to do so by the positive commands of his mistress. He paid his respects, however, in his blunt manner, to the gentlemen, as well as Miss Betsy; and having drawn his chair as near her as he could, 'I hoped, Madam,' said he, 'you would have found an opportunity of speaking to me before now; you must needs think I am a little uneasy till I know what I have to depend upon.'--'Bless me, Sir!' cried she, 'you talk in an odd manner!--and then,' continued she, pointing to Mr. Trueworth, 'this gentleman here, who is a friend of my brother's, will think I have outrun my income, and that you come to dun me for money borrowed of you.'--'No, no,' answered he, 'as to that, you owe me nothing but good-will, and that I think I deserve for the respect I have for you, if it were for nothing else: but, Madam, I should be glad to know some answer to the business I wrote to you upon?'--'Lord, Sir!' replied she, 'I have not yet had time to think upon it, much less to resolve on any thing.'--'That is strange,' resumed he; 'why, you have had three days; and sure that is long enough to think, and resolve too, on any thing.'--'Not for me, indeed, captain,' answered she, laughing: 'but come, here are just four of us--what think you, gentlemen, of a game of quadrille, to kill time?'
Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple told her at once, that they approved the notion; and she was just going to call for cards and fishes, when the captain stopped her, saying, 'I never loved play in my life; and have no time to kill, as mayhap these gentlemen have, who, it is likely, having nothing else to do than to dress and visit: I have a great deal of business upon my hands; the ship is taking in her lading, and I do not know but we may sail in six or seven days, so must desire you will fix a day for us to be alone together, that I may know at once what it is you design to do.'--'Fie, captain!' replied she, 'how can you think of such a thing? I assure you, Sir,' added she, with an affected disdain, 'I never make appointments with gentlemen.'
'That I believe,' said he: 'but you should consider that I live a great way off; it is a long walk from Mile End to St. James's, and I hate your jolting hackney-coaches: besides, I may come and come again, and never be able to get a word with you in private in an afternoon, and all the morning I am engaged either at the India House, or at Change; therefore I should think it is better for both of us not to stand shilly-shally, but come to the point at once; for look ye, fair lady, if we happen to agree, there will be little enough time to settle every thing, as I am obliged to go soon.'--'Too little, in my opinion, Sir,' answered she; 'therefore I think it best to defer talking any more of the matter till you come back.'
'Come back!' cried he; 'why, do you consider I shall be gone three years?'--'Really, Sir,' said she, 'as I told you before, I have never considered any thing about it; nor can promise I shall be able to say any more to you at the end of twice the time you mention, than I can do at present, which I assure you is just nothing at all.'
Though both Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple had too much good manners to do any thing that might affront the captain, yet neither of them could restrain their laughter so well as to prevent some marks of the inclination they had for it, from being visible in their faces; and, willing to contribute something on their parts to the diversion they perceived she gave herself with a lover so every way unsuitable to her, one told her that it was a great pity she did not consult the captain's convenience; the other said, that it must needs be a vast fatigue for a gentleman, who was accustomed only to walk the quarter-deck, to take a stretch of four miles at once. 'And all to no purpose,' cried he that had spoken first.--'Pray, Madam, give him his dispatch.'
As little acquainted as the captain was with raillery, he had understanding enough to make him see, that Miss Betsy's behaviour to him had rendered him the jest of all the company that visited her; and this he took so ill, that all the liking he before had to her was now turned into contempt. Finding they were going on in the ironical way they had begun--'Look ye, gentlemen,' said he, with a pretty stern countenance, 'I would advise you to meddle only with such things as concern yourselves; you have nothing to do with me, or I with you. If your errand here be as I suspect it is, there sits one who I dare answer will find you employment enough, as long as you shall think it worth your while to dance attendance.--As for you, Madam,' continued he, turning to Miss Betsy, 'I think it would have become you as well to have given me a more civil answer; if you did not approve of my proposals, you might have told me so at first: but I shall trouble neither you nor myself any farther about the matter. I see how it is, well enough; and when next I steer for the coast of matrimony, shall take care to look out for a port not cumbered with rubbish: so, your servant!'
As he was going out of the house, he met Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora just entering, being returned from the ramble above-mentioned: they saw he was very angry, and would fain have persuaded him to turn back; telling him, that if any misunderstanding had happened between him and Miss Betsy, they would endeavour to make it up and reconcile them. To which he replied, that he thanked them for their love; but he had done with Miss Betsy for good and all; that she was no more than a young flirt, and did not know how to use a gentleman handsomely--said, he should be glad to take a bowl of punch with Mr. Goodman before he went on his voyage; but would not come any more to his house, to be scoffed at by Miss Betsy, and those that came after her.
Miss Flora told him, that it was unjust in him to deprive her mamma and herself of the pleasure of his good company for the fault of Miss Betsy; who, she said, she could not help owning, was of a very giddy temper. Lady Mellasin, to what her daughter had said, added many obliging things, in order to prevail on him either to return, or renew his visits hereafter: but the captain was obstinate; and, persisting in his resolution of coming there no more, took his leave; and Miss Flora lost all hope of receiving any benefit from his being rejected by Miss Betsy.
Chapter XIX
Will make the reader little the wiser
The greatest part of the time that Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple staid with Miss Betsy, was taken up with talking of Captain Hysom; his passion, his behaviour, and the manner in which he received his dismission, afforded, indeed, an ample field for conversation: Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, relating the answers he had given them on their pressing him to come back, Mr. Trueworth said, that it must be owned, that he had shewn a strength of resolution which few men in love could boast of.
'Love, Sir, according to my notions of that passion,' replied Mr. Staple, 'is not one to be felt by every heart; many deceive themselves in this point, and take for it what is in reality no more than a bare liking of a beautiful object: the captain seems to me to have a soul, as well as form, cast in too rough a mould to be capable of those refined and delicate ideas, which alone constitute and are worthy to be called love.'
'Yet,' said Lady Mellasin, 'I have heard Mr. Goodman give him an excellent character; and, above all, that he is one of the best-natured men breathing.'--'That may be, indeed, Madam,' resumed Mr. Staple; 'and some allowances ought to be made for the manner in which he has been bred: though,' added he, 'I have known many commanders, not only of Indiamen, but of other trading-vessels, who have all their life-time used the sea, yet have known how to behave with politeness enough when on shore.'
Mr. Trueworth agreed with Mr. Staple, that though the amorous declarations of a person of the captain's age, and fashion of bringing up, to one of Miss Betsy's, exposed him to the deserved ridicule of as many as knew it, yet ought not his particular foible to be any reflection on his occupation, which merited to be held in the greatest veneration, as the strength and opulence of the nation was owing to its commerce in foreign parts.
This was highly obliging to Mr. Staple, whose father had been a merchant; and Mr. Trueworth being the first who took his leave, perceiving the other staid supper, he said abundance of handsome things in his praise; and seemed to have conceived so high esteem of him, that Miss Betsy was diverted in her mind to think how he would change his way of speaking, when once the secret of his rivalship should come out, as she knew it could not fail to do in a short time.
But as easy as Mr. Staple was at present on this occasion, Mr. Trueworth was no less anxious and perplexed: he was convinced that the other visited Miss Betsy on no other score than that of love; and it appeared to him equally certain, by the freedom with which he saw him treated by the family, that he was likewise greatly encouraged, if not by Miss Betsy herself, at least by her guardian.
His thoughts were now wholly taken up with the means by which he might gain the advantage over a rival, whom he looked upon as a formidable one, not only for his personal accomplishments, but also for his having the good fortune to address her before himself. All he could do was to prevent, as much as possible, all opportunities of his entertaining Miss Betsy in private, till the arrival of Mr. Francis Thoughtless, from whose friendship, and the influence he had over his sister, he hoped much.
He waited on her the next day very early: Mr. Goodman happening to dine that day later than ordinary, on account of some friends he had with him, and the cloth not being drawn, Miss Betsy went and received him in another room. Having this favourable opportunity, he immediately began to prepare for putting into execution one of those strategems he had contrived for separating her from Mr. Staple. After some few tender speeches, he fell into a discourse concerning the weather; said, he was sorry to perceive the days so much shortened--that summer would soon be gone; and added, that as that beautiful season could last but a small time, the most should be made of it. 'I came,' said he, 'to intreat the favour of you and Miss Flora, to permit me to accompany you in an airing through Brompton, Kensington, Chelsea, and the other little villages on this side of London.'
Miss Betsy replied, that she would go with all her heart, and believed she could answer the same for Miss Flora, there being only two grave dons and their wives within, whom she would be glad to be disengaged from: 'But if not,' said she, 'I can send for a young lady in the neighbourhood, who will be glad to give us her company.'
She sent first, however, to Miss Flora, who immediately came in; and, the proposal being made, accepted it with pleasure; and added, that she would ask her mamma for orders for the coach to be got ready. 'It need not, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'my servant is here, and he shall get one from Blunt's.' But Miss Flora insisted on their going in Mr. Goodman's; saying, she was certain neither he nor her mamma would go out that day, as the company they had were come to stay; on which Mr. Trueworth complied.
When she had left the room--'Ah, Madam!' said he to Miss Betsy, 'could I flatter myself with believing I owed this condescension to any other motive than your complaisance, to a person who has some share in your brother's friendship, I should be blessed indeed; but, ah! I see I have a rival--a rival dangerous to my hopes, not only on the account of his merits, but also as he had the honour of declaring his passion before me: the fortunate Mr. Staple,' added he, kissing her hand, 'may, perhaps have already made some impression on that heart I would sacrifice my all to gain; and I am come too late.'
'Rather too soon,' replied she, smiling; 'both of you equally too soon, admitting his sentiments for me to be as you imagine; for I assure you, Sir, my heart has hitherto been entirely my own, and is not very likely to incline to the reception of any guest of the nature you mean, for yet a long--long time. Whoever thinks to gain me, must not be in a hurry, like Captain Hysom.'
Mr. Trueworth was about to make some passionate reply, when Miss Flora returned, and told them the coach would be ready immediately, for she herself had spoke to the coachman, and bid him put the horses to with all the haste he could; on which the lover expressed his sense of the obligation he had to her for taking this trouble in the politest terms.
A person of much less discernment than this gentleman, might easily perceive, that the way to be agreeable to Miss Betsy, was not to be too serious; he therefore assumed all the vivacity he was master of, both before they went, and during the whole course of the little tour they made, in which it is not to be doubted but he regaled them with every thing the places they passed through could furnish.
The ladies were so well pleased, both with their entertainment and the company of the person who entertained them, that they seemed not in haste to go home; and he had the double satisfaction of enjoying the presence of his mistress, and of giving at least one day's disappointment to his rival: he was confirmed in the truth of this conjecture, when, on returning to Mr. Goodman's, which was not till some hours after close of day, the footman who opened the door told Miss Betsy that Mr. Staple had been to wait upon her.
After this it may be supposed he had a night of much more tranquillity than the preceding one had afforded him. The next morning, as early as he thought decency permitted, he made a visit to Miss Betsy, under the pretence of coming to enquire if her health had not suffered by being abroad in the night air, and how she had rested. She received him with a great deal of sprightliness; and replied, she found herself so well after it, as to be ready for such another jaunt whenever he had a fancy for it. 'I take you at your word, Madam,' cried he, transported to hear she anticipated what he came on purpose to intreat. 'I am ready this moment, if you please,' continued he; 'and we will either take a barge, and go up the river, or a coach to Hampstead, just to diversify the scene: you have only to say which you chuse.'
She then told him there was a necessity of deferring their ramble till the afternoon, because Miss Flora was abroad, and would not return till dinner-time. 'As to what route we shall take, and every thing belonging to it,' said she, 'I leave it entirely to you; I know nobody who has a more elegant taste, or a better judgment.'--'I have taken care,' replied he, 'to give the world a high opinion of me in both, by making my addresses to the amiable Miss Betsy: but, Madam,' pursued he, 'since we are alone, will you give me leave to tell you how I have employed my hours this morning?'--'Why--in dressing--breakfasting--and, perhaps, a little reading!' answered she. 'A small time, Madam, suffices for the two former articles with me,' resumed he; 'but I have, indeed, been reading: happening to dip into the works of a poet, who wrote near a century ago, I found some words so adapted to the situation of my heart, and so agreeable to the sense of the answer I was about to make yesterday to what you said, concerning the persistence of a lover, that I could not forbear putting some notes to them, which I beg you will give me your opinion of.'
In speaking these words, he took a piece of paper out of his pocket, and sung the following stanza.
I.
'The patriarch, to gain a wife Chaste, beautiful, and young, Serv'd fourteen years, a painful life, And never thought it long.
II.
Oh! were you to reward such cares, And life so long would stay, Not fourteen, but four hundred years, Would seem but as one day.'
Mr. Trueworth had a fine voice, and great skill in musick, having perfected himself in that science from the best masters when he was in Italy. Miss Betsy was so charmed both with the words and the notes, that she made him sing them several times over, and afterwards set them down in her musick-book, to the end that she might get them by heart, and join her voice in concert with her spinnet.
Mr. Trueworth would not make his morning visit too long, believing it might be her time to dress against dinner, as she was now in such a dishabille as ladies usually put on at their first rising: so, after having received a second promise from her of giving him her company that day abroad, took his leave, highly satisfied with the progress he imagined he had made in her good graces.
The wind happening to grow a little boisterous, though the weather otherwise was fair and clear, made Mr. Trueworth think a land journey would be more agreeable to the ladies, than to venture themselves upon the water: he therefore procured a handsome livery-coach; and, attended by his two servants, went to Mr. Goodman's. The ladies were already in expectation of him, and did not make him wait a moment.
Nothing extraordinary happening at this entertainment, nor at those others, which, for several succeeding days, without intermission, Mr. Trueworth prevailed on his mistress to accept, it would be superfluous to trouble the reader with the particulars of them.
Mr. Staple all this time was very uneasy: he had not seen Miss Betsy for a whole week; and, though he knew not as yet, that he was deprived of that satisfaction, by her being engrossed by a rival, yet he now began to be sensible she had less regard for him than he had flattered himself he had inspired her with; and this of itself was a sufficient mortification to a young gentleman, who was not only passionately in love, but also could not, without being guilty of great injustice to his own merits, but think himself not altogether unworthy of succeeding. This, however, was no more than a slight sample of the inquietudes which the blind god sometimes inflicts on hearts devoted to him; as will hereafter appear in the progress of this history.
Chapter XX
Contains an odd accident, which happened to Miss Betsy in the cloysters of Westminster Abbey
Mr. Trueworth, who was yet far from being acquainted with the temper of the object he adored, now thought he had no reason to despair of being one day in possession of all he aimed to obtain; it seemed certain, to him, at least, that he had nothing to apprehend from the pretensions of a rival, who at first he had looked upon as so formidable, and no other at present interposed between him and his designs.
Miss Betsy, in the mean while, wholly regardless of who hoped, or who despaired, had no aim in any thing she did, but merely to divert herself; and to that end laid hold of every opportunity that offered. Mr. Goodman, having casually mentioned, as they were at supper, that one Mr. Soulguard had just taken orders, and was to preach his first sermon at Westminster Abbey the next day, she presently had a curiosity of hearing how he would behave in the pulpit; his over-modest, and, as they termed it, sheepish behaviour in company, having, as often as he came there, afforded matter of ridicule to her and Miss Flora. These two young ladies therefore, talking on it after they were in bed, agreed to go to the cathedral, not doubting but they should have enough to laugh at, and repeat to all those of their acquaintance who had ever seen him.
What mere trifles, what airy nothings, serve to amuse a mind to not taken up with more essential matters! Miss Betsy was so full of the diversion she should have in hearing the down-looked bashful Mr. Soulguard harangue his congregation, that she could think and talk of nothing else, till the hour arrived when she should go to experience what she had so pleasant an idea of.
Miss Flora, who had till now seemed as eager as herself, cried all at once, that her head ached, and that she did not care for stirring out. Miss Betsy, who would fain have laughed her out of it, told her, she had only got the vapours; that the parson would cure her; and such like things: but the other was not to be prevailed upon by all Miss Betsy, or even Lady Mellasin herself, could say; and answered, with some sullenness, that positively she would not go. Miss Betsy was highly ruffled at this sudden turn of her temper, as it was now too late to send for any other young lady of her acquaintance to go with her; resolving, nevertheless, not to baulk her humour, she ordered a chair to be called, and went alone.
Neither the young parson's manner of preaching, nor the text he chose, being in any way material to this history, I shall therefore pass over the time of divine service; and only say, that after it was ended Miss Betsy passing towards the west gate, and stopping to look on the fine tomb, erected to the memory of Mr. Secretary Craggs, was accosted by Mr. Bloomacre, a young gentleman who sometimes visited Lady Mellasin, and lived at Westminster, in which place he had a large estate.
He had with him, when he came up to her, two gentlemen of his acquaintance, but who were entire strangers to Miss Betsy: 'What,' said he, 'the celebrated Miss Betsy Thoughtless! Miss Betsy Thoughtless! the idol of mankind! alone, unattended by any of her train of admirers, and contemplating these mementos of mortality!'--'To compliment my understanding,' replied she, gaily, 'you should rather have told me I was contemplating the mementos of great actions.'--'You are at the wrong end of the cathedral for that, Madam,' resumed he; 'and I don't remember to have heard anything extraordinary of the life of this great man, whose effigy makes so fine a figure here, except the favours he received from the ladies.'
'It were too much, then, to bestow them on him both alive and dead,' cried she; 'therefore we will pass on to some other.'
Mr. Bloomacre had a great deal of wit and vivacity; nor were his two companions deficient in either of these qualities: so that, between the three, Miss Betsy was very agreeably entertained. They went round from tomb to tomb; and the real characters, as well as epitaphs, some of which are flattering enough, afforded a variety of observations. In fine, the conversation was so pleasing to Miss Betsy, that she never thought of going home till it grew too dark to examine either the sculpture, or the inscriptions; so insensibly does time glide on, when accompanied with satisfaction.
But now ensued a mortification, which struck a damp on the sprightliness of this young lady: she had sent away the chair which brought her, not doubting but that there would be others about the church-doors. She knew not how difficult it was to procure such a vehicle in Westminster, especially on a Sunday. To add to her vexation, it rained very much, and she was not in a habit fit to travel on foot in any weather, much less in such as this.
They went down into the cloisters, in order to find some person whom they might send either for a coach or chair, for the gentlemen would have been glad of such conveniences for themselves, as well as Miss Betsy: they walked round and round several times, without hearing or seeing any body; but, at last, a fellow, who used to be employed in sweeping the church-doors, offered his service to procure them what they wanted, in case there was a possibility of doing it: they promised to gratify him well for his pains; and he ran with all the speed he could, to do as he had said.
The rain and wind increased to such a prodigious height, that scarce was ever a more tempestuous evening. Almost a whole hour was elapsed, and the man not come back; so that they had reason to fear neither coach nor chair was to be got. Miss Betsy began to grow extremely impatient; the gentlemen endeavoured all they could to keep her in a good humour: 'We have a good stone roof over our heads, Madam,' said one of them, 'and that at present shelters us from the inclemency of the elements.'--'Besides,' cried another, 'the storm cannot last always; and when it is a little abated, here are three of us, we will take you in our arms by turns, and carry you home.' All this would not make Miss Betsy laugh, and she was in the utmost agitation of mind to think what she should do; when, on a sudden, a door in that part of the cloister, which leads to Little Dean's Yard was opened, and a very young lady, not exceeding eleven years of age, but very richly habited, came running out, and taking Miss Betsy by the sleeve, 'Madam,' said she, 'I beg to speak with you.' Miss Betsy was surprized; but, stepping some paces from the gentleman, to hear what she had to say, the other drawing towards the door, cried, 'Please, Madam, to come in here!' On which she followed, and the gentlemen stood about some four or five yards distant. Miss Betsy had no sooner reached the threshold, which had a step down into the hall, and pulling her gently down, as if to communicate what she had to say with the more privacy, than a footman, who stood behind the door, immediately clapped it to, and put the chain across, as if he apprehended some violence might be offered to it. Miss Betsy was in so much consternation, that she was unable to speak one word; till the young lady, who still had hold of her hand, said to her, 'You may thank Heaven, Madam, that our family happened to be in town, else I do not know what mischief might have befallen you.'--'Bless me!' cried Miss Betsy, and was going on; but the other interrupted her, saying, hastily, as she led her forward, 'Walk this way; my brother will tell you all.' Miss Betsy then stopped short, 'What means all this?' said she: 'Where am I, pray, Miss? Who is your brother?' To which the other replied, that her brother was the Lord Viscount ----, and that he at present was the owner of that house.
The surprize Miss Betsy had been put in by this young lady's first accosting her, was not at all dissipated by these words, but had now an equal portion of curiosity added to it: she longed to know the meaning of words, which at present seemed so mysterious to her, and with what kind of mischief she had been threatened, that she readily accompanied her young conductress into a magnificent parlour, at the upper end of which sat the nobleman she had been told of. 'I am extremely happy,' said he, as soon as he saw her enter, 'that Providence has put it in my power to rescue so fine a lady, from the villainy contrived against her.'
Miss Betsy replied, that she should always be thankful for any favours conferred upon her; but desired to know of what nature they were, for which she was indebted to his lordship; he then told her, that the persons she had been with had the most base designs upon her; that he had heard from a closet-window, where he was sitting, two of them lay a plot for carrying her off in a hackney-coach; and added, that being struck with horror at the foul intention, he had contrived, by the means of his sister, to get her out of their power; 'For,' said he, 'I know one of them to be so bloody a villain, that had I gone out myself, I must have fallen a sacrifice to their resentment.'
Miss Betsy was quite confounded; she knew not how to question the veracity of a nobleman, who could have no view or interest to deceive her; yet it was equally incongruous to her, that Mr. Bloomacre could harbour any designs upon her of that sort his lordship mentioned; she had several times been in company with that gentleman, and he had never behaved towards her in a manner which could give her room to suspect he had any dishonourable intentions towards her: but then, the treatment she had received from the gentleman-commoner at Oxford, reminded her, that men of an amorous complexion want only an opportunity to shew those inclinations, which indolence, or perhaps indelicacy, prevents them from attempting to gratify by assiduities and courtship.
After having taken some little time to consider what she should say, she replied that she was infinitely obliged to his lordship for the care he took of her, but might very well be amazed to hear those gentlemen had any ill designs upon her, two of whom were perfect strangers, and the other often visited at the house where she was boarded. As for the sending for a coach, she said it was by her own desire, if no chair could be procured: and added, that if his lordship had no other reason to apprehend any ill was meant to her, she could not, without injustice, forbear to clear up the mistake.
Lord ---- was a little confounded at these words; but, soon recovering himself, told her that she knew not the real character of the persons she had been with; that Bloomacre was one of the greatest libertines in the world; that, though she might agree to have a coach sent for, she could not be sure to what place it would carry her; and that he heard two of them, while the third was entertaining her, speak to each other in a manner which convinced him the most villainous contrivance was about to be practised on her.
A loud knocking at the door now interrupted their discourse; both his lordship and his sister seemed terribly alarmed: all the servants were called, and charge given not to open the door upon any account, to bar up the lower windows; and to give answers from those above, to whoever was there. The knocking continued with greater violence than it began, and Miss Betsy heard the gentlemen's voices talking to the servant; and, though she could not distinguish what they said, found there were very high words between them. My lord's sister ran into the hall to listen; then came back, crying, 'O what terrible oaths!--I am afraid they will break open the door!'--'No,' replied Lord ----; 'it is too strong for that: but I wish we had been so wise as to send for a constable.' One of the servants came down, and repeated what their young lady had said; adding, that the gentlemen swore they would not leave the place till they had spoke with the lady, who they said had been trepanned into that house. On this, 'Suppose, my lord,' said Miss Betsy, 'I go to the door and tell them that I will not go with them.'--'No, Madam,' answered Lord ----, 'I cannot consent my door should be opened to such ruffians; besides that they would certainly seize and carry you off by force, I know not what mischief they might do my poor men, for having at first refused them entrance.' She then said she would go up to the window, and answer them from thence; but he would not suffer her to be seen by them at all: and, to keep her from insisting on it, told her a great many stories of rapes, and other mischiefs, that had been perpetrated by Bloomacre, and those he kept company with.
All this did not give Miss Betsy those terrors, which, it is very plain his lordship and sister endeavoured to inspire her with; yet would she say no more of appearing to the gentlemen, as she found he was so averse to it.
At length the knocking ceased; and one of the footmen came down, and said that those who had given his lordship this disturbance had withdrawn from the door, and he believed they were gone quite out of the cloisters: but this intelligence did not satisfy Lord ----; he either was, or pretended to be, in fear that they were still skulking in some corner, and would rush in if once they saw the door opened. There was still the same difficulty as ever, how Miss Betsy should get home; that is, how she should get safely out of the house; for, the rain being over, the servants said they did not doubt but they should be able to procure a chair or coach: after much debating on this matter, it was thus contrived.
Lord ---- had a window that looked into the yard of one of the prebendaries; a footman was to go out of the window to the back-door of that reverend divine, relate the whole story, and beg leave to go through his house: that request being granted, the footman went, and returned in less than half an hour, with the welcome news that a chair was ready, and waited in College Street. Miss Betsy had no way of passing, but by the same the footman had done, which she easily did, by being lifted by my lord into the window, and descending from it by the help of some steps placed on the other side by the servants of the prebendary.
It would be superfluous to trouble the reader with any speeches made by Lord ----, and his sister, to Miss Betsy, or the replies she made to them; I shall only say, that passing through his house, and the College Garden, at the door of which the chair waited, she went into it, preceded by Lord ----'s footman, muffled up in a cloak, and without a flambeau, to prevent being known, in case she should be met by Bloomacre, or either of his companions: and with this equipage she arrived safe at home, though not without a mind strangely perplexed at the meaning of this adventure.
Chapter XXI
Gives an explanation of the former, with other particulars, more agreeable to the reader in the repetition, than to the persons concerned in them
It was near ten o'clock when Miss Betsy came home; and Mr. Goodman, who had been very uneasy at her staying out so late, especially as she was alone, was equally rejoiced at her return; but, as well as Lady Mellasin, was surprized on hearing by what accident she had been detained--they knew not how to judge of it--there was no circumstance in the whole affair which could make them think Mr. Bloomacre had any designs of the sort Lord ---- had suggested: yet did Mr. Goodman think himself obliged, as the young lady's guardian, to go to that gentleman, and have some talk with him concerning what had passed. Accordingly, he went the next morning to his house; but, not finding him at home, left word with his servant that he desired to speak with him as soon as possible: he came not, however, the whole day, nor sent any message to excuse his not doing so; and this neglect gave Mr. Goodman, and Miss Betsy herself, some room to suspect he was no less guilty than he had been represented, since had he been perfectly innocent, it seemed reasonable to them to think he would have come, even of his own accord, to have learned of Miss Betsy the motive of her leaving him in so abrupt and odd a manner--but how much they wronged him will presently appear, and they were afterwards convinced.
There was an implacable animosity between Lord ---- and Mr. Bloomacre, on account of the former's pretending a right to some lands which the other held, and could not be dispossessed of by law. As his lordship knew Mr. Bloomacre was not of a disposition to bear an affront tamely, he had no other way to vent his spleen against him, than by villifying and traducing him in all companies he came into; but this he took care to do in so artful a manner, as to be enabled either to evade, or render what he said impossible to be proved, in case he were called to an account for it.
The affair of Miss Betsy, innocent as it was, he thought gave him an excellent opportunity of gratifying his malice: he went early the next morning to the dean, complained of an insult offered to his house by Mr. Bloomacre, on the score of his sister having brought in a young lady, whom that gentleman had detained in the cloisters, and was going to carry off, by the assistance of some friends he had with him, in a hackney-coach.
The dean, who was also a bishop, was extremely incensed, as well he might, at so glaring a profanation of that sacred place; and the moment Lord ---- had taken his leave, sent for Mr. Bloomacre to come to him. That gentleman immediately obeying the summons, the bishop began to reprimand him in terms, which the occasion seemed to require from a person of his function and authority: Mr. Bloomacre could not forbear interrupting him, though with the greatest respect, saying nothing could be more false and base, than such an accusation; that whoever had given such an information was a villain, and merited to be used as such. The prelate, seeing him in this heat, would not mention the name of his accuser; but replied coolly, that it was possible he might be wronged; but to convince him that he was so, he must relate to him the whole truth of the story, and on what grounds a conjecture so much to the disadvantage of his reputation had been formed. On which Mr. Bloomacre repeated every thing that had passed; and added, that he was well acquainted with the family where the young lady was boarded, and that he was certain she would appear in person to justify him in this point, if his lordship thought it proper. 'But,' said the bishop, 'I hear you affronted the Lord ----, by thundering at his door, and abusing his servants.'--'No, my lord,' answered Mr. Bloomacre, 'Lord ----, though far from being my friend, will not dare to alledge any such thing against me. We were, indeed, a little surprized to see the young lady, who was with us, snatched away in so odd a fashion by his sister, who we easily perceived had not the least acquaintance with her. We continued walking, however, in the cloister, till the man whom we had sent for a coach returned, and told us he had got one, and that it waited at the gate. We then, indeed, knocked at Lord ----'s door; and being answered from the windows by the servants, in a very impertinent manner, I believe we might utter some words not very respectful either of his lordship or his sister, whose behaviour in this affair I am as yet entirely ignorant how to account for.'
The bishop paused a considerable time; but on Mr. Bloomacre's repeating what he had said before, concerning bringing the young lady herself to vouch the truth of what he had related to his lordship, replied, that there was no occasion for troubling either her or himself any farther; that he believed there had been some mistake in the business, and that he should think no more of it: on which Mr. Bloomacre took his leave.
Though the bishop had not mentioned the name of Lord ---- to Mr. Bloomacre, as the person who had brought this complaint against him, yet he was very certain, by all circumstances, that he could be indebted to no other for such a piece of low malice; and this, joined to some other provocations he had received from the ill-will of that nobleman, made him resolve to do himself justice.
He went directly from the deanry in search of the two gentlemen who had been with him in the Abbey when he happened to meet Miss Betsy; and, having found them both, they went to a tavern together, in order to consult on what was proper to be done, for the chastisement of Lord ----'s folly and ill-nature.
Both of them agreed with Mr. Bloomacre, that he ought to demand that satisfaction which every gentleman has a right to expect from any one who has injured him, of what degree soever he be, excepting those of royal blood. Each of them was so eager to be his second in this affair, that they were obliged to draw lots for the determination of the choice: he who had the ill-luck, as he called it, to draw the shortest cut, would needs oblige them to let him be the bearer of the challenge, that he might at least have some share in inflicting the punishment, which the behaviour of that unworthy lord so justly merited.
The challenge was wrote--the place appointed for meeting was the field behind Montague House: but the gentleman who carried it, brought no answer back; his lordship telling him only that he would consider on the matter, and let Mr. Bloomacre know his intentions.
Mr. Bloomacre, as the principal, and the other as his second, were so enraged at this, that the latter resolved to go himself, and force a more categorical answer. He did so; and Lord ---- having had time to consult his brother, and, as it is said, some other friends, told him he accepted the challenge, and would be ready with his second at the time and place appointed in it.
Mr. Bloomacre did not go home that whole day, therefore knew nothing of the message that had been left for him by Mr. Goodman, till it was too late to comply with it; but this seeming remissness in him was not all that troubled the mind of that open and honest-hearted guardian of Miss Betsy. Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple had both been at his house the day before: the former, on hearing his mistress was abroad, left only his compliments, and went away, though very much pressed to come in by Miss Flora, who seeing him through the parlour-window, ran to the door herself, and intreated he would pass the evening there. Mr. Staple came the moment after, and met his rival coming down the steps that led up to the door; Mr. Trueworth saluted him, in passing, with the usual complaisance, which the other returned in a very cool manner, and knocked hastily at the door. 'I imagine,' said he to the footman who opened it, 'that Miss Betsy is not at home, by that gentleman's having so early taken leave: but I would speak with Mr. Goodman, if he be at leisure.'
He was then shewed into the back-parlour, which was the room where Mr. Goodman generally received those persons who came to him upon business. On hearing who it was that asked for him, he was a little surprized, and desired he would walk up stairs: but Mr. Staple not knowing but there might be company above, returned for answer, that he had no more than a word or two to say to him, and that must be in private; on which the other immediately came down to him.
This young lover having by accident been informed, not only that Mr. Trueworth made his addresses to Miss Betsy, but also that it was with him she had been engaged during all that time he had been deprived of seeing her, thought it proper to talk with Mr. Goodman concerning this new obstacle to his wishes. That worthy gentleman was extremely troubled to be questioned on an affair, on which he had given Miss Betsy his word not to interfere: but finding himself very much pressed by a person whose passion he had encouraged, and who was the son of one with whom he had lived in a long friendship, he frankly confessed to him that Mr. Trueworth was indeed recommended to Miss Betsy by her brother; told him he was sorry the thing had happened so, but had nothing farther to do with it; that the young lady was at her own disposal, as to the article of marriage; that he was ignorant how she would determine; and that it must be from herself alone he could learn what it was he might expect or hope.
Mr. Staple received little satisfaction from what Mr. Goodman had said; but resolved to take his advice, and, if possible, bring Miss Betsy to some eclaircissement of the fate he was to hope or fear. Accordingly, he came the next morning to visit her; a liberty he had never taken, nor would now, if he had not despaired of finding her in the afternoon.
She gave herself, however, no airs of resentment on that account: but when he began to testify his discontent concerning Mr. Trueworth, and the apprehensions he had of his having gained the preference in her heart, though the last who had solicited that happiness, she replied, in the most haughty tones, that she was surprized at the freedom he took with her; that she was, and ever would be, mistress of her actions and sentiments, and no man had a right to pry into either; and concluded with saying, that she was sorry the civilities she had treated him with, should make him imagine he had a privilege of finding fault with those she shewed to others.
It is not to be doubted but that he made use of all the arguments in his power to convince her, that a true and perfect passion was never unaccompanied with jealous fears. He acknowledged the merits of Mr. Trueworth: 'But,' added he, 'the more he is possessed of, the more dangerous he is to my hopes.' And then begged her to consider the torments he had suffered, while being so long deprived of her presence, and knowing, at the same time, a rival was blessed with it.
Miss Betsy was not at this time in a humour either to be persuaded by the reasons, or softened by the submissions, of her lover: and poor Mr. Staple, after having urged all that love, wit, despair, and grief, could dictate, was obliged to depart more dissatisfied than he came.
In going out he saw Mr. Goodman in the parlour, who gave him the 'Good morning!' as he passed. 'A sad one it has been to me,' answered he, with somewhat of horror in his countenance: 'but I will not endure the rack of many such.' With these words he flung out of the house, in order to go about what, perhaps, the reader is not at a loss to guess at.
Chapter XXII
A duel begun, and another fought in the same morning, on Miss Betsy's account, are here related, with the manner in which the different antagonists behaved to each other
Well may the God of Love be painted blind! Those devoted to his influence are seldom capable of seeing things as they truly are; the smallest favour elates them with imaginary hopes, and the least coolness sinks then into despair: their joys, their griefs, their fears, more frequently spring from ideal rather than effective causes. Mr. Staple judged not that Miss Betsy refused to ease his jealous apprehensions on the score of Mr. Trueworth, because it was her natural temper to give pain to those that loved her, but because she really had an affection for that gentleman. Looking on himself, therefore, as now abandoned to all hope, rage and revenge took the whole possession of his soul, and chased away the softer emotions thence.
Having heard Mr. Trueworth say he lodged in Pall Mall, he went to the Cocoa Tree; and there informing himself of the particular house where his rival might be found, sat down and wrote the following billet.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
Both our wishes tend to the possession of one beautiful object; both cannot be happy in the accomplishment: it is fit, therefore, the sword should decide the difference between us, and put an end to those pretensions on the one side or the other, which it is not probable either of us will otherwise recede from. In confidence of your complying with this proposal, I shall attend you in the Green Park, between the hours of seven and eight to-morrow morning. As the affair concerns only ourselves, I think it both needless and unjust to engage any of our friends in it; so shall come alone, and expect you will do the same to, Sir, your humble servant,
T. STAPLE.'
Mr. Trueworth was at home; and, on receiving this, immediately, and without the least hesitation, wrote and sent back, by the same messenger, the following answer.
'To T. Staple, Esq.
Sir,
Though I cannot but think the decision of our fate ought to be left entirely to the lady herself, (to whom, whatever be the fortune of the sword, it must at last be referred) yet, as I cannot, without being guilty of injustice to my own honour and pretensions, refuse you the satisfaction you require, shall not fail to meet you at the time and place mentioned in yours; till when, I am, Sir, your humble servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
By the stile of this letter, it may be easily perceived that Mr. Trueworth was not very well pleased with this combat, though the greatness of his courage and spirit would not permit him to harbour the least thought of avoiding it: yet, whatever his thoughts were on this occasion, he visited Miss Betsy the same day, and discovered no part of them in his countenance; his behaviour, on the contrary, was rather more sprightly than usual. He proposed to the two young ladies to go on some party of pleasure. Miss Betsy replied, with her accustomed freedom, that she should like it very well; but Miss Flora, who had been for three or four days past very sullen and ill-humoured, said one minute she would go, and the next that she would not; and gave herself such odd and capricious airs, that Miss Betsy told her she believed her head was turned: to which the other replied, tartly, that if the distemper was catching, it would be no wonder she should be infected, having it always so near her. Miss Betsy replied, that she knew no greater proof of madness than to punish one's self in the hope of mortifying another: 'But that shall never be my case,' continued she; 'as you will find.' Then turning to Mr. Trueworth, 'If you will accept of my company, without Miss Flora,' said she, laughing, 'we will take a walk into the Park.' It is not to be doubted but that the lover gladly embraced this opportunity of having his mistress to himself. 'It is like Miss Betsy Thoughtless,' cried Miss Flora; 'and only like herself, to go abroad with a man alone.' Miss Betsy regarded not this reproach; but, catching up her fan and gloves, gave Mr. Trueworth her hand, to lead her where she had proposed, leaving the other so full of spite, that the tears gushed from her eyes.
It is likely the reader will be pretty much surprized, that Miss Flora, who had always seemed more ready than even Miss Betsy herself, to accept of invitations of the sort Mr. Trueworth had made, should now, all at once, become so averse: but his curiosity for an explanation of this matter must be for a while postponed; others, for which he may be equally impatient, requiring to be first discussed.
Two duels having been agreed upon to be fought on the same morning, the respect due to the quality of L----, demands we should give that wherein he was concerned, the preference in the repetition.
The hour appointed being arrived, Lord ---- and his brother came into the field: Mr. Bloomacre and his friend appeared immediately after. 'You are the persons,' said Lord ----, in an exulting tone, 'who made the invitation; but we are the first at table.'--'It is not yet past the time,' replied Bloomacre, looking on his watch; 'but the later we come, the more eagerly we shall fall to.' In that instant all their swords were drawn; but they had scarce time to exchange one thrust, before a posse of constables, with their assistants, armed with staves and clubs, rushed in between them, beat down their weapons, and carried them all four to the house of the high-bailiff of Westminster.
That gentleman, by virtue of his office, made a strict examination into what had passed; and, having heard what both parties had to say, severely reprimanded the one for having given the provocation, and the other for the manner in which it was resented: he told them he had a right, in order to preserve the peace of Westminster, and the liberties of it, to demand, that they should find sureties for their future behaviour; but, in regard to their quality and character, he would insist on no more than their own word and honour that the thing should be mutually forgot, and that nothing of the same kind, which now had been happily prevented, should hereafter be attempted.
Lord ---- submitted to this injunction with a great deal of readiness; and Mr. Bloomacre, seeing no other remedy, did the same: after which the high bailiff obliged them to embrace, in token of the sincerity of their reconciliation.
Thus ended an affair which had threatened such terrible consequences. It made, however, a very great noise; and the discourse upon it was no way to the advantage of Lord ----'s character, either for generosity or courage. Let us now see the sequel of the challenge sent by Mr. Staple to Mr. Trueworth.
These gentlemen met almost at the same time, in the place the challenger had appointed: few words served to usher in the execution of the fatal purpose; Mr. Staple only said, 'Come on, Sir! Love is the word, and Miss Betsy Thoughtless be the victor's prize.' With these words he drew his sword; Mr. Trueworth also drew his; and, standing on his defence, seeing the other was about to push, cried, 'Hold, Sir! your better fortune may triumph over my life, but never make me yield up my pretensions to that amiable lady: if I die, I die her martyr, and wish not to live but in the hope of serving her.' These words making Mr. Staple imagine, that his rival had indeed the greatest encouragement to hope every thing, added to the fury he was before possessed of, 'Die, then, her martyr!' said he; and running upon him with more force than skill, received a slight wound in his own breast, while aiming to the other's heart.
It would be needless to mention all the particulars of this combat; I shall only say, that the too great eagerness of Mr. Staple, gave the other an advantage over him, which must have been fatal to him from a less generous enemy: but the temperate Mr. Trueworth seemed to take an equal care to avoid hurting his rival, as to avoid being hurt by him; seeing, however, that he was about to make a furious push at him, he ran in between, closed with him, and Mr. Staple's foot happening to slip, he fell at full-length upon the earth, his sword at the same time dropped out of his hand, which Mr. Trueworth took up. 'The victory is yours,' cried he; 'take also my life, for I disdain to keep it.'--'No,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'I equally disdain to take an advantage, which mere chance has given me: rise, Sir, and let us finish the dispute between us, as becomes men of honour.' With these words he returned to him his sword. 'I should be unworthy to be ranked among that number,' said Mr. Staple, on receiving it, 'to employ this weapon against the breast, whose generosity restored it, were any thing but Miss Betsy at stake: but, what is life! what is even honour, without the hope of her! I therefore accept your noble offer; and death or conquest be my lot!' They then renewed the engagement with greater violence than before: after several passes, Mr. Trueworth's dexterity could not hinder him from receiving a wound on his left-side; but he gave the other, at the same time, so deep a one in his right-arm, that it deprived him in an instant of the power of continuing the fight; on which Mr. Trueworth dropping the point of his sword, ran to him, 'I am sorry, Sir,' said he, 'for the accident that has happened; I see you are much hurt: permit me to assist you as well as I am able, and attend you where proper care may be taken of you.'--'I do not deserve this goodness,' answered Mr. Staple; 'but it is the will of Heaven that you vanquish every way.'
Mr. Trueworth then seeing the blood run quite down upon his hand, stripped up the sleeve, and bound the wound from which it issued, as tight as he could with his handkerchief, after which they went together to an eminent surgeon near Piccadilly. On examination of his wounds, neither that in his arm, nor in his breast, appeared to be at all dangerous, the flesh being only pierced, and no artery or tendon touched. Mr. Trueworth seemed only assiduous in his cares for the hurts he had given his rival, without mentioning the least word of that which he had received himself, till an elderly gentleman, who happened to be with the surgeon when they came in, and had all the time been present, perceiving some blood upon the side of his coat, a little above the hip, cried out, 'Sir, you neglect yourself. I fear you have not escaped unhurt.'--'A trifle,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'a mere scratch, I believe; it is time enough to think of that.' Nor would he suffer the surgeon, though he bled very fast, to come near him, till he had done with Mr. Staple. It was, indeed, but a slight wound which Mr. Trueworth had received, though happening among a knot of veins, occasioned the effusion of a pretty deal of blood; for the stopping of which the surgeon applied an immediate remedy, and told him that it required little for a cure besides keeping it from the air.
Mr. Staple, who had been deeply affected with the concern this generous enemy had expressed for him, was equally rejoiced at hearing the wound he had given him would be attended with no bad consequences. Every thing that was needful being done for both, the old gentleman prevailed upon them to go with him to a tavern a few doors off, having first obtained the surgeon's leave; who told him a glass or two of wine could be of no prejudice to either.
This good-natured gentleman, who was called Mr. Chatfree, used to come frequently to Mr. Goodman's house, had some knowledge of Mr. Staple; and, though he was wholly unacquainted with Mr. Trueworth, conceived so great an esteem for him, from his behaviour towards the person he had fought with, that he thought he could not do a more meritorious action, than to reconcile to each other two such worthy persons. What effect his endeavours, or rather their own nobleness of sentiments produced, shall presently be shewn.
Chapter XXIII
Among other things necessary to be told, gives an account of the success of a plot laid by Mr. Chatfree, for the discovery of Miss Betsy's real sentiments
Though Mr. Goodman had as yet no intimations of the accidents of that morning, yet was he extremely uneasy; the looks, as well as words of Mr. Staple, in going of his house the day before, were continually in his mind, and he could not forbear apprehending some fatal consequence would, one time or another, attend the levity of Miss Betsy's behaviour and conduct, in regard to her admirers: he was also both surprized and vexed, that Mr. Bloomacre, from whom he expected an explanation of the Westminster Abbey adventure, had not come according to his request. This last motive of his disquiet was, however, soon removed: Mr. Bloomacre, who was no less impatient to clear himself of all blame concerning the transactions of that night, had no sooner finished his affair with Lord ----, and was dismissed by the high-bailiff, than he came directly to Mr. Goodman's, and recited to him, and all the ladies, the whole of what had passed.
Miss Betsy laughed prodigiously; but Mr. Goodman shook his head, on hearing the particulars related by Mr. Bloomacre; and, after that gentleman was gone, reproved, as he thought it his duty to do, the inconsiderateness of her conduct: he told her, that as she was alone, she ought to have left the Abbey as soon as divine service was ended; that, for a person of her sex, age, and appearance, to walk in a place where there were always a great concourse of young sparks, who came for no other purpose than to make remarks upon the ladies, could not but be looked on as very odd by all who saw her. 'There was no rain,' said he, 'till a long time after the service was ended, and you might then, in all probability, have got a chair; or if not, the walk over the Park could not have been a very great fatigue.'
Miss Betsy blushed extremely, not through a conscious shame of imagining what she had done deserved the least rebuke, but because her spirit, yet unbroke, could not bear control: she replied, that as she meant no ill, those who censured her were most in fault. 'That is very true,' answered Mr. Goodman; 'but, my dear child, you cannot but know it is a fault which too many in the world are guilty of. I doubt not of your innocence, but would have you consider, that reputation is also of some value; that the honour of a young maid, like you, is a flower of so tender and delicate a nature, that the least breath of scandal withers and destroys it. In fine, that it is not enough to be good, without behaving in such a manner as to make others acknowledge us to be so.'
Miss Betsy had too much understanding not to be sensible what her guardian said on this occasion was perfectly just; and also that he had a right to offer his advice whenever her conduct rendered it necessary; but could not help being vexed, that any thing she did should be liable to censure, as she thought it merited none: she made no farther reply, however, to what Mr. Goodman said, though he continued his remonstrances, and probably would have gone on much longer, if not interrupted by the coming in of Mr. Chatfree. This gentleman having parted from the two wounded rivals, came directly to Mr. Goodman's, in order to see how Miss Betsy would receive the intelligence he had to bring her.
After paying his compliments to Mr. Goodman, and the other ladies, he came towards Miss Betsy; and looking on her with a more than ordinary earnestness in his countenance, 'Ah, Madam!' said he, 'I shall never hereafter see you without remembering what Cowley says of a lady who might, I suppose, be like you--
"So fatal, and withal so fair, We're told destroying-angels are."'
Though Miss Betsy was not at that time in a humour to have any great relish for raillery, yet she could not forbear replying to what this old gentleman said, in the manner in which she imagined he spoke. 'You are at least past the age of being destroyed by any weapons I carry about me,' cried she: 'but, pray, what meaning have you in this terrible simile?'--'My meaning is as terrible as the simile,' answered he; 'and though I believe you to be very much the favourite of Heaven, I know not how you will atone for the mischief you have been the occasion of this morning: but it may be,' continued he, 'you think it nothing that those murdering eyes of yours have set two gentlemen a fighting.'
Miss Betsy, supposing no other than that he had heard of the quarrel between Mr. Bloomacre and Lord ----, replied merrily, 'Pray accuse my eyes of no such thing; they are very innocent, I assure you.'--'Yes,' cried Mr. Goodman, and Lady Mellasin at the same time, 'we can clear Miss Betsy of this accusation.'
'What!' rejoined Mr. Chatfree, hastily, 'were not Mr. Staple and Mr. Trueworth rivals for her love?'--'Mr. Staple and Mr. Trueworth!' said Miss Betsy, in a good deal of consternation; 'pray what of them?'--'Oh, the most inveterate duel!' answered he; 'they fought above half an hour, and poor Mr. Staple is dead of his wounds.'--'Dead!' cried Miss Betsy, with a great scream. Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora seemed very much alarmed; but Mr. Goodman was ready to sink from his chair, till Mr. Chatfree, unseen by Miss Betsy, winked upon him, in token that he was not in earnest in what he said.
The distraction in which this young lady now appeared, the concern she expressed for Mr. Staple, and her indignation against Mr. Trueworth, would have made any one think the former had much the preference in her esteem; till Mr. Chatfree, after having listened to her exclamations on this score, cried out on a sudden, 'Ah, Madam! what a mistake has the confusion I was involved in made me guilty of! Alas, I have deceived you, though without designing to do so! Mr. Staple lives, it is Mr. Trueworth who has fallen a sacrifice to his unsuccessful passion for you.' 'Trueworth dead!' cried Miss Betsy; 'O God! and does his murderer live to triumph in the fall of the best and most accomplished man on earth? Oh! may all the miseries that Heaven and earth can inflict, light on him!--Is he not secured, Mr. Chatfree?--Will he not be hanged?'
Mr. Chatfree could hold his countenance no longer; but bursting into a violent fit of laughter, 'Ah, Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I have caught you. Mr. Trueworth, I find, then, is the happy man.'--'What do you mean, Mr. Chatfree?' cried Miss Betsy, very much amazed. 'I beg your pardon,' answered he, 'for the fright I have put you in; but be comforted, for Mr. Trueworth is not dead, I assure you; and, I doubt not, lives as much your slave as ever.'--'I do not care what he is, if he is not dead,' said Miss Betsy; 'but, pray, for what end did you invent this fine story?'--'Nay, Madam,' resumed he, 'it is not altogether my own inventing neither; for Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple have had a duel this morning, and both of them are wounded, though not so dangerously as I pretended, merely to try, by the concern you would express, which of them you were must inclined to favour; and I have done it i'faith--Mr. Trueworth is the man!'
Lady Mellasin, who had not spoke during all this conversation, now cried out, 'Aye, Mr. Chatfree, we shall soon have a wedding, I believe.'--'Believe, Madam!' said he, 'why your ladyship may swear it! for my part, I will not give above a fortnight for the conclusion; and I will venture to wish the fair bride joy on the occasion, for he is a fine gentleman--a very fine gentleman, indeed! and I think she could not have made a better choice.' With these words he wiped his mouth, and advanced to Miss Betsy, in order to salute her; but, pushing him scornfully back, 'None of your slights, good Mr. Chatfree,' said she; 'if I thought you were in earnest, I would never see the face of Mr. Trueworth more.'
This did not hinder the pleasant old gentleman from continuing his raillery; he plainly told Miss Betsy that she was in love; that he saw the marks of it upon her, and that it was vain for her to deny it. Lady Mellasin laughed very heartily to see the fret Miss Betsy was in, at hearing Mr. Chatfree talk in this manner: but Miss Flora, to whom one would imagine this scene would have been diverting enough, never opened her lips to utter one syllable; but made such grimaces, as had they been taken notice of, would have shewn how little she was pleased with it.
Mr. Goodman had been so much struck with the first account given by Mr. Chatfree, that he was not to be rouzed by any thing that gentleman said afterwards; he reflected, that though the consequences of the encounter between the two rivals had been less fatal than he had been made to imagine, yet it might have happened, and indeed been naturally expected; he could not forbear, therefore, interrupting his friend's mirth, by remonstrating to Miss Betsy, in the most serious terms, the great error she was guilty of, by encouraging a plurality of lovers at the same time: he told her, that gentlemen of Mr. Trueworth's and Mr. Staple's character and fortune, ought not to be trifled with. 'Suppose,' said he, 'that one or both of them had indeed been killed, how could you have answered to yourself, or to the world, the having been the sad occasion?'
'Lord, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, walking up and down the room in a good deal of agitation, 'what would you have me do? I do not want the men to love me; and if they will play the fool, and fight, and kill one another, it is none of my fault.'
In fine, between Mr. Chatfree's raillery, and Mr. Goodman's admonitions, this poor young lady was teazed beyond all patience; and, finding it impossible to put a stop to either, she flew out of the room, ready to cry with vexation.
She was no sooner gone, than Mr. Goodman took Mr. Chatfree into his closet; and, having learned from him all the particulars of the late duel, and consulted with him what was proper to be done to prevent any farther mischief of the like sort, they went together to Mr. Staple's lodging, in order to use their utmost endeavours to prevail on that gentleman to desist the prosecution of his addresses to Miss Betsy.
VOLUME THE SECOND
Chapter I
Will satisfy the reader's curiosity in some points, and increase it in others
Though Mr. Goodman, under whose care and in whose house Miss Betsy had been for upwards of a year, knew much more of that young lady's humour and disposition than Mr. Chatfree, who saw her but seldom, could possibly do, and could not be brought to think, as he did, that the merits of Mr. Trueworth had made any effectual impression on her heart; yet he imagined, that to propogate such an opinion to Mr. Staple, would conduce very much to persuade him to break off his courtship, which was a thing very much desired by Mr. Goodman, as he was certain the continuance of it would be attended with almost insurmountable difficulties, and create many vexations and disputes, when Mr. Francis Thoughtless came to town.
The two old gentlemen went on together, discoursing on this affair, till they came to the lodgings of Mr. Staple; where they found him in an easy chair, leaning on a table, with papers and a standish before him. They perceived he had been writing, for the pen was not out of his hand when they entered the room: he threw it down, however, as soon as he saw them, and rose to receive them with a great deal of politeness, though accompanied with an air, which, in spite of his endeavours to conceal it, discovered he laboured under an extraordinary dejection of spirits.
'I am glad,' said Mr. Chatfree, pointing to the pen, 'to see you are able to make use of that weapon, as I feared your arm had been too much prejudiced by another.'--'I have found some difficulty, indeed, in doing it,' replied the wounded gentleman; 'but something, which seemed to me a case of necessity, obliged me to exert my utmost efforts for that purpose.'
After the first civilities were over, and they were all seated, Mr. Goodman and Mr. Chatfree began to open the business upon which they came. Mr. Goodman represented to him, in the most pathetick terms, the deep concern he had been in, for having ever encouraged his addresses to Miss Betsy; and excused himself for having done so, by his ignorance, at the time, that Mr. Trueworth had been previously recommended by her brother. He then gave him some hints, that the civilities Miss Betsy had treated him with, he feared, were rather owing to that little vanity which is generally the companion of youth and beauty, than to that real regard which his passion and person merited from her; and said, he heartily wished to see him withdraw his affections from an object, where he could not now flatter him with the least hope of a suitable return.
'No, no!' cried Mr. Chatfree, interrupting him hastily, 'you may take my word, she is as much in love as a girl of her temper can be with Mr. Trueworth; and I do not doubt but you will all see the effects of it as soon as her brother comes to town.' Mr. Goodman, on this, took an opportunity of telling Mr. Staple, that the ascendant that young gentleman had over his sister, and the zeal he expressed for the interest of his friend, would certainly go a great way in determining the point; and added, that if it were true, as his friends suggested, that she really had an inclination for Mr. Trueworth, she would then avow it, and make a merit of it to her brother, as if done merely in regard to him.
Many other arguments were urged by these two gentlemen, in order to convince Mr. Staple of the little probability there was in succeeding with Miss Betsy: all which he listened to attentively, never interrupting what either of them said; till, perceiving they had ended all they had to offer on the subject, he made them this reply.
'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I am infinitely obliged to you both for this visit, and the friendly purpose of it; which, I perceive, was to give me that advice which you might reasonably think I wanted. I have heard, and I believe have not lost one word, at least, I am sure, no part of the meaning, of what you have delivered. I own there is a great justice in every thing you have alledged; and am pleased to think the arguments you bring, are such as, before your coming here, I had myself brought against the folly of my own unhappy passion for Miss Betsy. But, gentlemen, it is not that I am capable of being deterred from prosecuting it, by any thing I might have to apprehend, either by her own inclinations or her brother's persuasions; but for other reasons, which at present, perhaps, you may be ignorant of, yet are such as to conceal I should but half be just. Be pleased, Sir,' he continued, addressing himself to Mr. Goodman, and giving him a paper, 'to read that letter, and see what my resolutions are, and the motives I have for them.'
Mr. Goodman was beginning to look over the paper; but Mr. Staple requested he would read it aloud, as he desired that Mr. Chatfree should be partaker of the contents: on which he read, with an audible voice, these lines.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
When I proposed the decision of our fate by force of arms, I offered, at the same time, that the glory of serving Miss Betsy should be the victor's triumph. This your too great modesty declined: but, Sir, though you scorned to accept the advantage your superior skill acquired, your generosity, in spite of you, has gained. I love Miss Betsy; and would have maintained my claim against all who should have dared dispute her with me, while justice and while honour permitted me to do so: but though I am unfortunate, I never can be base. My life, worthless as it is, has twice been in your power; and I should be no less hateful to myself, than contemptible to the world, should I offer to interrupt the peace of him that gave it. May you be as successful in love as you have been in fight, and the amiable object be convinced of her own happiness in making yours! I desist for ever from the vain hopes I once was flattered with; and the first wish my soul now harbours is, to be worthy the title of your friend, as I am bound to avow myself, with the greatest sincerity, Sir, your most obliged and most humble servant,
T. STAPLE.'
'Nothing,' said Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading, 'can equal your generosity in forming this resolution, but the wisdom in persisting in it; and if I find you do so, shall have more reason to congratulate you upon it, than I should think I had on the success of your wishes in marrying Miss Betsy.'
'I should laugh now,' cried Mr. Chatfree, 'if Mr. Trueworth, in a fit of generosity too, should also take it into his head to resign his pretensions, and chuse to wear the willow, instead of the myrtle-garland, because you do so.'--'He has already proved his generosity,' replied Mr. Staple, with a sigh, which he was unable to restrain, 'and has no need to give the severe testimony you mention, if he is so happy as you seem to think he is: but,' continued he, 'it is not my business to examine who yields, or who pursues, Miss Betsy. I am fixed in my determination to see her no more; and, as soon as I am recovered from the hurts I have received on her account, will go into the country, and seek a cure in absence for my unavailing passion.'
Neither Mr. Goodman nor Mr. Chatfree were so old as to have forgot how hard it is for a youthful heart to give up it's darling wishes, and sacrifice desire to discretion. They said abundance of handsome things, omitting nothing which they imagined might add to the fortitude of his present way of thinking. He, on the other hand, to take from them all remains of doubt concerning the sincerity of his intentions, sealed the letter he had wrote to Mr. Trueworth, and sent it to that gentleman, while they were in the room.
Mr. Goodman was extremely pleased in his mind, that an affair, which, for some time past, had given him a good deal of anxiety, was in so fair a way of being ended without farther mischief: he took no notice, however, on his return home, at least, not before Miss Betsy, of the visit he had been making, or that he knew any thing more of Mr. Staple, than what she had been told herself by Mr. Chatfree.
In the mean time, this young lady affected to appear more grave than ordinary: I say, affected to be so; for as she had been at first shocked by Mr. Chatfree's report, and afterwards teazed by his raillery, and then reprimanded on the score of her conduct by Mr. Goodman, she was not displeased in her heart at the dangerous proof which the two lovers had given her of their passion.
She lost, however, great part of the satisfaction this adventure might have afforded her, for want of a proper person to whom she might have talked freely on it. She had, indeed, many acquaintances, in some of whom she, doubtless, might have confided; but she did not chuse to be herself the reporter of this story to any one who had not heard of it from other hands; and Miss Flora, who knew the whole, and was her companion and bedfellow, was grown of late so sullen and peevish, as not to be capable of either giving or receiving any diversion in discourses of that nature.
It is certain, however, that there never was a more astonishing alteration in the temper of any one person in so short a time, than in that of Miss Flora: her once gay and sprightly behaviour, which, without being a beauty, rendered her extremely agreeable, was now become all dull and gloomy. Instead of being fond of a great deal of company, she now rather chose to avoid than covet the society of any one: she said but little; and, when she spoke, it was only to contradict whatever she heard alledged by others. A heavy melancholy, mixed with an ill-natured frown, perpetually loured upon her brow: in fine, if she had been a little older, she might have sat for the picture of Envy. Miss Betsy, by being most with her, felt most the effects of her bad humour; but as she thought she could easily account, the sweetness of her disposition made her rather pity than resent the change.
A young linen-draper, of whom Lady Mellasin sometimes bought things, had taken a great fancy to Miss Flora; and not doubting but she had a fortune in some measure answerable to the appearance she made, got a friend to intercede with Lady Mellasin, for leave to pay his respects to her daughter. This being granted, he made several visits to the house, and was very well received by Miss Flora herself, as well as by those who had the disposal of her; till, coming on the topick of fortune, Mr. Goodman plainly told him, that having many relations of his own to provide for, the most he could spare to Miss Flora was five hundred pounds. The draper's passion was very much damped on hearing his mistress's portion was like to be so small: he told Mr. Goodman, that though he was very much charmed with the person and behaviour of the young lady, and should be proud of the honour of an alliance with such a family, yet as he was a young man, and but lately set up for himself, he wanted money to throw into trade, and could not think of marrying without more than three times the sum offered. He added, that a young lady of her birth, and bringing up, would expect to live as she had been accustomed, which he could no way promise she should do, without a fortune sufficient to defray the expence.
Mr. Goodman thought the reasons he gave were very just; and as he was unwilling to stretch his hand any farther than he had said, and was too honest to promise more than he intended to perform, replied, with the same freedom that the other had spoke, that in truth he did not think Flora would make a fit wife for a tradesman; that the girl was young enough, not ugly; and it was his opinion that she should wait till a more suitable match should offer. In a word, Mr. Goodman's answer put a final stop to the courtship; and though Miss Flora affected to disdain the mercenary views, as she termed them, of the draper, and never spoke of him but with the utmost contempt, yet her melancholy coming on soon after he had desisted his addresses, made Miss Betsy think she had reason to impute it to no other cause; and therefore, in mere compassion to this imaginary mortification, was so far from retorting any of those little taunts and malicious innuendoes, with which she was continually treated by the other, that she took all the pains she could to alleviate the vexation she saw her in, and soothe her into a better humour.
The reader will probably think as Miss Betsy did: but the falsity of this conjecture, and the cruel return the good-nature of that young lady met with, will in due time and place appear.
Chapter II
Contains some passages which, perhaps, may be looked upon as pretty extraordinary
According to the common rule of honour among gentlemen, Mr. Trueworth had certainly behaved so, as not to have either that, or his good nature, called in question: but this was not enough to satisfy him; he could not be easy under the reflection, that the obligations he had conferred gave a painful gratitude to the receiver.
He was deeply affected with Mr. Staple's letter; he doubted not but that gentleman, in forcing himself to resign his pretensions to Miss Betsy, must suffer the extremest agonies; and heartily commiserating a case, which, had fortune so decreed, might have been his own, immediately wrote to him in the following terms.
'To T. Staple, Esq.
Sir,
I am ashamed to find the little I have done so much over-rated by a person, who, I am certain, is capable of the greatest things; but should be involved in more confusion still, should any consideration of me, or my happiness, prevail on you to become an enemy to your own. I am altogether unacquainted with what kind of sentiments either of us is regarded by the fair object of our mutual wishes. It is highly probable her young heart may, as yet, be quite insensible of those we have endeavoured to inspire it with: for my own part, as I have yet no reason to despair, so I have had also but little room for hope. You, Sir, have an equal chance, for any thing I know, or can boast of to the contrary; and, as you saw I refused to hazard my pretensions on the point of the sword, neither justice nor honour requires you should forfeit yours, though an accident gave me the advantage of you in the field. It is by Miss Betsy herself our fate is to be judged. It is yet a moot-point whether either of us will succeed in the attempt of pleasing her. We may, perhaps, contend for an airy expectation; while another, more fortunate, shall bear away the prize from both: but if one of us is decreed to be the happy man, on which soever the lot shall fall, he ought not to incur the hatred of the other.
I gladly embrace the offer of your friendship; and whatever is the fortune of our love, should in that, as in all other events, endeavour to prove, that I am, with an equal sincerity, Sir, your very much obliged, and most humble servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
Mr. Staple read this letter many times over; but received not all the satisfaction which the author intended it should give him: although he acknowledged the generosity of his rival, yet he could not conceive there was a possibility for a man in love to be easy under the addresses of another, without knowing himself secure of not being prejudiced by them. He therefore concluded, that Mr. Chatfree was right in his conjecture; and that Miss Betsy only waited for her brother's coming to town, to declare in favour of Mr. Trueworth.
This gentleman had a great share of spirit, and some pride; and these making him disdain to pursue a fruitless aim, and suffering himself to be publickly overcome by Mr. Trueworth in love, as he had been in fight, very much contributed to enable him to keep that resolution he had formed in the presence of Mr. Goodman and Mr. Chatfree.
He answered to Mr. Trueworth's letter, however, with the utmost complaisance; but without letting him know any part of his intentions in relation to Miss Betsy, fearing lest any farther contest on this affair might draw from that gentleman fresh proofs of a generosity to which already he looked upon himself as too much obliged.
Miss Betsy, little suspecting what had passed between her two lovers since their meeting in the Green Park, received Mr. Trueworth, when he came to visit her the same day, as usual, with a great deal of good-humour. She took not any notice that she had heard of the duel, imagining that he would himself inform her of it; and he not thinking it would become him to do so, as having the advantage of his rival, it is probable there would have been no mention made of it, if Lady Mellasin had not come into the room, and told him, that she would not have broke in upon his conversation with Miss Betsy, if it had been possible for her to have resisted the pleasure of congratulating him, not only on his safety, but also on his coming off victor in the field of battle.
The modesty of Mr. Trueworth would not suffer him to hear these last words without blushing; but, soon recovering himself, 'Fortune, Madam,' answered he, 'is not always the most favourable to the most deserving: her partial smiles will never make me vain or happy; unless,' continued he, looking tenderly on Miss Betsy, 'she would add to her indulgence here, and give me room to hope my services to this lady might one day be crowned with the same success as she this morning gave my sword.'--'The one,' said Miss Betsy, smiling, 'has nothing to do with the other; and I do not know how to think a man, who really wishes nothing so much as to appear agreeable in the eyes of his mistress, would run the hazard of making the contemptible figure of a culprit at the bar of a court of judicature.'
They then fell into some discourse on duelling; and Mr. Trueworth could not help joining with the ladies, in condemning the folly of that custom, which, contrary to the known laws of the land, and oftentimes contrary to his own reason too, obliges the gentleman either to obey the call of the person who challenges him to the field, or, by refusing, submits himself not only to all the insults his adversary is pleased to treat him with, but also to be branded with the infamous character of a coward by all that know him.
Nothing material enough to be related happened in this visit, except that Miss Flora, who had been abroad when Mr. Trueworth came, and returned home a short time before he went away, talked much more in half an hour than she had done for some whole days past; but it was in so cold a manner, sometimes praising, sometimes blaming, his conduct in regard to the transactions of that morning, that he could not well determine in his mind, whether she was a friend or an enemy to the success of his passion. Miss Betsy herself was a little surprized; but nothing relating to that young lady dwelt much upon her mind, as she really thought she had no design in any thing she said or did. The behaviour of Mr. Staple ran much more in her head: she knew he was pretty much wounded, and therefore might suppose him unable to wait on her in person; but having expected he would send his compliments to her, either by letter or message, and finding he did neither the whole day, it seemed to her a thing too strange to be accounted for. She was, however, eased of the suspense she was in on that score, by receiving from him, as she was at breakfast the next morning, the following epistle.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
A brother's recommendations, superior merit, and your own inclination, have all united to plead my rival's cause, and gain the verdict against unhappy me! I ought more early to have seen the vanity of attempting to succeed where Mr. Trueworth was the candidate; yet, hurried by the violence of my passion, I rushed into an action, which, by adding to his glory, has shewn my demerits in a more conspicuous light than ever.
It would be needless to repeat what happened yesterday: I cannot doubt, Madam, but you are well acquainted with all the particulars of my folly, and the just punishment it met with. I have only to say, the generosity of my rival, and my conqueror, has restored me to my lost reason, and convinced me, that whatever preference he may be so happy as to have gained in your esteem, he is indebted for it to the excellence of your good sense, and not to that partial fancy, which frequently misguides the choice of persons of your sex and age.
I would have waited on you in person, to take my everlasting leave; but I am not certain how far I ought to depend on the strength of my resolution in your presence. Permit, therefore, my pen to do that which my tongue would falter in performing. Yes, Madam, I must forego, renounce for ever, those glorious expectations with which so lately I had flattered my fond heart; henceforth must think on you as the fallen father of mankind did on the tree of life; the merits of my too accomplished rival are the flaming swords which drive me from my once hoped for paradise; and, while I mourn my unhappy state, compel me to own it to be just. Farewel, O most amiable of your sex! farewel, for ever! I have troubled you too long, and have no excuse to make, but that it is the last you shall receive from me. May the blessed guardians of the fair and good be your constant directors, and shield you from all ills! Be assured, that till I cease to exist, I shall not cease to be, with the sincerest good wishes, Madam, your most faithful, though unfortunate, humble servant,
T. STAPLE.'
Miss Betsy was astonished to that degree, on reading so unexpected a declaration, that she could scarce believe she was awake for some moments, and thought it all a dream--she broke off, and made several pauses in the reading; crying out, 'Good God! It is impossible! What does the man mean! How came such stuff into his head? He is mad, sure!'
Mr. Goodman, who had some notion of what had put her into this ferment, and was willing to be more confirmed, asked her, in a pleasant way, what had occasioned it. 'Indeed, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, endeavouring to compose herself, 'I have been so confounded, that I knew not where I was, or who was in the room.--I ask your pardon; but this, I hope, will plead my excuse,' continued she, throwing the letter on the table; 'your friend has given over his suit to me, which I am very glad of; but the motives, which he pretends obliges him to it, are so odd and capricious, as not to be accounted for.'
'Given over his suit!' cried Lady Mellasin, hastily. 'Oh! pray let us hear on what pretence!' On which Mr. Goodman read the letter aloud, the very repetition of which renewed Miss Betsy's agitations. 'He has acted,' said Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading, 'like a man of sense and resolution; and I see no cause why you should be disconcerted at the loss of a lover, whose pretensions you did not design to favour.'--'He was very hasty, however,' cried Miss Betsy, scornfully, 'in concluding for me. What! did the man think I was to be won at once? Did he imagine his merits were so extraordinary, that there required no more to obtain, than barely to ask? But I give myself no concern on that score, I assure you, Sir: it is the insolence of his accusing me of being in love that vexes me. Who told him, I wonder, or how came such a thing into his head, that Mr. Trueworth had the preference in my esteem? By the manner in which he speaks of him in this letter, he has found more perfections in him than ever I did, and would make one think he were himself enamoured of his rival's merits.'
In answer to all this, he told her, with a serious air, that Mr. Staple was bound, by all those ties which engage a noble mind, to act in the manner he had done; that he had been twice indebted to Mr. Trueworth for his life; and that the whole behaviour of that gentleman towards him, both during the combat, and after it was over, demanded all the returns that gratitude could pay.
He afterwards ran into a detail of all the particulars of what had passed between the two rivals, many of which the ladies were ignorant of before. Lady Mellasin joined with her husband in extolling the greatness of soul which Mr. Trueworth had shewn on this occasion: but Miss Flora said little; and what she did, was rather in praise of Mr. Staple. 'Mr. Trueworth,' cried she, 'is a fine gentleman enough; but has done no more than what any man of honour would do; and, for my part, I think that Mr. Staple, in putting the self-denial he has now shewn in practice, discovers more of the hero and philosopher than the other has done.'
The conversation on this topick lasted some time, and probably would not have broke off so soon, if it had not been interrupted by two young ladies coming in to ask Miss Betsy and Miss Flora if they were not for the Park that morning. To which they having agreed, and promised to call on them in their way, went up into their chamber, in order to prepare themselves for the walk proposed.
Chapter III
Discovers to Miss Betsy a piece of treachery she little expected to hear of
Miss Flora, who had been deterred from saying all she had a mind to do, on the affair between Miss Betsy's two lovers, now took this opportunity of giving her tongue all the latitude it wanted. They were no sooner come into the chamber, than, 'Lord, my dear,' cried she, with a tone vastly different from that in which she had spoke to her of late, 'how vexed am I for you! It will certainly go all about the town, that you are in love with Trueworth; and there will be such cabals, and such whispering about it, that you will be plagued to death: I could tear him to pieces, methinks; for I am sure he is a vain fellow, and the hint must come first from himself.'
'I never saw any thing like vanity in him,' replied Miss Betsy; 'and I am rather inclined to believe Mr. Staple got the notion from the idle rattle of Mr. Chatfree.'--'Mr. Chatfree,' said Miss Flora, 'thought of no such thing himself, till he had been at the tavern with Mr. Trueworth; but, if I was in your place, I would convince Mr. Staple, and the world, that I was not capable of the weakness imputed to me.'
'Why, what would you have me do?' cried Miss Betsy. 'I would have you write to Mr. Staple,' answered the other, 'and let him know the deception his rival has put upon him.' Miss Betsy, who had always an aversion to any thing of this kind, and thought it too great a condescension to write on any score to a man who had pretended love to her, shook her head at this proposal, and exclaimed against it with the utmost vehemence.
Miss Flora made use of all the arguments she could think on, to bring her off from what she called so ill-judged a pride: among other things, she told her, that, in compassion to the despair that gentleman had so feelingly expressed in his letter, she ought to give him the consolation of knowing, that if he had not gained so far on her affections as he wished, it was not because his rival had gained more; and added, that the steps she persuaded her to take, were such as common justice to her own character had a right to exact from her.
Miss Betsy heard, but was not to be prevailed upon by all she could say on this subject; but the other, who had a greater share of artifice than perhaps was ever known in one of her years, would not give over the design she had formed in her head; and, perceiving that the writing to a man was the greatest objection Miss Betsy had to letting Mr. Staple know she was not so much attached to his rival as he imagined, took another way of working her to her purpose, which she thought would be less irksome.
'Well, then, my dear Miss Betsy,' said she, in the most flattering accent, 'I will tell you the only method you can take, and I am glad I have been so lucky to hit upon it: you shall let me go and make Mr. Staple a visit, as of my own accord; I shall take care not to drop a syllable that may give him room to think you know of my coming; but yet, as he may suppose I am enough in your secrets to be mistress of this, or at least not altogether a stranger to it, he will, doubtless, say something to me concerning the matter; but if he should not, it will be easy for me, in the way of discourse, and as it were by chance, to express myself in such terms as will entirely clear you, and rid him of all the apprehensions he is under, of your being in love with Mr. Trueworth.'
Miss Betsy was not in her heart at all averse to Mr. Staple's having that eclaircissement Miss Flora had mentioned, and was much less shocked at this proposal than she had been at the former, offered to her consideration for that purpose; yet did not seem to come into it, till the other had lavished all the arguments that woman, witty and wilful to obtain her ends, could urge to prevail on her to do so; and at last consented not to the execution, without exacting from Miss Flora the most solemn vow of an inviolable secrecy.
This project being concluded on, and everything relating to it settled while they were dressing, they went together according to their promise, to the ladies who expected them, and then accompanied them into the Park: but as if this was to be a day of surprizes to Miss Betsy, she here met with something which gave her, at least, an equal share with that she had received from the letter of Mr. Staple.
They had not gone many yards in the Mall before they saw three gentlemen coming towards them; one of whom, as they drew nearer to each other, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora presently knew to be the son of Alderman Saving, though he was grown fatter, more ruddy, and in many respects much altered from what he was when he visited at Mr. Goodman's.
As our young ladies had not heard of this gentleman's return to England, it was natural for them, especially Miss Betsy, after what had passed between them, to be in some little surprize at the sudden sight of him; he was in some confusion too: but both parties had presence enough of mind to recover themselves, so as to salute as persons would do, who never had any thing more than an ordinary acquaintance with each other.
After the civilities common to people who thus meet by accident, Mr. Saving asked the ladies leave for himself and friends to join company; which being readily granted, they all walked up the Mall together; but the place being pretty full, were obliged to divide themselves, and walk in couples, or as it happened. During this promenade, Mr. Saving found an opportunity of saying to Miss Betsy, unheard by any of the others, 'Madam, I have something to acquaint you with, of great consequence to yourself: it is improper for me either to come or write to you at Mr. Goodman's, therefore wish you would appoint some place where I might speak with you.'
Miss Betsy was very much startled at his mentioning such a thing, and replied, 'No, Mr. Saving, I do not make a practice of consenting to assignations with men; nor have yet forgot that which I consented to with you.'--'I am very well able to clear myself of any fault on that score,' said he: 'but, Madam, to ease you of those apprehensions, which might, perhaps, make you think yourself obliged to keep me at a distance, it is proper to acquaint you, that I am married, and that it is only through a friendly regard for your honour and peace, that I would warn you against the perfidy of a pretended friend.' Perceiving she started at these words, and repeated them two or three times over, 'Yes, Madam,' resumed he; 'and if you will permit me to speak with you in a proper place, will bring with me an unquestionable proof of the truth of what I say.'
One of the ladies happening to turn back to say something to Miss Betsy, prevented him from adding farther; but what he had already spoke, made a very deep impression on her mind. She could not conceive who the false friend should be that he had mentioned, unless it were Miss Flora; but though she had seen many instances of her insincerity, was not able to form any conjecture what she could have been guilty of to her, that Mr. Saving, who had been so long absent, could possibly be made acquainted with.
Thinking, however, that she ought not to deny herself the satisfaction of the eclaircissement he offered, especially as it was now to be given, not by a lover, but a friend, she sought and found a moment before they left the Mall, of saying to him without the notice of the company. 'Sir, I have considered on the hint you gave me; whatever concerns my honour, or my peace, must certainly merit my attention: I have an acquaintance in St. James's palace, whom I will visit as soon as dinner is over; if you walk a turn or two in the gallery leading to the Chapel Royal, you will see me pass that way between four and five o'clock.' To this Mr. Saving replied, that he would not fail to attend her there.
Miss Flora, who had been informed by Miss Betsy, after they had parted from Mr. Saving, that he was married, was full of the news when she came home: but Mr. Goodman, to whom the whole story of that affair had been related by the alderman, said, that the young gentleman had done very wisely, in complying with the commands of his father; and added, that the lady had a very agreeable person, a large fortune, and, above all, was extremely modest and discreet, so that there was no room to doubt his happiness. There was some farther discourse at table, concerning this new-wedded pair; but Miss Betsy took little part in it, as giving herself no pains for the interests of a person for whom she never had any thing but the most perfect indifference.
She was, notwithstanding, impatient enough for the account she expected to receive from him; and, without saying one word, either to Miss Flora, or any of the family, where she was going, went at the time prefixed to the place she had appointed to meet him.
Mr. Saving, to avoid being accused of want of punctuality in the affairs of friendship, as he had been in those of love, came somewhat before his time into the palace. As she ascended the great stairs, she saw him looking through one of the windows, waiting her approach; which greatly pleased her, as she would not have thought it proper to have walked there alone, nor would have been willing to have departed without the gratification of that curiosity his words had excited in her.
Excepting the time of divine service, and when the king, or any of the royal family go to chapel, few places are more retired than this gallery; none, besides the officers of the household passing on business into some of the apartments, scarce ever going into it; so that the choice Miss Betsy made, in her appointment with Mr. Saving, was extremely judicious.
As the business on which they met, was of a nature very different from love and gallantry, and time was precious to them both, they needed not many compliments to usher in what Mr. Saving had to say: he only, to excuse his behaviour to her, while he professed himself her lover, was beginning to relate the sudden manner in which he had been forced abroad; but she stopped him from going on, by telling him she had heard the whole story of that affair from Mr. Goodman, to whom the alderman had made no secret of it.
'I have only, then,' said he, 'to acquaint you, Madam, that soon after my arrival in Holland, looking over some papers that my father had put into my portmanteau for my instruction in the business I was sent to negociate, I found among them a letter, which, doubtless, in the hurry he was in, he had shuffled with the others through mistake, which, pray, Madam,' continued he, giving her a paper, 'be pleased to peruse, and tell me whether honour and justice did not oblige me to take the first opportunity of cautioning you against the baseness and malice of a person you might otherwise, perhaps, confide in, on matters of more consequence to your peace than any thing on my account could be.'
Miss Betsy had no sooner taken the paper, and looked on the superscription, which was to Alderman Saving, than she cried out, with great amazement, 'Bless me! this is Miss Flora's hand.'--'I think,' said Mr. Saving, 'that I might safely venture to affirm it upon oath, having often seen her writing; and have even some of it at this instant by me, in a song she copied for me, on my first acquaintance with her: but read, Madam,' pursued he, 'read the wicked scroll; and see the methods she took to prevail on a father to banish from his presence, and the kingdom, an only son, and to traduce that innocence and virtue, which she hated, because incapable of imitating.'
On this, Miss Betsy, trembling between a mixture of surprize and anger, hastily unfolded the letter, and found in it these lines, wrote in the same hand with the superscription.
'Sir,
The real esteem I have for all persons of honesty and probity, obliges me to give you this seasonable warning of the greatest misfortune that can possibly befal a careful and a tender parent, as I know you are: but, not to keep you in suspense; your son, Sir, your only, your darling son! that son whom you have educated with so much tenderness, and who is so deservedly dear to you, is on the verge of ruin; his unhappy acquaintance with Mr. Goodman's family has subjected him to the artifices of a young girl, whose little affairs are in the hands of that gentleman. She is a great coquette, if I had said jilt too, I believe the injustice I should have done her character would not have been much; but as her share, either of fortune or reputation, is very small, I cannot condemn her for putting in practice all the strategems in her power of securing to herself a future settlement by marriage. I should, Sir, only be sorry that the lot should fall upon your son; as I know, and the world acknowledges, him to be a gentleman of much more promising expectations. It is, however, a thing I fear too near concluded; he loves her to distraction, will venture every thing for the gratification of his passion: she has a great deal of cunning, though little understanding in things more becoming of her sex; she is gay, vain, and passionately fond of gaming, and all the expensive diversions of the town. A shocking and most terrible composition for a wife! Yet such will she very speedily be made by the poor infatuated Mr. Saving, if you, Sir, in your paternal wisdom, do not find some way to put a stop to his intentions. The original of the picture I have been representing, is called Miss Betsy Thoughtless, a name well known among the gallant part of the town. I hope you will take the above intelligence in good part, as it is meant, with the greatest sincerity, and attachments to your interests, by, Sir, your most humble, but unknown servant,
A. Z.
P.S. Sir, your son is every day at Mr. Goodman's; and if you will take the trouble to set a watch over him, or send any person to enquire in the neighbourhood, it will be easy for you to satisfy yourself in the truth of what I have related.'
The consternation Miss Betsy was in on reading this cruel invective, was such as for some moments deprived her of the power of speaking. Mr. Saving could neither wonder at, nor blame, so just a resentment; yet, to mitigate it in part, he confessed to her a secret, which, till then, she had been wholly ignorant of.
'Though nothing, Madam,' said he, 'can excuse the crime she has been guilty of towards you, yet permit me to acquaint you, that the malice is chiefly levelled against me; and you are only wounded through my sides.'
'How can that be?' cried she. 'She does justice to your character, while she defames mine in the most barbarous manner.'--'Mere artifice, Madam,' answered he, 'to work my father to her purpose, as I will presently convince you.'
He then told her, that before he ever had the honour of seeing her, he had treated Miss Flora with some gallantries; 'Which,' said he, 'her vanity made her take as the addresses of a serious passion, till those she found I afterwards made to you convinced her to the contrary. This Madam,' continued he, 'I am well assured of by her laying hold of every opportunity to reproach my inconstancy, as she has termed it. Finding how little I regarded all she said to me on that score, and still persisted in my devoirs to you, she doubtless had recourse to this most wicked strategem to cut me off from all hope, even though it had been in my power to have inclined you to favour my suit.'
Miss Betsy found this supposition so reasonable, and so conformable to the temper of Miss Flora, that she agreed with Mr. Saving in it. She did not now wonder at her wishing to be revenged on him; but could not brook with patience the method she took for being so: and said, that if Mr. Goodman did not do her justice on the author of so infamous a libel, she would immediately quit the house, and chuse another guardian.
'Hold, Madam,' said he; 'I must intreat you will give me leave to remind you of the consequences that may possibly attend your taking such a step. I own, with you, that treachery and calumny, such as hers, cannot be too severely exposed and punished: but, Madam, consider, that in order to do this, the accident which brought the letter into my possession, and the opportunity you have allowed me of presenting it to you, must be made known; the latter of which, you may be confident, she would not fail to make such representations of, as would not only hurt me, both with my father and my wife, but also furnish the malicious world, too apt to judge by appearances, with some pretence for casting a blemish on your own reputation.'
These remonstrances has some part of the effect they were intended for on the mind of Miss Betsy; yet, having an aversion to dissimulation, and not knowing whether she could be able to conceal either her resentment, or the cause of it, she cried out hastily, without considering what she said, 'Why, then, did you let me know the injury done me, since it is improper for me to do any thing that might extort a reparation?'
'I could not, Madam,' replied he, 'behold you harbouring a snake in your bosom, without warning you of the sting. I am certain the easing you of my troublesome addresses has been no cause of mortification; and it was not that you should revenge what she has already done, but to put you upon your guard against any thing she may hereafter attempt to do, that I resolved to take the first opportunity of letting you see what she was capable of.'
Miss Betsy was by this time fully persuaded by his arguments; but could not forbear complaining of the difficulties it would be to her to look, or speak civilly, to sleep in the same bed, or behave in any respect as she had been accustomed, towards so unworthy a creature. She thanked him, however, for his good intentions to her; and, before they parted, promised to follow his advice, if it were only, as she said, from the consideration that to act in a different manner might be a prejudice to his domestick peace.
Chapter IV
Has very little in it, besides a collection of letters, some of which are much to the purpose, others less so
Miss Betsy, after having taken leave of Mr. Saving, went to the apartment of her friend; where she staid supper, not because she was at that time capable of being entertained either with the elegancies of the table, or the company, which happened to be pretty numerous, but merely to amuse and recover herself from the shock which the late discovery of Miss Flora's infidelity had given her.
On her coming home, she found the family not yet gone to bed, though it was then near one o'clock. Mr. Goodman was in high good-humour; and said to her, 'Miss Betsy, you have lost some hours of contentment by being abroad. Mr. Trueworth has been here, and did us the favour to pass the whole evening with us: but that is not all; three letters have been left for you. Two of them came by the post, and are, I know, by the superscriptions, from Mr. Francis Thoughtless and Lady Trusty; the other, I am informed, was left for you by a porter: but your curiosity must wait for these--I have still better news for you. Your eldest brother, Mr. Thomas Thoughtless, is coming home: I have received a letter from him, which tells me he has finished his tour, and we shall soon have him among us. See,' continued he, 'what he says.'
In speaking these words, he took the letter out of his pocket, and gave her to read. It contained these lines.
'To Mr. Goodman.
Worthy Sir,
I have been for upwards of a month detained on a party of pleasure, at the chateau of Monsieur le Marquis de St. Amand; so was not so happy to receive yours of the seventh and twenty-second instant till yesterday, when I returned to Paris. I thank you for the long and particular account you give me of those affairs which are entrusted to your care. As to what you tell me concerning my brother Frank's having left the university, I am not sorry for it; nor can at all wonder, that a young fellow of his metal should be willing to exchange the hopes of a mitre for a truncheon. I have not heard from him since I left Florence; but believe it is owing to his want of knowing where to direct to me, my stages afterwards having been pretty uncertain: but finding by yours that he is now with Sir Ralph Trusty, shall accompany a letter I am obliged to send to that gentleman with one to him. I forgive my sister's not writing when you did, as you give me some hints she is likely soon to become a bride; a matter, I confess, sufficient to engross the whole thoughts of a young lady. Be pleased to assure her of my good wishes in this, and all other events. As you say she has two very advantageous offers, I flatter myself, through your good advice and inspection, she will take the best.
In my last, I mentioned somewhat of a design I had to pass a few months in the southern parts of this kingdom; but I have since changed my mind, and am determined on returning to my native country with all possible expedition. I believe you may expect me in three or four weeks at farthest. If, Sir, you could within that time hear of a house, agreeably situated, for my use, I should esteem it as a considerable addition to the favours our family, and myself in particular, have received from you since the death of our dear father. I should approve of St. James's Square, if rents are not too exorbitant; for, in that case, a house in any of the adjoining streets must content me. I would not willingly exceed an hundred, or an hundred and ten pounds, per annum; but would be as near the Park and Palace as possible.
I kiss Lady Mellasin's and her fair daughter's hands; and am, with very great respect, Sir, your most obliged, and most obedient servant,
T. THOUGHTLESS.'
Miss Betsy was very glad to find a brother, who had now been near five years abroad, was at last coming home, and much more so, that he intended to set up housekeeping in London; because, as doubting not he would be pleased to have her with him, she should have a fair pretence for quitting Mr. Goodman's house, and the society of Miss Flora, who had now rendered herself so irksome to her.
This did not hinder her, however, from reproaching Mr. Goodman for having mentioned to her brother any thing in relation to her lovers. 'You see, Sir,' said she, 'that the one of them has already abandoned me; and you will also see, in a short time, that the other will be little the better for his rival's resignation.'
To this Mr. Goodman pleasantly replied, that whatever she pretended at present, he believed better things from her good-sense, and the merits of Mr. Trueworth: to which Miss Betsy, unwilling to prolong the conversation, only told him he would find himself mistaken; and ran hastily up stairs, to examine the contents of those letters which, she had heard, lay on her toilette, ready for her perusal. The first she broke open was from Miss Forward; knowing it to be hers by the hand, and eager to see the event of a fate, which, by the history she had given her, had appeared so doubtful.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Dear Miss Betsy,
Since I saw you I have been driven to the last despair. The kind supply you left with me was quite exhausted; and I must infallibly have perished, through want of the common necessaries of life, and the cruel usage of my mercenary landlady, if my poor aunt in the country had not sent me a little present, which, for a small space of time, afforded relief; but accompanied with the melancholy account that my father was inexorable to her persuasions, would not hear of my return to L----e, and vowed never to see me more, or own me for his child. Soon was I again reduced to the lowest ebb of misery; had scarce sufficient to furnish the provisions of another day, and was even threatened to be turned out of doors by the inhuman hag; who, I very well remember, you said had her soul pictured in her countenance. But, my dear friend, in the midst of this distress, and when I thought no human help was near, my affairs took a most sudden and unexpected turn. Fortune threw in my way a kinsman of my mother's, whom I had never seen, or even heard of before: he compassionated my calamitous condition, removed me from that distant place, allows me a handsome maintenance, and has promised to continue it, till nature, and the endeavours of my good aunt, shall work my father to a more gentle temper.
I long to see you, and would have waited on you to return the money you were so kind to lend me; but knew not whether it were proper for me to do so, as I am wholly unacquainted with the family where you are. A visit from you would, therefore, now be doubly agreeable, as I am lodged in a house less unworthy to receive you, than that wretched one to which I before took the liberty to make you an invitation.
You may find me now at Mr. Screener's, the very next door to the Bedford Head, in Tavistock Street, in Covent Garden; where, I flatter myself, your good-nature will soon bring you to her, who is impatient for that happiness, and will always be, dear Miss Betsy, your very affectionate, and most humble servant,
A. FORWARD.
P.S. I had forgot to tell you that I am every Friday engaged at my above-mentioned good cousin's; and should never have forgiven myself, if, by this omission, you had lost your labour, and I the pleasure of your company.'
Miss Betsy, who little doubted the sincerity of this epistle, was very much touched with it, and resolved to comply with the invitation it contained in a short time. She now began to grow pretty sleepy; and would probably have deferred the persual of the other two letters till next morning, if Miss Flora had not come up to go to bed. To avoid, therefore, entering into any conversation with her, she took up the first that came to hand, and found the contents as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear sister,
As Mr. Goodman's endeavours for procuring me a commission, have not yet been attended with the desired success, I have been prevailed upon, by the solicitations of my friends, to give them my promise of passing some part of the hunting season in L----e; so shall not see you so soon as my last might make you expect. But I will not dissemble so far as to tell you, that to give you this information is the chief motive of my writing to you at present. No, my dear Betsy! it is one of much more consequence that now directs my pen. It is to give you such remonstrances, as, I fear, you stand but in too much need of; to beware how you disregard the smiles of fortune, and become the enemy of your own happiness. I received a letter yesterday from Mr. Trueworth; he complains sadly of my staying in the country, and seems to think my presence necessary for the advancement of his courtship to you. I shall be always glad to be obliged by you on any score; but extremely sorry to find my interests with you, as a brother, should have more effect on you than your own reason, and the merits of one of the most deserving men on earth. I have no pretence to claim any authority over you by the ties of blood; but may certainly flatter myself with having some influence over you as a friend--enough, at least, I hope, to prevail on you to consider seriously on this matter; and am persuaded, that if you once bring yourself to do so, Mr. Trueworth will want no other advocate to plead his cause than your own understanding. I am willing to believe the assurance you gave me in your last, of your heart being free from any impressions yet endeavoured to be made upon it: did I think otherwise, I should be entirely silent on this occasion. I would be far, my dear sister, from opposing your inclinations; I would only wish to direct them where there is a prospect of the most felicity. Let me conjure you, therefore, to open your unprejudiced eyes, nor be wilfully blind to the good intended for you by your better stars. As you can never expect proposals of more advantage than those the love of Mr. Trueworth has inclined him to make you, I may be pretty confident, that you have not a friend in the world who would not highly condemn your want of giving due attention to it. Forgive the warmth with which I express myself, as it springs from the sincerest zeal for the establishment of your interest and happiness, than which nothing is more at the heart of him, who is, with the most tender regard, dear sister, your very affectionate friend, and brother,
F. THOUGHTLESS.'
While Miss Betsy was reading these letters, Miss Flora, who immediately followed her into the chamber, would fain have interrupted her by one impertinent question or another: but receiving no answer to any thing she said, gave over speaking, and went directly to bed; and Miss Betsy breaking open the third and last letter she had to peruse, found it contained as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear Miss Betsy,
I had wrote to you before, if I had not been prevented by an inflammation in my eyes, which, for some time past, has rendered my pen of no use to me; and I did not chuse to employ an amanuensis in what I have to say to you; but now take the first opportunity, being somewhat better, of giving you that advice, which, it may be reasonably supposed, a person of your years and experience of the world may stand in need of; or, if not so, will be of some service in corroborating the good sentiments you are already inspired with.
It was with an extreme concern I heard what happened on your account at Oxford; and hope you have so well reflected on the danger you were in, the consequences that attended it, and how much worse might probably have ensued, as to be ever since more circumspect and careful with what company you trust yourself. I am far from reproaching you with the effects of an accident altogether unforeseen, and impossible to be even guessed at by you; but would beg you to keep always in your mind, that what has been, may, some time or other, be again; and that repeated inadvertencies may make Heaven weary of continuing it's protection. But, my dear Miss Betsy, it is not in my apprehensions of your own conduct, that the greatest part of my fear for you consists: the world, alas! and more particularly the place you live in, affords but too many wretches, of both sexes, who make it their business to entrap unwary innocence; and the most fair pretences are often the cover to the most foul designs! There are so many daily instances of the strictest caution not being always a sufficient security against the snares laid for our destruction, that I look on it as half a miracle, when a young woman, handsome, and exposed as you are, escapes unprejudiced, either in her virtue or reputation. Consider, my dear child, you who have no tender mother, whose precepts and example might keep you steady in the paths of prudence: no father, whose authority might awe the daring libertine from any injurious attack; and are but too much mistress of yourself. In fine, thus environed with temptations, I see no real defence for you but in a good husband. I have ever condemned rushing too early into marriage, and of risking, for the sake of one convenience, the want, perhaps, of a thousand others; but when an offer happens to be made, equally honourable and advantageous, and which affords an almost assured prospect of every thing necessary to compleat the happiness of that state, it cannot be too soon in life accepted. I hear, with pleasure, that an offer, such as I have been describing, is now presented to you; and it would give me an adequate concern to hear that you had rejected it. I need not tell you I mean Mr. Trueworth; for though there be many others who make their addresses to you on the same score, yet I am entirely ignorant of every thing relating to them; but I am well assured, not only by your brother's testimony, but by several gentlemen of this county, that in the fortune, person, and amiable qualities, of that gentleman, are comprized all that you either can or ought to wish in a husband. Trifle not, then, with a heart so deserving of you; scruple not to become a wife, when merit, such as his, invites, and so many reasons concur to urge you to consent. Believe me, there is more true felicity in the sincere and tender friendship of one man of honour, than in all the flattering pretensions of a thousand coxcombs. I have much more to say to you on this head; but shall defer, till you let me know with what kind of sentiments it is that you regard the gentleman I have been speaking of; which I beg you will do without disguise. Be satisfied that the secret of your real inclinations will be as safe in my keeping as your own; and that I am, with the most perfect amity, my dear Miss Betsy, your constant friend, and humble servant,
M. TRUSTY.'
The time of night did not permit Miss Betsy to give these letters all the attention which the writers of them, doubtless, desired she should do; but she locked them carefully in her cabinet, resolving to consider the purport of them more seriously before she returned any answer.
Chapter V
Serves as a supplement to the former
The next morning Miss Flora opened her lips almost as soon as she did her eyes, to talk to Miss Betsy on the design that had been agreed upon between them the day before, in relation to Mr. Staple. She told her she had employed her whole thoughts about it ever since, and that she had found out a way of introducing the discourse so as to give him no suspicion that she came from her; yet, at the same time, take away all his apprehensions of her being in love with Mr. Trueworth: and added, that she would go to his lodgings immediately after breakfast.
'Indeed,' replied Miss Betsy, sullenly, 'you shall do no such thing: I do not care what his apprehensions are, or any one else's. The men may all think and do as they will; I shall not fill my mind with any stuff about them.'--'Hey-day!' cried Miss Flora, a good deal shocked at this sudden turn, 'what whim has got possession of you now?'--'The whim you endeavoured to possess me with,' said Miss Betsy, scornfully, 'would have been a very ridiculous one, I am sure; but I have considered better on it, and despise such foolish fancies.'--'Good-lack!' returned the other, 'you are grown wonderous wise, methinks; at least, imagine yourself so: but I shall go to Mr. Staple for all this. I cannot bear that he should think you are in love with Mr. Trueworth.'--'I know no business,' said Miss Betsy, in a haughty tone, 'you have either with my love or hate: and I desire, for the future, you will forbear troubling your head in my affairs.'
Miss Flora then told her, that what she had offered was merely in regard to her reputation; and than ran over again all the arguments she had urged, in order to prevail on her to come into the measures she proposed: but whatever she said, either in the wheedling or remonstrating accent, was equally ineffectual; the other remained firm in her resolution, and behaved in a manner so different from what Miss Flora had ever seen her do before, that she knew not what to think of it. Having her own reasons, however, to bring her, if possible, to a less grave way of thinking, she omitted nothing in the power of artifice, that she imagined might be conducive to that end. All the time they were rising, all the time they were dressing, did she continue to labour on this score, without being able to obtain any other answers to what she said, than such as were peremptorily in the negative.
It is certain, that Miss Betsy was of so soft and tractable a disposition, that half the arguments Miss Flora had alledged, would, at another time, have won her to consent to things of much greater consequence than this appeared to be; but the discovery she had the day before made of her deceit, and the little good-will she had towards her, gave her sufficient reason to apprehend, that she had some farther designs than she pretended in this project, though of what nature it could be was not in her power to conceive. The thing in dispute seemed to her extremely trifling in itself; but the eagerness with which she was pressed to it by a person, of whose treachery she had so flagrant a proof, convinced her, that she ought not, on any account, to acquiesce.
Miss Flora, on the other hand, was disconcerted, beyond measure, at this unexpected change in Miss Betsy's humour; of which she was as little able to divine the cause, as the other was to guess the design she had formed: but, determining to accomplish her point, if possible, at any rate, she endeavoured all she could to dissemble her chagrin, and still affected a mighty regard for the honour of Miss Betsy, telling her she was resolved to serve her, whether she would or not; and that, how much soever she disapproved it, she should pursue her first intention, and undeceive Mr. Staple in the opinion he had of her being so silly as to fall in love with Mr. Trueworth.
Miss Betsy, on hearing this, and not doubting but she would do as she had said, turned towards her; and, looking full upon her, with a countenance composed enough, but which had yet in it somewhat between the ironical and severe, replied in these terms: 'Since you are so much bent,' said she, 'on making a visit to Mr. Staple, far be it from me, Miss Flora, to deprive that gentleman of the favour you intend him, provided you give me your promise, in the presence of Mr. Goodman, (and he will be your security for the performance of it) that you will mention neither my name, nor that of Mr. Trueworth; and, above all, that you will not pretend to have any knowledge of affairs you never have been trusted with.'
However inconsiderate or incautious Miss Betsy may appear to the reader, as to her conduct in general, it must be acknowledged, that at this time she shewed an uncommon presence of mind. This was, indeed, the only way to put a stop to, and quash at once, that scheme which her false friend had formed to do her a real prejudice under the pretence of serving her.
It is not in words to express the confusion Miss Flora was in, on hearing Miss Betsy speak in this manner. Bold as she was by nature, and habituated to repartee, she had not now the power of uttering one word. Innocence itself, when over-awed by authority, could not have stood more daunted and abashed; while the other, with a careless air, added, 'As soon as we go down stairs, I shall speak to Mr. Goodman about this matter.'
Whether Miss Betsy really intended to put this menace in execution, or not, is uncertain; for Miss Flora recovering her spirits, and her cunning, at the same time, affected to burst into a violent fit of laughter. 'Mr. Goodman!' said she; 'mighty pretty, indeed! You would trouble Mr. Goodman with the little impertinences we talk on between ourselves! But do so, if you think proper. I shall tell him the truth, that I made this proposal to you only to try you, and but acted the second part of what Mr. Chatfree had begun. You did not imagine, sure,' continued she, with a malicious sneer, 'that I loved you so well, that, for your sake, I would hazard my person and reputation, by going to see a young gay fellow at his own lodgings!'
'As for that,' cried Miss Betsy, with a look as contemptuous as she could possibly assume, 'I am equally well acquainted with the modesty and sincerity of Miss Flora, and know how to set a just value upon both.' In speaking these words, having now got on her cloaths, she flung out of the room without staying to hear what answer the other would have made.
After this, these two high spirits had little intercourse, never speaking to each other, but on such common affairs as were unavoidable between persons who lived in the same house, eat at the same table, and lay in the same bed. How Miss Flora employed her thoughts will very shortly be seen; but we must first examine what effects these late occurrences had on the mind of Miss Betsy.
Young as she was, she might be said to have seen a great deal of the world; and, as she had a fine understanding, and a very just notion of things, wanted only to reflect on the many follies and deceits which some of those who call themselves the beau monde are guilty of, to be enabled to despise them. The last letter she had received from Lady Trusty made a strong impression on her; and casting a retrospect on several past transactions she had been witness of, as well as those she had been concerned in herself, began to wonder at, and condemn the vanity of, being pleased with such shadowy things--such fleeting, unsubstantial delights, accompanied with noise and hurry in the possession, and attended with weariness and vexation of spirit. A multitude of admirers seemed now to her among this number: her soul confessed, that to encourage the addresses of a fop, was both dangerous and silly; and to flatter with vain hopes the sincere passion of a man of honour, was equally ungenerous and cruel.
These considerations were very favourable to Mr. Trueworth: she ran through every particular of that gentleman's character and behaviour, and could find nothing which could make her stand excused, even to herself, for continuing to treat him with the little seriousness she had hitherto done.
'What, then, shall I do with him?' said she to herself. 'Must I at once discard him--desire him to desist his visits, and tell him I am determined never to be his; or must I resolve to think of marrying him, and henceforward entertain him as the man who is really ordained to be one day my husband? I have, at present, rather an aversion, than an inclination to a wedded state; yet if my mind should alter on this point, where shall I find a partner so qualified to make me happy in it? But yet,' continued she, 'to become a matron at my years is what I cannot brook the thoughts of: if he loves me, he must wait; it will be sufficient to receive the addresses of no other; but, then, how shall I refuse those who shall make an offer of them, without giving the world room to believe I am pre-engaged?'
Thus did she argue with herself; the dilemma appeared hard to her: but what was the result of her reasoning, will best appear in the answer she sent to Lady Trusty's letter, which was in the following terms.
'To Lady Trusty.
Madam,
I received the honour of yours, and sincerely thank you for the good wishes and advice contained in it: be assured, Madam, I have a just sense of the value I ought to set upon them, and shall henceforth do the utmost in my power to deserve. I have, indeed, no parent to direct, and but few faithful friends to guide me through the perplexing labyrinth of life. I confess I have been too often misled by the prevalence of example, and my own idle caprice; it is, therefore, the highest charity to shew me to myself. I now see, and am ashamed of, the many inadvertencies I have been guilty of. The dangers which a young woman, like me, must necessarily be continually exposed to, appear to me, from what you say of them, in their proper colours, and convince me, that no person of understanding would condemn me, if, to avoid so many threatened ills, I flew to that asylum your ladyship has mentioned. I will own to you yet farther, Madam; that I am not insensible of the merits of Mr. Trueworth, nor of the advantages which would attend my acceptance of his proposals: but, I know not how it is, I cannot all at once bring myself into a liking of the marriage-state. Be assured of this, that I never yet have seen any man whom my heart has been more inclined to favour; and that, at present, I neither receive, nor desire the addresses of any other. There is no answering for events; but, in the way of thinking I now am, it seems not improbable, that I shall one day comply with what my friends take so much pains in persuading me to. In the mean time, I beseech you to believe I shall regulate my conduct so as to ease you of all those apprehensions you are so good to entertain on my account. I am, with a profound respect, Madam, your ladyship's most obliged and most devoted servant,
E. THOUGHTLESS.'
Miss Betsy also answered her brother's letter at the same time; but the purport of it being much the same with that she wrote to Lady Trusty, there is no occasion for inserting it.
Chapter VI
Seems to bring things pretty near a conclusion
Miss Betsy was now in as happy a disposition as any of her friends, or even Mr. Trueworth himself, could desire: she listened to the confirmations he was every day giving her of his passion, with the greatest affability, and much more seriousness and attention than she had been accustomed. The quarrel she had with Miss Flora making her willing to avoid her as much as possible, he was frequently alone with her whole hours together, and had all the opportunities he could wish of cultivating the esteem she made no scruple of confessing she had for him. As Mr. Staple was now gone out of town, pursuant to the resolution he had taken, and no other rival, at least none encouraged by Miss Betsy, had as yet seconded him, he had all the reason in the world to flatter himself, that the accomplishment of his wishes were not far distant.
Plays, operas, and masquerades, were now beginning to come into vogue; and he had the satisfaction to see his mistress refuse whatever tickets were offered her for those diversions, by any of the gentlemen who visited Lady Mellasin; and at the same time readily agreed to accompany him to those, or any other publick entertainments, whenever he requested that favour of her.
Miss Betsy's behaviour in this point, however, had more the air than the reality of kindness to Mr. Trueworth; for, in effect, it was not because she would not accept of tickets from any other person than himself, but because they were offered by gentlemen of Lady Mellasin's acquaintance; and, consequently, in respect to her, Miss Flora had the same invitation, with whom she was determined never more to be seen abroad.
This required some sort of contrivance, to be managed in such a fashion as to give no umbrage to Mr. Goodman or Lady Mellasin; for the former of which she had always a very great esteem, and did not chuse to afford the latter any cause of complaint against her, while she continued to live in the same house. The method she took, therefore, to avoid a thing so disagreeable to her, and at the same time to give no occasion of offence, was always to make choice of one diversion when she knew Miss Flora was pre-engaged to another.
To partake of these pleasures, which Mr. Trueworth, seeing into her temper, was almost every day presenting, she invited sometimes one lady, sometimes another, of those she conversed with; but the person who most frequently accompanied her, was Miss Mabel, a young lady, who lived in the next street, and whom she had been acquainted with ever since her coming to London, but had not been altogether so agreeable to her as she really deserved, and otherwise would have been, if Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora had not represented her as a prying, censorious, ill-natured creature; and, in fine, given her all the epithets which compose the character of a prude.
She was, indeed, both in principles and behaviour, the very reverse of Miss Flora; she was modest, without affectation; reserved, without austerity; chearful, without levity; compassionate and benevolent in her nature; and, to crown all, was perfectly sincere. Miss Betsy had never wanted penetration enough to see, and to admire the amiable qualities of this young lady, nor had been at all influenced by the character given of her by Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, but being herself of too gay and volatile a temper, the more serious deportment of the other gave somewhat of a check to hers, and for that reason rendered her society less coveted by her. The letter of Lady Trusty, however, joined to the late accidents which had happened, having now given her a turn of mind vastly different from what it had been a very little time before, made her now prefer the conversation of Miss Mabel to most others of her acquaintance.
This young lady having been often in Mr. Trueworth's company, with Miss Betsy, saw enough into him to be assured the passion he professed for her was perfectly honourable and sincere; and as she had a real affection for her fair friend, and thought it a match greatly to her advantage, was perpetually remonstrating to her, that she could not treat with too much complaisance a lover so every way deserving of her.
It is certain, that what she said on this score had some weight with Miss Betsy: Mr. Goodman, also, was every day admonishing her in behalf of Mr. Trueworth, as he thought it his duty so to do, both as her guardian and her friend. In fine, never was a heart more beset, more forced, as it were, into tender sentiments than that of this young lady; first, by the merits and assiduities of the passionate invader, and, next, by the persuasion of all those who she had any reason to believe had her interest in view, and wished to see her happiness established.
Enemy as she was, by nature, to serious reflection, on any account, much more on that of marriage, everything now contributed to compel her to it; she could not avoid seeing and confessing within herself, that if ever she became a wife, the title could not be attended with more felicity than when conferred on her by a person of Mr. Trueworth's fortune, character, and disposition.
She was one day alone, and in a very considerative mood, when a letter was brought to her, which she was told came by the penny-post: as she was not accustomed to receive any by that carriage, it pretty much surprized her; but much more so when, having hastily opened it, she found the contents as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
It is with an inexpressible concern, that I relate to you a thing which I am but too sensible will give you some disquiet, nor could I have prevailed with myself on any terms to have done it, were it not to preserve you from falling into much greater affliction than the discovery I am about to make can possibly inflict: but, not to keep you in suspense, you are courted by a gentleman whose name is Trueworth; he is recommended by your brother, who, alas! knows him much less than he imagines. He has, indeed, a large estate; and does not want accomplishments to endear him to the fair-sex: I wish he had as much intrinsick honour and sincerity to deserve, as he has personal endowments to acquire, the favours so lavishly bestowed on him. I hope, however, you have not been so much deceived by the innocence of your own heart, and the fancied integrity of his, as to be so distractedly in love with him as he has the vanity to boast, and your companion and supposed friend, Miss Mabel, reports you are: if his designs upon you are such as they ought to be, he is at least ashamed to confess they are so; and the lady I just mentioned, whispers it in all companies, that a marriage with you is of all things in the world the farthest from his thoughts. He plainly says, that he but trifles with you, till your brothers come to town, and will then find some pretence to break entirely with you--perhaps, on the score of fortune: but of that I am not positive; I only repeat some part of those unhandsome expressions his unworthy tongue has uttered.
But, Madam, as I have given you this intelligence, so I think it my duty to offer you some advice for your behaviour in so nice and critical a juncture. As he threatens to abandon you on the arrival of your brothers, I should think, that if you forbid him your presence till that time, it would not only be a sure touchstone of his affection, but also be a means of clearing your reputation from those blemishes it has received on his account. After what I have said, I believe it would be needless to add, that the less freely you converse with Miss Mabel, the less you will suffer, both in the judgment of the world and your own future peace of mind.
Slight not this counsel because given behind the curtain; but be assured it comes from one who is, with the sincerest attachment, Madam, your most humble, though concealed servant.'
If Miss Betsy had received this letter a very small time before she did, it might probably have wrought on her all the effect it was intended for; but she had scarce read it half through before the lucky discovery of Miss Flora's baseness, seasonably made to her by Mr. Saving, came fresh into her mind; and she was at no loss to guess at the malicious purpose, and the author of it, though wrote in a hand altogether a stranger to her.
She doubted not but it was a trick of Miss Flora's, to cause a separation between her and Mr. Trueworth; but the motives which had instigated her to do this, were not in her power to conceive.
'Revenge for her disappointed expectations,' said she to herself, 'might make her take the steps she did, on Mr. Saving's account: but what has Mr. Trueworth done to her? He never pretended to love her; he neither flattered nor deceived her vanity; it must be, therefore, only a wicked propensity, an envious, unsocial disposition, a love of mischief implanted in her nature, and uncorrected by reason or principle, that has induced her to be guilty of this poor, low, enervate spite: but I am resolved to mortify it.'
She was not long considering in what manner she should proceed to do as she had said; and I believe the reader will acknowledge she hit upon one as effectual for that end as could have been contrived.
She appeared extremely gay the whole time of dinner; and, as soon as it was over, 'I will present you with a dessert, Sir,' said she to Mr. Goodman; 'I will shew you what pains has been taken to break off my acquaintance with Mr. Trueworth, by some wretch, who either envies me the honour of his affections, or him the place they imagine he has in mine: but, I beseech you, read it,' continued she--'and I will appeal to you, Lady Mellasin--and Miss Flora--if ever there was a more stupid plot.'
'Stupid enough, indeed!' cried the honest merchant, as soon as he had done reading; 'but it is yet more base. I am glad, however,' continued he, 'to find your good sense prevents you from being imposed upon by such artifices.'--'This is so shallow a one,' answered she, 'that a very small share of understanding might serve to defend any one from being deceived by it. I pity the weakness, while I despise the baseness, of such mean incendiaries: Mr. Trueworth, however, will fare the better for this attempt against him; I will now make no scruple of prefering him to all mankind besides; and, perhaps, when my brothers arrive, shall consent to every thing he desires.'
Lady Mellasin could not help applauding the spirit and resolution she shewed on this occasion, and Mr. Goodman was quite charmed with it; and both of them joined in the severest exclamations against the folly and wickedness of the letter-writer: but Miss Flora said little; and, as soon as she could quit the table with decency, went up into her chamber, saying, she had a piece of work in her hand which she was in haste to finish.
If Miss Betsy had wanted any confirmation of the truth of her suspicions, the looks of Miss Flora, during this whole discourse, would have removed all doubt in her; and the opportunity of venting the spleen she had so justly conceived against her, without seeming to do so, gave her a most exquisite satisfaction.
Chapter VII
Is the better for being short
Miss Flora retired to her chamber, indeed, not to employ herself in the manner she pretended, but to give a loose to passions more inordinate and outrageous than it would naturally be believed could have taken possession of so young a heart.
But it is now high time to let the reader see into the secret springs which set her wicked wit in motion, and induced her to act in the manner she had done.
Through the whole course of the preceding pages, many hints have been given, that the inclinations of this young lady were far from being unblameable; and it will not seem strange, that a person of the disposition she has all along testified, should envy and malign those charms she every day saw so much extolled, and preferred above her own; but we do not ordinarily find one, who, all gay and free like her, and who various times, and for various objects, had experienced those emotions which we call love, should all at once be inspired with a passion no less serious than it was violent, for a person who never made the least addresses to her on that account.
Yet so in effect it was: Mr. Trueworth had been but a very few times in her company, before she began to entertain desires for the lover of her fair friend. Whenever she had an opportunity of speaking to him alone, she made him many advances, which he either did not, or would not, interpret in the sense she meant them. This coldness, instead of abating, did but the more inflame her wishes; and, looking on the passion he had for Miss Betsy, as the only impediment to the gratification of her inclinations, she cursed his constancy, and the beauties which excited it. So true is that observation of Mr. Dryden--
'Love various minds does variously inspire; He stirs in gentle natures gentle fire, Like that of incense on the altar laid; But raging flames tempestuous souls invade. A fire which every windy passion blows; With pride it mounts, and with revenge it glows.'
Miss Flora was not of a temper, either to bear the pangs of hopeless love in silent grief, or to give way too readily to despair. In spite of the indifference she found herself treated with by Mr. Trueworth, she was not without hope, that if she could by any means occasion a disunion between him and Miss Betsy, he would then be brought to cast his eyes on her, and return her flame with some degree of ardency.
It was for this end she had taken so much pains in endeavouring to persuade Miss Betsy either to write, or suffer her to go, to Mr. Staple, in order, as she pretended, to undeceive that gentleman in his opinion, that she was in love with Mr. Trueworth; but her intentions, in reality, were to make him believe that he himself was the favoured person, and had much the advantage over his rival in the affections of his mistress. This she doubted not, would make him quit his resolution of going into the country, and encourage him to renew his courtship with the same fervency as ever. The pride she knew Miss Betsy took in a multiplicity of lovers, and the equality with which she had carried herself between him and Mr. Trueworth, and which probably she would continue, seemed to afford her a fair prospect of giving Mr. Trueworth so much cause of discontent, as to make him break off with a woman who, after what had passed, made no distinction between him and the person he had twice vanquished in the field. She knew it would, at least, create a great deal of perplexity among them, and delay, if not totally prevent, the completion of what she so much dreaded.
But this scheme being rendered abortive, by the seasonable discovery Miss Betsy had made of her perfidiousness, she set her wits to work for some other new invention; and, believing that Miss Betsy's pride would immediately take fire on the least suspicion of any insult being offered, either to her beauty or reputation, procured an agent to write the above inserted letter, the effect of which has already been shewn.
This disappointment was the more grievous to her, as she had so little expected it: she broke the sticks of her fan, tore every thing came in her way, flew about the room like a princess in a tragedy; wanting the means of venting the rage she was possessed of in great things, she exercised it in small. A fine petticoat of Miss Betsy's happening to hang on the back of a chair, she threw a standish of ink upon it, as if by accident; and it was no breach of charity to believe, would have served the owner in a much worse manner, if her power had been equal to her will, and she could have done it without danger to herself.
To add to the fury and distraction of her mind, continuing still in her chamber, and happening to be pretty near the window, she saw Miss Betsy, Miss Mabel, and Mr. Trueworth, pass by in a landau, that gentleman having, it seems, invited these ladies on a party of pleasure: 'You shall not long enjoy this satisfaction,' cried she to herself, 'if it be in human wit to separate you!' But at this sight, the turbulent passions of her soul becoming more outrageous, 'O may the machine that conveys you be thrown from off its wheels!' pursued she. 'May the wine you drink be poisoned! May the first morsel you attempt to swallow, mistake its way, and choak you in the passage!'
Thus did she rave, not like one possessed with seven, but seven thousand fiends; and had perhaps remained in this wild way till her brain had been absolutely turned, if Lady Mellasin, having a great deal of company, had not positively commanded her to come down, after having sent several times in more mild terms to let her know what friends were there.
It was some days before the unhappy, and more wicked, Miss Flora could recollect her scattered senses enough for the contrivance of any farther mischief: but those evil spirits, to which she had yielded but too much the mastery of her heart, and all its faculties, at length inspired her with, and enabled her in the execution of, a design of the most barbarous kind, and which for a time she saw had success even beyond her most sanguine expectations.
But while she was ruminating on projects, which had neither virtue nor generosity for their patrons, Miss Betsy passed her days in that chearfulness which is the constant companion of uncorrupted innocence, and a mind uninfluenced by any tempestuous passions; but as it is natural, even to the sweetest tempers, to take pleasure in the mortification of those who have endeavoured to injure us without cause given on our parts, she could not forbear being highly diverted to see the pains Miss Flora took to conceal the inward disturbance of her soul: the awkward excuses she made for the damage done her petticoat, gave her more satisfaction than she should have felt vexation for the spoiling the best thing she had in the world.
Miss Mabel, to whom Miss Betsy had imparted the whole of this affair, was not at all surprized at that part of the letter which related to herself, as she had often been informed, by several of her acquaintance, of the character given of her by that malicious girl; but neither of these young ladies could be able to imagine, as they suspected not her passion for Mr. Trueworth, from what source this pretended enmity to him was derived.
It would certainly have greatly contributed to the happiness of that gentleman, to have known in what manner his mistress had resented the injustice had been done him; but Miss Betsy forbore to let him into the secret, as being already sufficiently convinced of the sincerity of his affection, and would not put him to the trouble of giving her new proofs of it, by shewing him the ridiculous accusation anonymously formed against him.
Chapter VIII
Contains some incidents which will be found equally interesting and entertaining, or the author is very much mistaken
Mr. Trueworth had all the reason imaginable, from the whole deportment of Miss Betsy towards him, to believe that there wanted little more for the conclusion of his marriage with her than the arrival of her two brothers; she had often told him, whenever he pressed her on that score, that she would give no definitive answer, till she had received the advice and approbation of the elder Mr. Thoughtless.
That gentleman was now expected in a few days, and Mr. Francis Thoughtless having intelligence of his being on his return, was also preparing to leave L----e, in order to meet him on his first arrival in London; but, during this short space of time, some events fell out, which put a great damp on the gaiety of those, who had with so much impatience wished for their approach.
Mr. Trueworth had an aunt, who, besides being the nearest relation he had living, and the only one in London, was extremely respected by him, on account of her great prudence, exemplary virtue, and the tender affection she had always testified for him. This good lady thought herself bound by duty, as she was led by love, to make a thorough enquiry into the character of the young person her nephew was about to marry; she was acquainted with many who had been in company with Miss Betsy, and were witnesses of her behaviour; she asked the opinion of those among them, whom she looked upon as the most candid, concerning the match now on the carpet, and was extremely troubled to find their answers were no way conformable to the idea Mr. Trueworth had endeavoured to inspire her with of his mistress's perfections: they all, indeed, agreed that she was handsome, well-shaped, genteel, had a good deal of wit, vivacity, and good-humour; but shook their heads when any of those requisites to make the married state agreeable were mentioned.
Poor Miss Betsy, as the reader has had but too much opportunities to observe, was far from setting forth to any advantage the real good qualities she was possessed of: on the contrary, the levity of her conduct rather disfigured the native innocence of her mind, and the purity of her intentions; so that, according to the poet--
'All saw her spots, but few her brightness took.'
The old lady not being able to hear any thing concerning her intended niece, but what was greatly to her dissatisfaction, was continually remonstrating to Mr. Trueworth, that the want of solidity in a wife was one of the worst misfortunes that could attend a marriage-state; that the external beauties of the person could not atone for the internal defects of the mind; that a too great gaiety du coeur, frequently led women into errors without their designing to be guilty of them; and conjured him to consider well before the irrevocable words, 'I take you for better and for worse,' were passed, how ill it would suit, either with his honour, or his peace of mind, if she whom he now wished to make his partner for life should, after she became so, behave in the same manner she did now.
Mr. Trueworth listened to what she said, with all the attention she could desire; but was too passionately in love to be much influenced by it: not that he did not see there were some mistakes in the conduct of Miss Betsy, which he could wish reformed, yet he could not look upon them as so dangerous to her virtue and reputation, and therefore omitted no arguments, which he thought might justify his choice, and clear the accused fair one from all blame, in the eyes of a person whose approbation he was very desirous of obtaining.
The warmth with which he spoke, convinced his aunt, that to oppose his inclinations in this point was only warring with the winds; she desisted from speaking any more against the marriage, and contented herself with telling him, that since he was bent on making Miss Betsy his wife, she should be glad if, at least, he would remove her into the country, and prevent her returning to this town as long as possible.
This last council had a great deal of weight with Mr. Trueworth; he had often wished in his heart, when seeing her, as he often did, encompassed with a crowd of such whom his good understanding made him despise, that if ever he became her husband, it might be in his power to prevail on her to break off acquaintance with the greatest part of those she at present conversed with; and now being admitted to entertain her with more freedom and seriousness than ever, he resolved to sound her sentiments on that score, and try to discover how far she could relish the retirements of a country life.
Accordingly, the next visit he made to her, he began to represent, in the most pathetick terms he was able, the true felicity that two people, who loved each other, might enjoy when remote from the noise and interruption of a throng of giddy visitors. 'The deity of soft desires,' said he, 'flies the confused glare of pomp and publick shews; it is in the shady-bowers, or on the banks of a sweet purling stream, he spreads his downy wings, and wafts ten thousand nameless pleasures on the fond, the innocent, and the happy pair.'
He was going on, but she interrupted him with a loud laugh; 'Hold, hold!' cried she, 'was there ever such a romantick description? I wonder how such silly ideas come into your head? "Shady bowers! and purling streams!" Heavens, how insipid! Well,' continued she, 'you may be the Strephon of the woods, if you think fit; but I shall never envy the happiness of the Chloe that accompanies you in these fine recesses. What, to be cooped up like a tame dove, only to coo, and bill, and breed? O it would be a delicious life indeed!'
Mr. Trueworth now perceived, to his no small vexation, the late seriousness he had observed in Miss Betsy, and which had given him so much satisfaction, was no more than a short-lived interval, a sudden start of reason and recollection, soon dissipated, and that her temper, in reality, was still as light, as wild, and as inconsiderate as ever. The ridicule with which she treated what he said, did not, however, hinder him from proceeding in the praise of a country life; but happening to say, that innocence could no where else be so secure, she presently took up the word and with a disdainful air replied, that innocence in any one but an idiot, might be secure in any place; to which he retorted, that reason was at some times absent, even in those who had the greatest share of it at others.
Many smart repartees passed between them on this subject, in most of which Miss Betsy had the better; but Mr. Trueworth, not willing to give up the point, reminded her that Solomon, the most luxuriant, and withal the wisest of men, pronounced, that all the gaieties and magnificence of the earth were vanity and vexation of spirit. 'He did so,' replied she, with a scornful smile; 'but it was not till he had enjoyed them all, and was grown past the power of enjoying yet farther: when I am so, it is possible I may say the same.'
Mr. Trueworth, finding she was pretty much stung at some things he had said, and conscious that in his discourse he had in some measure forgot the respect due from a lover to his mistress, would not pursue the topick any farther; but, as artfully as he could, turned the conversation on things more agreeable to Miss Betsy's way of thinking: he could not, however, after they had parted, forbear ruminating on the contempt she had shewn of a country life, and was not so easy as the submissiveness of his passion made him affect to be, on taking leave. This was, however, a matter of light moment to him, when compared with what soon after ensued.
I believe, that from the last letter of Miss Forward to Miss Betsy, the reader may suspect it was not by a kinsman she was maintained: but it is proper to be more particular on that affair, and shew how that unfortunate creature, finding herself utterly discarded by her father, and abandoned to the utmost distresses, accepted the offer made her by a rich Jew merchant, of five guineas a week to be his mistress.
But, as few woman who have once lost the sense of honour, ever recover it again, but, on the contrary, endeavour to lose all sense of shame also, devote themselves to vice, and act whatever interest or inclination prompts them to; Miss Forward could not content herself with the embraces nor allowances of her keeper, but received both the presents and caresses of as many as she had charms to attract.
Sir Bazil Loveit was a great favourite with her; and if, among such a plurality, one might be said to have the preference, it was he: this young baronet had been intimately acquainted with Mr. Trueworth abroad; they had travelled together through the greatest part of Italy, and had been separated only by Mr. Trueworth's being called home on account of some family affairs. Sir Bazil being but lately arrived, they had not seen each other since; till, meeting by accident in a coffee-house, they renewed their former friendship. After the usual compliments, Mr. Trueworth proposed passing the evening together; to which Sir Bazil replied, that he should be glad of the opportunity, but was engaged to sup with a lady: 'But,' said he, after a pause, 'it is where I can be free, and you shall go with me.' To which the other having consented, Sir Bazil told him, as they were going towards the house, that there would be no occasion to use much ceremony; for it was only to a lady of pleasure he was conducting him: but added, that she was a fine girl, seemed to have been well brought up, had been but lately come upon the town, and behaved with more modesty than most of her profession.
Mr. Trueworth had never any great relish for the conversation of these sort of women; much less now, when his whole heart was taken up with an honest passion for a person who, in spite of the little errors of her conduct, he thought deserving of his affections: yet, as he had given his promise, he imagined that to go back on it would be too precise, and subject him to the raillery of his less scrupulous friend.
Miss Forward (for it was she to whom this visit was made) received them in a manner which justified the character Sir Bazil had given of her. There was, however, a certain air of libertinism, both in her looks and gestures, which would have convinced Mr. Trueworth, if he had not been told before, that she was one of those unhappy creatures, who make traffick of their beauty. The gentlemen had not been there above a quarter of an hour, before a maid-servant came into the room, and told Miss Forward, that a young lady, who said her name was Thoughtless, was at the door in a chair, and desired to see her: 'O my dear Miss Betsy Thoughtless!' cried she, 'desire her to walk up immediately.'--'This is lucky,' said Sir Bazil, 'I wanted a companion for my friend; now each man will have his bird.'--'Hush,' cried Miss Forward, 'I can assure you she is virtuous; take care what you say.'
Mr. Trueworth was so much alarmed at hearing the name of Miss Betsy, that, being retired to a window in order to recover himself from the confusion, he heard not what Miss Forward had said to Sir Bazil: Miss Betsy presently entering the room, Miss Forward ran to embrace her, saying, 'My dear Miss Betsy, how glad I am to see you!' To which the other returned, 'My dear Miss Forward, how ashamed am I to have been so long absent! but one foolish thing or other has still prevented me coming.'
Sir Bazil then saluted her with a great deal of politeness, though with less respect than doubtless he would have done, had he seen her in any other place. Mr. Trueworth, who by this time had resolved in what manner he should act, now turned, and advanced towards the company; Miss Betsy, on seeing him, cried out in some surprize, 'Mr. Trueworth! Good God! who thought of finding you here?'--'You did not, Madam, I dare answer,' replied he, with a very grave air, 'and I as little expected the honour of meeting you here.'--'O you are acquainted, then,' said Sir Bazil, laughing; 'this is merry enough; I find we are all right!'
Mr. Trueworth made no direct answer to this; but endeavoured to assume a gaiety conformable to that of the company he was in: after some little time being passed in discoursing on ordinary affairs, Miss Forward took Miss Betsy into the next room to return the money she had been so kind to lend her at Mrs. Nightshade's; and told her, she had much to say to her, but could not be so rude to leave the gentlemen for any long time. While they were absent, which indeed was not above half a minute, 'This is a delicious girl,' said Sir Bazil to Mr. Trueworth, 'i'faith, Charles, you will have the best of the market to-night.' What reply Mr. Trueworth would have made is uncertain; the ladies returned that instant, and the conversation became extremely sprightly, though, on Sir Bazil's part, sometimes interspersed with expressions not altogether consistent with that decorum he would have observed towards women of reputation.
Miss Betsy, far from thinking any ill herself, took every thing as well meant, and replied to whatever was uttered by this gay young gentleman, with a freedom which, to those who knew her not perfectly, might justly render liable to censure. Mr. Trueworth would fain have taken some share, if possible, in this conversation, in order to conceal the perplexity of his thoughts, but all his endeavours were ineffectual; and though his words were sometimes gay, the tone with which he spoke them plainly shewed, that his heart was very far from corresponding with his expressions.
Sir Bazil having ordered a handsome supper, Miss Betsy staid till it was over, and then rose up, and took her leave; saying, she was obliged to go home and write some letters. As none of them had any equipage there, a hackney-coach was ordered to be called; and Mr. Trueworth offering to accompany her, Sir Bazil, on waiting on them down stairs, said to him some merry things on the occasion; which, though Miss Betsy did not comprehend, her lover understood the meaning of but too well for his peace of mind.
Chapter IX
Is yet more interesting than the former
Any one may judge what a heart, possessed of so sincere and honourable a flame as that of Mr. Trueworth's, must feel, to see the beloved object so intimate with a common prostitute: it shall suffice, therefore, to say, that his anxieties were such as prevented him from being able to recover himself enough to speak to Miss Betsy on that subject as he would do. He forbore mentioning it at all, and said very little to her on any other, while they were in the coach: and, having seen her safe into Mr. Goodman's house, took his leave, and went home; where he passed a night of more vexation than he ever had before experienced.
Fain would he have found some excuse for Miss Betsy's conduct in this point; fain would he have believed her as innocent as she was lovely; but could not tell how to conceive there was a possibility for true virtue to take delight in the company of vice: but, were there even such a thing in nature, the shew of encouraging an infamous action he knew not how to brook in a woman he intended to make his wife.
He now acknowledged the justice of his aunt's remonstrances; and, by what the levity of Miss Betsy made him at present endure, foresaw what his honour and peace of mind must hereafter continually endure if he should once become a husband. Never were thoughts so divided, so fluctuating, as his! His good understanding, and jealousy of honour, convinced him there could be no lasting happiness with a person of Miss Betsy's temper; but then the passion he had for her, flattered him with the hopes, that as all the faults she was guilty of, sprung rather from want of consideration than design, she might be reasoned out of them, when once he had gained so far upon her affections, as to find he might take the liberty of painting them to her in their proper colours.
He often asked himself the question, whether he could be able to break with her or not; and finding, by the pangs which the very idea of an utter separation inflicted on him, that he could not, had no other measures to take than to submit with patience--to appear satisfied with every thing that pleased her--and to contrive all the methods he could, without her perceiving he did so, of stealing, by gentle degrees, into her mind, a disrelish of such things as were unbecoming in her.
He had but just rose from a bed which that night had afforded him but little repose; when he was told Sir Bazil Loveit, to whom he had given his directions the day before, was come to wait upon him. Mr. Trueworth was very glad of it, being impatient to undeceive him in the opinion he found he had entertained of Miss Betsy. They had not been three minutes together before the other gave him an opportunity, by some facetious interrogatories concerning the transactions of the past night; and, among the rest, after looking round the room, asked how he had disposed of his pretty Betsy. To all which Mr. Trueworth replied, with a very serious air, 'Sir Bazil, though I must own there are many appearances to justify your mistake, yet I hope my word and honour will out-balance them. I do assure you, Sir, that lady, whom you think and speak so lightly of, is a woman of fortune, family, and reputation.'--'I am sorry, then,' said Sir Bazil, very much surprized, 'I treated her in the manner I did. My Nancy, indeed,' continued he, meaning Miss Forward, 'told me she was virtuous, but I did not regard what she said on that score; I know it is a trick among them to set off one another, to draw in us men. But, pr'ythee, dear Charles, are you in earnest?' Mr. Trueworth, then, after having made a second asseveration that he was sincere in what he said, proceeded to give him some account of Miss Betsy's family, circumstances, and manner of life; adding, that nothing could be more surprizing to him, than to have met her in that place. 'But,' said he, 'she must certainly be unacquainted with the character of the woman she came to visit.'
'Such a thing might possibly happen,' replied Sir Bazil, 'and I think you would do well to give her a hint of it.'--'Doubtless,' cried the other; 'I am doubly bound to do so; first, by my own honour; and, next, by the friendship I have for some of her kindred.' No farther discourse passed between them on this score; and the remaining time they were together being taken up on matters altogether foreign to the business of this history, there is no occasion for making any mention of it.
Sir Bazil staid so long, that when he had taken his leave, it was too late for Mr. Trueworth to make a morning visit to Miss Betsy, as he intended to have done, so was obliged to defer it till the afternoon; though, since his first acquaintance with her, he had never felt more impatience to see her.
As he had much in his head to say to her on the subject of the preceding day, he went as soon as he thought dinner was entirely over at Mr. Goodman's, in order to have an opportunity of talking with her before any other company came in. She was then in her chamber, dressing; but he waited not long before she came down, and appeared more lovely and dazzling in his eyes than ever. This happened to be the first day of her putting on a very rich and extremely well-fancied gown; and, either because it was more becoming than any of those he had seen her in before, or because of the pleasure ladies of her age and humour generally feel on such occasions, a more than usual brightness shone in her eyes, and was diffused through all her air; and, after having made her some compliments on the elegance of her taste in dress, 'I suppose, Madam,' said he, 'thus set forth, and equipped for conquest, you do not mean to stay at home this evening?'--'No, indeed,' replied she; 'I am told there is a new tragedy to be acted to-night at Lincoln's Inn Fields, and I would not for the world miss the first night of a new play.'
On this, Mr. Trueworth asked if he might have leave to wait upon her there. 'With all my heart,' answered she. 'None of the gentlemen of my acquaintance know any thing of my going, so could not offer to gallant me; and there is only one lady goes with me.'--'Miss Mabel, I guess?' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'No,' answered Miss Betsy; 'she is engaged to the other house to-night; so I sent to desire the favour of that lady you saw me with last night to give me her company.'
'You will have more, if you have hers, I doubt not,' said he: 'but sure, Madam, you cannot think of being seen with a woman of her fame, in a place so publick as the play-house!' Miss Betsy was astonished to hear him speak in this manner; and demanded of him, in somewhat of a haughty tone, what it was he meant. 'First, Madam,' resumed Mr. Trueworth, 'give me leave to ask you how long since, and by what accident, your intimacy with this woman commenced?'--'Though your interrogatories,' replied she, 'are made in such a manner as might well excuse me from answering them, yet, for once, I may give you the satisfaction you desire. Miss Forward and I were together at the boarding-school; we mutually took a liking to each other, (I believe from a parity of humours and inclinations;) and, since her coming to London, have renewed that friendship we began in our more tender years.'
'Friendships begun in childhood, Madam,' answered he, with a very grave air, 'ought to be continued or broke off, according as the parties persevere in innocence, or degenerate into vice and infamy. This caution ought to be more peculiarly observed in persons of your sex, as reputation in you, once lost, is never to be retrieved. Remember, Madam, what your favourite author, Mr. Rowe, says on this occasion--
"In vain with tears her loss she may deplore; In vain look back to what she was before; She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more."'
Miss Betsy was so piqued at these remonstrances, that she had scarce patience to contain herself till he had given over speaking. 'Good lack!' cried she, 'how sententious you are grown! But, I hope, you have not the insolence to imagine I am guilty of any thing that might justly call my reputation in question?'--'No, Madam,' replied he; 'far be it from me to suspect you of any thoughts but such as might become the purity of angels. But the more bright you are, the more we should lament to see the native lustre of your mind clouded and blemished by the faults of others. Permit me, Madam, to tell you, that to continue an intimacy with a woman of Miss Forward's character, must infallibly draw you into conveniences, which you want but to foresee to tremble at.'
'If you have the affection for me you pretend,' said she, haughtily, 'and could see the aversion I have to a censorious temper, it is yourself would have cause to tremble. I love Miss Forward, and neither know, nor will believe, any ill of her. Whenever I am convinced that she is unworthy of my friendship, it must be by her own actions, not by the report of others. Therefore, Mr. Trueworth, if you desire to continue on good terms with me, you must forbear to interfere with what company I keep, nor pretend to prescribe rules for my conduct, at least, till you have more right to do so.'
'I shall never, Madam, presume to prescribe,' replied he; 'but shall always think it my duty to advise you in a matter which so nearly concerns not only yourself, but all who have any relation to you, either by blood or affection.' Though these words, as well as all he had said on this occasion, were uttered in the most respectful accents, yet Miss Betsy, who was not able to imagine the least contradiction suited with the character of a lover, was offended beyond all measure. She frowned--she rose hastily from her chair--walked about the room in a disordered motion--told him, the nature of the acquaintance between them did not authorize the liberties he took--that she would not bear it--and desired that he would either leave her, or change the conversation to somewhat more agreeable.
Mr. Trueworth, who as yet had said little, in comparison with what he intended to say on this subject, was so much shocked at the impossibility he found of engaging her attention, that for some time he was incapable of speaking one word. During this pause, a servant presented a letter to Miss Betsy. 'O!' cried she, as soon as she looked on the superscription, 'it is from my dear Miss Forward. I hope nothing has happened to prevent her going with me to the play.' She made this exclamation merely to vex Mr. Trueworth; and, for that purpose also read the billet loud enough for him to hear what it contained, which was as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear Miss Betsy,
Since I received your message, I got a person to secure places for us in the box; so we need not go till six o'clock: but I am quite alone; and, if you are disengaged, should be glad you would come directly to her, who is ever, with the most perfect amity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very much obliged, and humble servant,
A. FORWARD.'
'Bid the messenger,' said Miss Betsy to the servant, 'tell the lady that I will wait upon her this moment; and then call me a chair.--I must comply with the summons I have just received,' said she, turning to Mr. Trueworth; 'so you must excuse my leaving you; for I will not strain your complaisance to accompany me where I am going: but shall be glad to see you when you are in a better humour.'
'I am ready, Madam, to attend you any where,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'even to Miss Forward's; and will pass the whole evening with you, if you please, in her apartment: but, I beseech you, do not think of going to the play with a woman of her class; do not expose yourself in a place where so many eyes will be upon you. Reflect, for Heaven's sake, what your modesty will suffer, in seeing yourself gazed and pointed at by those to whom she sells her favours! and reflect yet farther, what they will judge of you!'--'You grow scurrilous, Sir!' cried she, ready to burst with passion; 'I will hear no more.' Then, running to the door, asked if the chair was come; and, being told it was, 'Farewel, Sir,' said she, as she was going into it; 'when I want a spy to inspect, or a governor to direct my actions, the choice may perhaps fall on you.'
Mr. Trueworth, who, at this treatment, was not quite master of himself, retorted with some warmth, and loud enough to be heard by her, as the chairmen were carrying her to the steps of the house, 'The choice, Madam, perhaps, may not be yours to make.' With these words he went hastily away, half resolving in his mind never to see her more.
Chapter X
Cannot fail of exciting compassion in some readers, though it may move others to laughter
The few remonstrances Miss Betsy would vouchsafe to listen to from Mr. Trueworth, had a much greater effect upon her mind, than her pride, and the excessive homage she expected from her lovers, would suffer to make shew of, or than he himself imagined. She had too much discernment, heedless as she was, not to know he was above any little malicious inuendoes; but, on the contrary, was extremely cautious in regard to the character of whomsoever he spoke; she feared, therefore, he had but too good grounds for the uneasiness he expressed for her continuing a correspondence with Miss Forward; she knew that she had been faulty, and could not be assured she was not still so; and it was more owing to her impatience to be ascertained of the truth, than to any real resentment she had conceived against Mr. Trueworth, that she complied with the invitation of her now suspected friend, and resolved to put the question home to her, concerning her present manner of life, and the means by which she was supported: she had found her removed from the lowest degree of penury and wretchedness, into a state equal to what she could have been mistress of had she been re-established in the favour of her father; and now, for the first time, began to think it strange she should be so, from the mere bounty of a distant relation, to whom in her utmost distress she had never applied, nor even once mentioned in the recital of her melancholy history: 'I will talk to her,' said she to herself; 'watch carefully, not only the replies she makes to what I say, but also her very looks, unperceiving my suspicions; and, if I find the least room to believe what Mr. Trueworth has insinuated, shall pity, but will never see her more.'
In this prudent disposition did she enter the lodgings of Miss Forward; but had no opportunity for the execution of her purpose, some company, which she herself thought, by their behaviour, to be not of the best sort, happening to be just come before her, and departed not till it was time to go to the play. Miss Betsy was more than once about to tell Miss Forward that she had changed her mind, and would not go; but her complaisance, as having been the person who made the first proposal, as often stopped her mouth.
In fine, they went; but the house being very full, and the fellow who had been sent to keep places for them going somewhat too late, they were obliged to content themselves with sitting in the third row. This, at another time, would have been a matter of some mortification to Miss Betsy; but, in the humour she now was, to shew herself was the least of her cares. Never had she entered any place of publick entertainment with so little satisfaction; Mr. Trueworth's words ran very much in her mind; she had lost no part of them; and though she could not bring herself to approve of the freedom he had taken, yet, in her heart, she could not forbear confessing, that his admonitions testified the most zealous and tender care for her reputation; and, if given by any one except a lover, would have demanded more of her thanks than her resentment.
But, alas! those serious considerations were but of short duration: the brilliant audience; the musick; the moving scenes exhibited on the stage; and, above all, the gallantries with which herself and Miss Forward were treated by several gay young gentleman, who, between the acts, presented them with fruits and sweetmeats, soon dissipated all those reflections which it was so much her interest to have cherished, and she once more relapsed into her former self.
Towards the end of the play, there were two rakes of distinction that stuck very close to them, and when it was ended, took the liberty to invite them to sup at a tavern; Miss Betsy started at the motion, but was very well pleased to find Miss Forward shewed an equal dislike to it. 'You will give us leave, then,' cried one of the gentlemen, 'to guard you safe home, ladies?'--'That I think, my dear,' said Miss Forward to Miss Betsy, 'may be granted, for the sake of being protected from the insults of those who may know less how to behave towards our sex.'
Miss Betsy making no opposition, they all four went into a hackney-coach to Miss Forward's lodgings, it being agreed upon between them, that Miss Betsy should be set down there, and take a chair from thence to Mr. Goodman's. Nothing indecent, nor that could be any way shocking to the most strict modesty, being offered during their passage, on their alighting from the coach at Mr. Screener's door, Miss Forward thought, that to ask them to come in would incur no censure from her fair friend, as they had behaved with so much civility and complaisance: accordingly she did so; and they, who expected no less, took each man his lady by the hand, and immediately tripped up stairs.
Miss Betsy did not presently make any offer to go home, because she thought it would appear very odd in her to leave her companion with two strange gentlemen. She little guessed the designs they had in their heads, and doubted not but they would soon take leave; she did not, however, continue in this mistake for many minutes; for one of them drawing Miss Forward to a window, in order to speak to her with more privacy, the other, that he might have the better opportunity to do so, addressed himself to Miss Betsy, 'How killingly handsome you are!' said he, taking her by both her hands, and looking full in her face; 'what a pity you did not shine in the front to-night! By my soul you would have out-dazzled all the titled prudes about you!'
'Pish!' replied she, 'I went to see the play, not to be seen myself.'--'Not to be seen!' cried he; 'why then have you taken all this pains to empty the whole quiver of Cupid's arrows to new-point those charms you have received from nature? Why does the jessamine and the blooming violet play wanton in your hair? Why is the patch with so much art placed on the corner of this ruby lip, and here another to mark out the arched symmetry of the jetty brow? Why does the glittering solitaire hang pendant on the snowy breast, but to attract and allure us poor men into a pleasing ruin?'
Miss Betsy answered this raillery in it's kind; and, as she had a great deal of ready wit, would soon perhaps, had the same strain continued, have left the beau nothing to say for himself: but Miss Forward and the other gentleman having finished what they had to say, coming towards them, put an end to it. 'What do you think?' cried Miss Forward; 'this gentleman swears he won't go out of the house till I give him leave to send for a supper.'--'You may do as you please,' said Miss Betsy; 'but I must be excused from staying to partake of it.' Whether she was really in earnest or not, is not very material; but her refusal was looked upon only as a feint, and they pressed her to tarry in such a manner, that she could not well avoid complying, even though she had been more averse, in effect, than for some time she pretended to be.
The conversation was extremely lively; and, though sprinkled with some double entendres, could not be said to have any thing indecent, or that could raise a blush in the faces of women who were accustomed to much company. Miss Betsy had her share in all the innocent part of what was said, and laughed at that which was less so. But, not to dwell on trifles, she forgot all the cautions given her by Mr. Trueworth, considering not that she was in company with two strange gentlemen, and of a woman whose character was suspected; and, though she had a watch by her side, regarded not how the hours passed on, till she heard the nighly monitor of time, cry, 'Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy morning!'
After this she would not be prevailed upon to stay, and desired Miss Forward to send somebody for a chair. 'A chair, Madam!' cried that gentleman who, of the two, had been most particular in his addresses to her; 'you cannot, sure, imagine we should suffer you to go home alone at this late hour.'--'I apprehend no great danger,' said she; 'though I confess it is a thing I have not been accustomed to.' He replied, that in his company she should not begin the experiment. On this a coach was ordered. Miss Betsy made some few scruples at committing herself to the conduct of a person so little known to her. 'All acquaintance must have a beginning,' said he; 'the most intimate friends were perfect strangers at first. You may depend on it I am a man of honour, and cannot be capable of an ungenerous action.'
Little more was said on the occasion; and being told a coach was at the door, they took leave of Miss Forward and the other gentleman, and went down stairs. On stepping into the coach, Miss Betsy directed the man where to drive; but the gentleman, unheard by her, ordered him to go to the bagnio in Orange Street. They were no sooner seated, and the windows drawn up to keep out the cold, than Miss Betsy was alarmed with a treatment which her want of consideration made her little expect. Since the gentleman-commoner, no man had ever attempted to take the liberties which her present companion now did: she struggled--she repelled with all her might, the insolent pressures of his lips and hands. 'Is this,' cried she, 'the honour I was to depend upon? Is it thus you prove yourself incapable of an ungenerous action?'--'Accuse me not,' said he, 'till you have reason. I have been bit once, and have made a vow never to settle upon any woman while I live again; but you shall fare never the worse for that, I will make you a handsome present before we part; and, if you can be constant, will allow you six guineas a week.'
She was so confounded at the first mention of this impudent proposal; that she had not the power of interrupting him; but, recovering herself as well as she was able, 'Heavens!' cried she, 'what means all this? What do you take me for?'--'Take you for!' answered he, laughing; 'pr'ythee, dear girl, no more of these airs: I take you for a pretty kind, obliging creature, and such I hope to find you, as soon as we come into a proper place. In the mean time,' continued he, stopping her mouth with kisses, 'none of this affected coyness.'
The fright she was in, aided by disdain and rage, now inspired her with an unusual strength: she broke from him, thrust down the window, and with one breath called him 'Monster! Villain!' with the next screamed out to the coachman to stop; and, finding he regarded not her cries, would have thrown herself out, if not forcibly witheld by the gentleman, who began now to be a little startled at her resolute behaviour. 'What is all this for?' said he: 'would you break your neck, or venture being crushed to pieces by the wheels?'--'Any thing,' cried she, bursting into tears, 'I will venture; suffer any thing, rather than be subjected to insults, such as you have dared to treat me with.'
Though the person by whom Miss Betsy was thus dangerously attacked was a libertine, or, according to the more genteel and modish phrase, a man of pleasure, yet he wanted neither honour, nor good sense: he had looked on Miss Betsy as a woman of the town, by seeing her with one who was so, and her too great freedom in conversation gave him no cause to alter his opinion; but the manner in which she had endeavoured to rebuff his more near approaches, greatly staggered him. He knew not what to think, but remained in silent cogitation for some minutes; and, though he held her fast clasped round the waist, it was only to prevent her from attempting the violence she had threatened, not to offer any towards her. 'Is it possible,' said he, after this pause, 'that you are virtuous?'--'I call Heaven to witness,' answered she, with a voice faltering through the excess of terror and indignation, 'that I never have entertained one thought that was not strictly so! that I detest and scorn those wretched creatures of the number of whom you imagine me to be one; and that I would sooner die the worst of deaths, than live with infamy! Yes, Sir, be assured,' continued she, gathering more courage, 'that whatever appearances may be this fatal night against me, I am of a family of some consideration in the world, and am blessed with a fortune, which sets me above the low temptations of designing men.'
As she had ended these words, they came to the bagnio; and, the coach immediately stopping, two or three waiters came running to open the door; on which Miss Betsy, more terrified than ever, shrieked in a most piteous manner; 'O God!' cried she, 'What's here? Where am I? What will become of me?' and, at that instant recollecting that no help was near; that she was in the power of a man whose aim was her eternal ruin; and that it was by her own indiscretion alone this mischief had fallen on her; with so overcome with the dread, the shame, the horror, as she then supposed, of her inevitable fate, that she was very near falling into a swoon.
The gentleman discovering, by the light of the lamps at the bagnio door, the condition she was in, was truly touched with it. 'Retire,' said he hastily to the fellows, 'we do not want you.' Then throwing himself on his knees before her, 'Let this posture, Madam,' continued he, 'obtain your pardon; and, at the same time, ease you of all apprehensions on my score.'--'May I believe you?' said she, still weeping. 'You may,' replied he. Then rising, and placing himself on the seat opposite to her, 'I love my pleasures, and think it no crime to indulge the appetites of nature. I am charmed with the kind free woman, but I honour and revere the truly virtuous; and it is a maxim with me never to attempt the violation of innocence. These, Madam, are my principles in regard to your sex: but, to convince you farther--Here, fellow,' continued he to the coachman, who was walking backwards and forwards at some distance, 'get up upon your box, and drive where you were first directed.'
Miss Betsy acknowledged the generosity of this behaviour; and, on his asking by what accident it had happened, that he found her in company with a woman of Miss Forward's character, she told him ingenuously the truth, that they knew each other when children in the country; but that she had not seen her more than three times since their coming to London, and was entirely ignorant of her conduct from that time.
He then took the liberty of reminding her, that a young lady more endangered her reputation by an acquaintance of one woman of ill fame, than by receiving the visits of twenty men, though professed libertines. To which she replied, that for the future she would be very careful what company she kept of both sexes.
This was the sum of the conversation that passed between them during their little stage to Mr. Goodman's; where being safely arrived, after having seen her within the doors, he saluted her with a great deal of respect, and took his leave.