Well, my dear Sophia, we were both much delighted at the play; although there was ſomewhat very gloomy in a reflection which could not but occur on firſt entering, that in ſo large an audi⯑ence, where half the world ſeemed met together, not one friendly countenance [4] was to be found on which we had ever looked before, Lady Farnford and her daughter excepted (for Mr. Howard as well as Mrs. Hindon, were engaged to a lady's aſſembly, and Mr. Hindon ſeldom goes to places of public amuſement.) There is ſomething extremely diſmal in the thoughts of being an unconnected and ſolitary being, about whom no one is either ſolicitous or intereſted; nor does the idea ever ſtrike more poignantly than when you behold all around you in the full enjoyment of the bleſſings of friend⯑ſhip and ſociety. Miſs Farnford, in particular, appeared to poſſeſs, if not friends, ſuch variety of intimate ac⯑quaintances, that I could not avoid en⯑vying her in my heart the many kind ſalutations ſhe gave and returned from different parts of the houſe. This was however but a paſſing idea; for moſt fortunately in the midſt of the muſing to which it gave birth, and which in ſpite [5] of the novelty of the ſurrounding ſcene almoſt wholly engroſſed me, I was ſud⯑denly rouſed from my melancholy con⯑templations by the ſight of Mr. Roatſley, who had entered the next box, but in⯑ſtantly on perceiving us removed to ours, and paid us his compliments with his uſual grace and politeneſs.

The train of recollections that had preceded his entrance made me view him with redoubled pleaſure. Luckily there was a place vacant between Fanny and me, of which he took immediate poſſeſſion; nor did he think of quitting it till the inimitable comedy of the Jour⯑ney to London was concluded, for from ſome particular circumſtances the play had been changed. I was almoſt equally delighted with the repreſentation itſelf, and with the admirable and amuſing ob⯑ſervations it drew from Mr. Roatſley, who was if poſſible ſtill more agreeable than when we paſſed the day with him at [6] Dover. There is indeed a certain mix⯑ture of ſweetneſs and vivacity blended both in his countenance and manners, that renders his converſation uncommonly pleaſing. I was much charmed to per⯑ceive that the denouement of the piece, which, though defective I think in point of delicacy, is exceedingly affecting, brought a tear of feeling into his eye: there is indeed ſomething ſo amiable in any unaffected ſymptoms of ſoftneſs and ſenſibility in a manly countenance, and it forms a contraſt ſo attractive from that roughneſs and auſterity which is in gene⯑ral ſeated upon their faces, that in my opinion it is the moſt inſinuating of all prepoſſeſſions; and as it gives you in a manner an inſight into the mind, ren⯑ders the figure itſelf infinitely more inte⯑reſting. I ſuppoſe it was owing to this obſervation that Mr. Roatſley never ſtruck me with being ſo incomparably handſome as he did this evening.

[7]Had I even enjoyed leſs pleaſure at the repreſentation of a piece which I have ſo often read with repeated ſatis⯑faction, I ſhould have been ſufficiently amuſed and delighted from obſerving the effect it produced on my dear Fanny, who was charmed beyond meaſure by an exhibition ſo entirely new, and of which my deſcription could have given her but a faint notion. Roatſley ſeemed both pleaſed and entertained with the innocent naivetè of her expreſſions of wonder at all ſhe ſaw, and with great goodneſs of heart enjoyed the entertainment ſhe drew from every object.

When the play was finiſhed, he left us for a few moments to pay his reſpects to a lady in another box; and ſo comfort⯑able was the idea of poſſeſſing at leaſt one acquaintance amidſt ſo many faces totally new, for we were placed at a diſtance from either Lady Farnford or her daughter, that I could not avoid being [8] apprehenſive leaſt he ſhould not again return; but in a ſhort time he made his appearance, and reſumed his place, where he continued till we left the houſe.

This day produced an event which has charmed both Fanny and me beyond meaſure. We have unexpectedly met with an old friend, (for ſuch in this part of the world we ſhould deem almoſt any perſon whom we had known in our own country); and as ſuch we cordially wel⯑comed our lively acquaintance, Mrs. Weldon, who arrived in town only the evening before laſt.

Fortunately ſhe had taken lodgings in the next ſtreet; and perceiving us in Mrs. Hindon's carriage paſs her window in our way to church, ſhe made her foot⯑man watch our return, with a meſſage [9] informing us of her abode, and requeſt⯑ing that we would take immediate ad⯑vantage of the information. Delighted with this intelligence, ſo unexpected too, as Mrs. Weldon, when at the cha⯑teau, had not once dropped any hint of an intention to re-viſit England, we re⯑queſted Mrs. Hindon to ſet us down at her houſe. She gave us the kindeſt re⯑ception poſſible: and on our part, we felt as if we had met one in whom we were warmly intereſted, and who was nearly connected with us. She informed us that buſineſs relative to a legacy lately bequeathed her had obliged her to come over at a ſudden call, and that ſhe had left our much reſpected friends in good health.

How ſtrangely do circumſtances, ap⯑parently the moſt trifling, alter our opi⯑nions and prepoſſeſſions: this Mrs. Weldon, whom I thought at beſt but an agreeable coquet, and whoſe friendſhip [10] I had in Languedoc no ſort of deſire to cultivate, now ſcarcely appears to me the perſon ſhe was, except in her powers of pleaſing, which are if poſſible augmented. The change is not however entirely ow⯑ing to the partiality with which I could not but regard an acquaintance formed under the roof of our worthy friend; the alteration is in herſelf; and I now per⯑ceive how illiberal and injudicious are often the ſentiments and impreſſions in⯑ſpired by an imperfect knowledge. Mrs. Weldon, in her own houſe, and in pri⯑vate, poſſeſſes not merely the gaiety which amuſes, but that good ſenſe and know⯑ledge of the world which muſt charm and improve all who are admitted to an intimacy with her. Theſe good qualities are blended with a flow of ſpirits uncom⯑monly elevated, which diffuſes a vivacity over her manner and appearance that on a ſuperficial acquaintance may be miſtaken for levity, but which, on a [11] nearer view, I find proves merely the natural reſult of a ſprightly turn of mind, added to an early introduction into life; circumſtances that in general arive defiance to baſhfulneſs, at leaſt to that painful degree of it that accompa⯑nies awkwardneſs.

She was ſo kind as to inſiſt on our re⯑maining with her the whole day, and at her earneſt requeſt an apology was diſ⯑patched to Mrs. Hindon; indeed I have not ſpent one ſo entirely to my ſatisfac⯑tion ſince my arrival. Mrs. Weldon was equally amuſing, whether we con⯑verſed on gay or ſerious ſubjects; and uninterrupted by company, we chatted over affairs that mutually intereſted us.

I was extremely ſorry however to find that ſhe did not regard Madame de Cla⯑rence with that cordial eſteem which I imagined every one muſt be diſpoſed to feel for a character ſo amiable; and ſhe let us into ſome little circumſtances re⯑lating [12] to family diſſentions, which I ne⯑ver ſhould have ſuſpected to have oc⯑curred between a couple who always be⯑have, at leaſt in company, with the utmoſt apparent good humour and politeneſs to each other. Mrs. Weldon even told us, that poor Madame de Clarence has an unfortunate failing in her temper, which renders herſelf and her huſband equally miſerable: ſhe poſſeſſes, it ſeems, an un⯑happy degree of jealouſy, that leads her to conclude almoſt every young woman, whoſe viſits are frequent in the family, the object of Monſieur de Clarence's af⯑fections; and no ſooner is ſhe convinced of her error in one place, than her ſuſ⯑picions are turned to another quarter, however improbable and extraordinary.

This is a moſt unfortunate diſpoſition, and ſincerely to be lamented; for I fear, according to Mrs. Weldon's account, it is quite incurable. She gave me innu⯑merable inſtances of her weakneſs in this [13] particular; and added, that as ſhe had been for ſome time an inmate of her fa⯑mily, ſhe had not failed herſelf to expe⯑rience the effects of her temper in this point.

I expreſſed my ſurprize that this un⯑lucky foible ſhould never have been hinted to me till now, nor the ſlighteſt ſuſpicion of a turn of mind ſo adverſe to her tranquillity ever occur to my mind during the whole period of my acquaint⯑ance with Madame de Clarence.

You was the laſt perſon, ſaid ſhe, to whom ſuch an information was likely to be ſuggeſted. The ſtrict intimacy that ſubſiſted between you was ſufficiently known to deter all malicious or officious diſpoſed perſons from entertaining you with a topic ſo little agreeable as the errors of your friend; and the circle you ranged in was ever ſo limited, that large as is the proportion of the world which comes under theſe deſcriptions, I believe [14] there were very few of either claſs that could be ranked among the number of your acquaintance.

But pray, added ſhe, had you never occaſion to remark, during your laſt viſit, that Madame behaved to me with a diſtance wholly unaccountable, and which muſt, I think, have provoked both your obſervation and ſurprize? The real truth of the matter was, that as my ac⯑quaintance with the family originated through Monſieur, who lived in terms of the ſtricteſt friendſhip with poor Mr. Weldon, and to whom I was in ſome meaſure given in charge by my huſband in his laſt moments, the lady never re⯑garded me with much kindneſs; but conſcious ſhe herſelf poſſeſſes not addreſs ſufficient to preſerve her huſband's affec⯑tions, ſhe ſuſpects every pretty woman ſhe ſees to be more in favour than herſelf, and charitably accuſes her of the theft.

That Madame de Clarence diſapproved [15] of Mrs. Weldon's behaviour I well knew, nor was I ignorant that ſhe was no great favourite with that lady; but as I could not myſelf avoid joining in the cenſure which her coquetry incurred, it made no impreſſion on my mind at the time, nor could excite either ſurprize or ſuſpi⯑cion: our lively little friend, mean while, happy in the poſſeſſion of unbounded ſpirits, dreamt not of this ſevere judg⯑ment on her gaiety till after Fanny and I left the chateau, when the augmented re⯑ſerve and ſolemn deportment of Madame de Clarence ſoon gave place to an open manifeſtation of her repugnance and diſ⯑like.

Her ſententious harangues, ſaid Mrs. Weldon, (who always expreſſes herſelf with force, and on this occaſion may be forgiven the exaggeration of reſentment) and thread bare lectures on the dignity of a proper retinue in the ſex, were ſud⯑denly converted into plain invectives [16] againſt the licentiouſneſs of the preſent age, and the unprincipled levity of all its daughters, whether maids, wives, or widows; thoſe of the latter denomina⯑tion had, you may believe, ſufficient juſtice done them; till at laſt it was im⯑poſſible for me any longer to miſtake my own reſemblance in the pictures me con⯑tinually drew of thoſe profligate females, who having buried the man, either agreeable or otherwiſe, who had once received their vows, dared to be happy, and preſumed to confeſs it too after they had regained their freedom.

For my own part, continued ſhe, united by my friends early in life to a man twice my age, I am ſatisfied with having performed my duty to him when alive, without conſidering myſelf as obliged to mourn his loſs when gone; and bleſſed with conſcious innocence, I allow myſelf thoſe liberties in which a mind free and at eaſe is glad to rejoice [17] after a tedious bondage. However, find⯑ing Madame de Clarence was always grave when I laughed, and ſorrowful when I was gay, I began to ſuſpect that I had worn out her patience by too long a viſit, and under this notion was pre⯑paring to take a civil departure, when one day, in the little arbour, (you may remember it I believe, it is at the en⯑trance into the wood) in the little arbour, where I had taken refuge in a fine even⯑ing, to avoid exciting a rudeneſs of be⯑haviour for which I could aſſign no ade⯑quate motive, I was unexpectedly joined by Monſieur; who ſeeing me ſeated, na⯑turally enough, you know, placed him⯑ſelf by me and entered into converſation.

On mentioning my intentions of leav⯑ing the chateau next morning, he con⯑feſſed, with an ingenuity which our friendſhip of long ſtanding fully autho⯑rized, that he could not but approve of the prudence which dictated this ſtep, [18] and acknowledged to me that a jealouſy of temper, which formed, he ſaid, the miſery of both their lives, had ſo encreaſed inſtead of abating with his wife's years, that it was grown quite inſupportable: it is then no wonder, added he, in a friendly manner, that you ſhould at laſt become the object of her ſuſpicions, ſince fifty women, fifty times your inferior, have by turns excited them.

This I allow, continued Mrs. Weldon, muſt have ſounded ſomewhat compli⯑mentary to an ear, the organs of which were diſordered by jealouſy; and juſt at that inſtant who ſhould we ſee gliding by the trees but Madame herſelf, who had been without doubt liſtening to a ſketch of her own character, not much either ſoftened or embelliſhed from the lips of her huſband, and done perhaps rather a little in caracatura. But one muſt pardon him ſome degree of exag⯑geration [19] from a juſt exaſperation at her unceaſing and teazing importunities.

After this little adventure, you may ſuppoſe it was time for me to be gone. Madame pretended indiſpoſition, and kept her room the reſt of the evening; breakfaſted next morning chez elle; and I left the chateau, having received only a meſſage that ſhe was ſorry ſhe could not ſee me before I went.

Poor Madame de Clarence! I pity her from my ſoul: it was indeed impoſſible to hear that my worthy friend was un⯑happy, even though owing to her own unfortunate weakneſs, without ſincerely deploring that fault which is attended, I am convinced, by no other in her bo⯑ſom: but what a number of great and amiable qualities will not this ſingle er⯑ror obſcure in a huſband's eyes.

Till now, I always concluded Mon⯑ſieur in fault; and that to the cold civi⯑lity of his manner, thoſe clouds were [20] owing which during our laſt viſit I ſome⯑times obſerved hanging on his lady's brow. He was always indeed ſcrupu⯑louſly polite in his attentions to her; but his behaviour ſeemed the ſtudied effu⯑ſions of good breeding and propriety, to which, from her rank in life, and the ſplendid fortune ſhe brought him, ſhe juſtly lays claim. I heartily lament however, that ſhe ſhould have carried her ſuſpicions to lengths ſo blameable: lengths which muſt operate towards aug⯑menting the alienation ſhe deplores.

This unexpected and delightful ren⯑contre, together with the agreeable alter⯑ation in Mrs. Weldon's manners, entirely diſcarded the reſerve with which I uſed formerly to converſe with her; and upon her talking openly of her affairs, which are at preſent ſomewhat embarraſſed, I made no ſcruple of acquainting her with the circumſtances of our ſituation, ſo re⯑plete [21] with difficulties, ſo ſingularly per⯑plexing and uncomfortable.

She entered kindly and with intereſt into all our anxieties, and told us that ſome years ago Lady Linroſe and her family were not unknown to her. That was before ſhe ſeparated from her huſ⯑band, ſaid ſhe; but ſhe never was a wo⯑man by any means to my taſte; for though her Ladyſhip can make herſelf extremely agreeable where ſhe pleaſes, ſhe is intolerably proud, exceedingly fond of money, and as artful as the devil. I dare to ſay ſhe was more to blame than her Lord, though ſhe has been cun⯑ning enough to perſuade the world, and even Lord Belmont, that his peeviſh humour rendered her life a burthen to her. No doubt he was a very capricious, ill tempered man; but I believe he had provocation ſufficient. I aſk pardon, however, my dears, for talking of your [22] aunt with ſo little ceremony; though to own the truth, when you come to know her as well as I do, your opinion will probably coincide with mine.

I aſſured Mrs. Weldon ſhe might uſe all manner of freedom, and eagerly en⯑quired if all the family exhibited portraits equally unfavourable.

The eldeſt daughter, ſaid ſhe, is as proud to the full as her mother, and ſtill more deficient in good humour; but the ſecond, who was ſcarce twelve years old when I left England, was the ſweeteſt, moſt enchanting little girl in the world; and I really think reſembled you, Miſs Seymour, extremely. There was always ſome perſon in my head, when I ſaw you in Languedoc, that you ſtruck me with having a likeneſs to, and now I recollect it is your couſin, Miſs Lucy Dudley. There is another daughter, but ſhe was then quite a child; and there are two ſons; the eldeſt is a very good young [23] man I am told, but his talents I believe are not ſhining; the youngeſt, however, when I laſt ſaw him, was a blooming youth of eighteen, captivating as an Adonis, and in all reſpects amiable and engaging. I hear he has by no means diſappointed the hopes inſpired by his juvenile perfections, either in point of mind or perſon, for he is by all accounts a very extraordinary young man, and I have been informed poſſeſſes a degree of influence over Lord Belmont, with whom he is at preſent abroad, which I think you muſt regard as a favourable circumſtance in your ſituation; for a ſingle glance from either of you muſt intereſt him in your cauſe.

Mrs. Hindon's carriage being at this time announced, we took our leave, and on our return found a card of invitation from Lady Farnford to accompany her to the play to-morrow evening.

We were delighted beyond expreſſion laſt night. The inimitable Mrs. Siddons ſurpaſſes all that can either be conceived or deſcribed. Added to the moſt exqui⯑ſite taſte and feeling, ſhe poſſeſſes a coun⯑tenance the moſt expreſſive, over which ſhe enjoys a command the moſt incon⯑ceivable.

However pleaſing to a perſon unaccuſ⯑tomed to the glare of a public exhibition, the effect of the company, the various decorations, and the diſpoſition of the different lights, muſt at firſt prove, yet the inſtant the curtain drew up my eyes were immoveably fixed on the ſtage, nor would it, I imagined, have been in the power of any other object for a moment to have engaged my attention.

I ſoon found however that Mrs. Sid⯑dons, [25] all powerful as ſhe is, could not wholly engroſs it; for on caſting my eyes round the houſe, I diſcovered Mr. Roatſ⯑ley in the adjoining box. As he ſat a⯑lone, I could not avoid flattering myſelf that he would join us as he had done the week before, and Fanny and I could have eaſily contrived room for him, although the houſe was extremely crouded; but to my no ſmall regret he did not appear to have the moſt diſtant thought of ap⯑proaching. On perceiving us he indeed inſtantly bowed; but with a degree of coldneſs and reſerve which almoſt diſcon⯑certed me; and though from the acci⯑dental change of places there was a ſpare ſeat by us moſt part of the evening, far from wiſhing to take poſſeſſion of it, he never once came near the box.

Aſtoniſhed at a change really ſtriking, as well as unaccountable after the flow of civility with which he had before attended us at the ſame place, I tried in vain to [26] diſcover what could poſſibly have occa⯑ſioned the alteration; but I could only reſt my concluſions on that fickleneſs and caprice of which all his ſex have been ſo vehemently accuſed by ours, and of which, though I have ſeen nothing, I have read and heard much.

Poſſeſſed with this idea, I endeavoured to ſatisfy myſelf; but another ſoon ac⯑companied it, which partook perhaps not a little of the weakneſs attributed to our ſex: I ſuſpected that we did not improve upon intimacy; and that diſappointed in the expectations which at firſt induced him to cultivate the acquaintance, he wiſhed to let it drop. Soon after the firſt act was concluded, I took notice that we were evidently the ſubject of his converſation with another gentleman who had joined him; an idea which you may believe did not leſſen my perplexity.

Roatſley ſeemed to regard me with looks of anxious gravity; while the coun⯑tenance [27] of his companion, whom to my no ſmall ſurprize I recollected to be our late fellow lodger, Captain Bradſhaw, manifeſted nothing but ſatisfaction.

Juſt as the fourth act was concluded, Lady Farnford beckoned to a lady be⯑hind, deſiring her to inform her ſon, who could not get admittance for the croud, that a ſeat was kept for him on the bench on which I was ſitting.

Way was therefore made for the gen⯑tleman: but gueſs my aſtoniſhment and regret, when I found that this ſon of Lady Farnford's was the profligate and audacious young man who had terrified me at Mrs. Brumpton's. I was ſhocked on ſeeing him; nor was my perturbation abated, you may believe, from finding that his mother meant to place him by me.

Without having time to conſider, I determined that no degree of ill-judged baſhfulneſs ſhould prevent me from ma⯑nifeſting [28] a reſentment ſo juſtly incurred; I therefore haſtily entreated a lady who ſat on the bench behind, to allow me to change places with her, as I wiſhed to ſpeak with my ſiſter; and having by this little artifice contrived to place myſelf at ſome diſtance from him, I pretended to be earneſtly engaged in converſation with Fanny. Lady Farnford however ſoon tapped me with her fan, and aſked leave to introduce her ſon. I was then abſo⯑lutely obliged to turn round, and per⯑ceived in his countenance an aſtoniſh⯑ment and confuſion which ought indeed to have wholly overpowered him; but he ſeemed to recover himſelf very ſpeed⯑ily, at leaſt he obtained ſufficient com⯑mand over his feelings to pay me the uſual compliments, though I believe, for I hardly deigned to look at him, not without embarraſment. As for me, I ſcarcely bowed my head, and inſtantly [29] turned from him with unfeigned indig⯑nation.

I believe his mother was not a little confounded at the rudeneſs of my beha⯑viour; but without giving myſelf the trouble of conſidering what interpretation ſhe might put on it, I continued to talk with Fanny, who was almoſt equally vexed at this rencontre.

I ſaw Roatſley's eyes were fixed on our party, and perceived him whiſper his friend. Overcome with a variety of emo⯑tions, added to the intenſe heat, I felt myſelf now ſuddenly extremely ſick, and apprehenſive of fainting, immediate aroſe. You may conjecture the buſtle which en⯑ſued: I was carried out almoſt inſenſible, ſupported in the arms of the odious Farnford, who ventured to aſſiſt me while I was unable to repulſe him, and attended by his mother and Fanny.

They ſtopped in the paſſage to give me air and adminiſter eau de luce, [30] ſalts, &c. before they ventured to call a chair, and juſt at that inſtant Roatſley and his friend came up. The former, hoping I was recovering from the bad effects of the heat, walked on with a for⯑mal bow; and the other giving Farnford a ſignificant ſmile, ſaid to him in a loud whiſper as he paſſed—I give you joy Farnford; there is no need of my intro⯑duction now I perceive.

Shocked to the ſoul, I exerted all my returning ſtrength, and diſengaging my⯑ſelf entirely from Farnford, who had pre⯑ſumed to ſupport me with his arm, I told Lady Farnford I was much better, and wiſhed inſtantly to go home in a chair, as Mrs. Hindon's carriage could not have arrived ſo early.

If you think there is no danger of a relapſe, anſwered ſhe, in my opinion Miſs Seymour you had better return to your place till my ſon enquires if my coach, which ſhall obey your commands, is in waiting.

[31]I inſiſted however upon going directly; and her ſon, who ſeemed to aim at co⯑vering the awkwardneſs he could not avoid feeling under an appearance of rude indifference, ſaid, with an air of uncon⯑cern, O you can eaſily have a couple of chairs if you will go, and walked away to order them.

I ſuppoſe he was glad of an opportu⯑nity of leaving us; for to my great joy inſtead of returning himſelf he ſent a boxkeeper to inform us that chairs were procured.

Where is my ſon? cried Lady Farn⯑ford. But happily no ſon appeared; and deſiring that her footman might be or⯑dered to ſee us ſafe home, ſhe wiſhed us good night.

When we came to the door, we found Farnford ſtanding with Mr. Roatſley and Captain Bradſhaw. Will you give me leave to ſee you through the crowd? ſaid Farnford to me with the moſt perfect [32] eaſe. I replied only by withdrawing the hand he had ſeized, and by an air (I can⯑not call it a look for I had ſcarce courage to look at him) of averſion and con⯑tempt. He was diſconcerted I believe; but covering it with a ſmile of effrontery, ſtepped back, and inſtantly Mr. Roatſley advancing, offered his ſervices with a po⯑liteneſs and reſpect which gave me the only ſenſation of ſatisfaction I had felt that evening. I curtſeyed in ſilence; and accepting his hand, he conducted me to my chair, after which he left me to per⯑form the ſame office to Fanny.

Fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Hindon were both engaged abroad, ſo that I in⯑ſtantly went to bed; where inſtead of ſleeping I ruminated moſt part of the night on the diſagreeable occurrences of the preceding day.

My reflections were not indeed of the moſt comfortable nature. My dear fa⯑ther's loſs, attended, alas! by a multi⯑tude [33] of circumſtances additionally pain⯑ful and perplexing, have kept my mind for ſome months paſt in a ſtate of unceaſ⯑ing agitation; and the ſuſpence in which we continue at preſent, from the unac⯑countable ſilence of Lady Linroſe to Mr. Howard's letter, conſpires to give me unſpeakable uneaſineſs. My paſt ſuffer⯑ings, as well as preſent anxieties, by weakening my mind and exhauſting my ſpirits, render me doubly ſuſceptible of every ſlight vexation; the probability therefore, nay almoſt certainty, in ſpite of my moſt vigilant precautions, of meet⯑ing frequently with Captain Farnford while I reſide in a family who are upon a footing of intimacy with his, diſtreſſes me prodigiouſly, and I muſt alſo confeſs, although I am ſenſible how abſurd be⯑yond meaſure it is to allow myſelf to be hurt from the caprice of others, that I cannot help regretting the change in Mr. Roatſley's behaviour, becauſe he appears [34] ſo extremely oppoſite from a man who would permit himſelf to be governed by mere whim. My thoughts are conſtantly employed in conjecturing what could poſ⯑ſibly have occaſioned an alteration ſo ap⯑parent. It is however of little importance in itſelf; but it is ſo different from his former behaviour that ſome prejudice muſt have excited him to this conduct; and there is not I believe a more painful ſenſation than that occaſioned by having unjuſtly loſt the good opinion of thoſe we eſteem.

Is it not aſtoniſhing that we hear no⯑thing of Lady Linroſe? We begin to fear the letter cannot have found its way to her Ladyſhip. Adieu!

This moment, Sophia, a card is brought from Lady Linroſe. She is in town, and writes as follows:

Lady Linroſe preſents her compli⯑ments to Mr. Howard, and requeſts he would take the trouble to call in St. James's Square this evening about ſix o'clock, as Lady Linroſe wiſhes to con⯑verſe with him on the ſubject of the let⯑ter ſhe received ſome time ſince.

Oh! Sophia! how infinitely intereſt⯑ing are theſe few lines. The agitation they have given us is unſpeakable. I believe Fanny has read them over fifty times, and examined with eagerneſs and curioſity the formation of every letter. She draws a favourable interpretation from Lady Linroſe being arrived in town, [45] and is ſo extremely ſanguine, that ſhe has infected me with expectations which I can hardly conceive myſelf ſo happy as to find realized.

Adieu till the evening, when you ſhall know the reſult of all this perturbation.

Well, my dear—But I will not antici⯑pate. Mr. Howard, whoſe friendly anxiety equalled if not ſurpaſſed our own, went to St. James's Square, a few mi⯑nutes before ſix, and was uſhered into the drawing room, where her Ladyſhip allowed him to wait a full hour before ſhe made her appearance.

She then entered. He deſcribed her to us (for you may believe we were mi⯑nute in our enquiries) as a woman of a very majeſtic figure, but whoſe addreſs, imperious and diſdainful, freezes the [46] beholder at firſt ſight, and inſpires only diſtance and reſerve.

I had the favour of a letter from you ſome time ago, Sir, ſaid ſhe, but as I imagined the ſubject of which it treated would be better diſcuſſed by an inter⯑view than by writing, I delayed an an⯑ſwer till it was in my power to come to town. You tell me Sir, continued ſhe, that two daughters of the late unfortu⯑nate Lord Linroſe are come over from his retreat in France, under the idea that my Lord Belmont will be induced to countenance and acknowledge them. This, admitting that they really are his children, was ſurely a very ſtrange and unaccountable ſtep. It is indeed extra⯑ordinary to ſuppoſe that his Lordſhip, ſo juſtly irritated againſt their father, whoſe ill conduct, not to ſay crimes, have been the deſtruction of his peace and the ruin of his conſtitution, will be eaſily if ever prevailed with to fa⯑vour [47] with his notice, two girls who are the pledges of family diſhonour, and the offspring of a calamity which has loaded his declining years with affliction. I think it would have been at leaſt prudent in their friends to have adviſed them to ſound my Lord's inten⯑tions before they ventured on a proceed⯑ing ſo raſh as that of leaving the Conti⯑nent without his permiſſion.

Mr. Howard then explained that our journey was in conſequence of the com⯑mands of a gentleman who had been left our guardian, but who on our arri⯑val we found had unfortunately expired a few days before.

I am much ſurpriſed, ſaid ſhe, that any gentleman ſhould take upon him to act in ſuch intricate circumſtances without my Lord Belmont's approbation, who alone was empowered to fix their reſi⯑dence where he pleaſed.

Mr. Benſeley could not be certain, [48] Madam, ſaid Mr. Howard, that my Lord would at all concern himſelf about his grand children, after the unhappy event which had ſo long excluded them from his knowledge: it was therefore natural in him to propoſe what plan he thought moſt conducive to their advantage, de⯑ferring an application to his Lordſhip till the arrival of the young ladies in England; when he doubted not they would ſufficiently plead their own cauſe the moment they were preſented to his ſight.

Indeed the aſſiſtance of natural affec⯑tion, continued Mr. Howard, would have been, I am perſuaded, hardly neceſſary to ſubdue his Lordſhip's feelings on this occaſion; however irritated they might prove, a heart like Lord Belmont's could not have beheld unmoved, two lovely young women, bleſt with every amiable quality of the heart and every inſinuating grace of the form, kneeling [49] at his feet for favour; and I am con⯑vinced when your Ladyſhip has once ſeen them, an inſtantaneous prepoſſeſſion muſt inevitably follow.

His Lordſhip, had he been in Eng⯑land, replied ſhe with coldneſs, would doubtleſs have acted in that caſe as he thought proper. I perceive however, Sir, that you appear much too ſanguine in your expectations. None of Lord Belmont's friends have ever dared for many years to revive the recollection of the unhappy tranſactions relating to the late Lord, by any mention of him or his family; a ſubject which muſt have given an infinite ſhock to a frame ſo ex⯑hauſted and reduced as my Lord's now is; nor is it my own private opinion, founded on a perfect knowledge of the inflexibility of his temper, that he will ever be perſuaded to beſtow his favour or countenance on his unfortunate ſon's children.

[50]My endeavours, however, ſhall not be wanting, Sir, to prevail with him, if poſ⯑ſible, to perform what certainly would be an act of humanity; and as the young ladies are probably anxious to know their deſtiny, ſhall not only write to Lord Belmont to enforce their claims, but ſhall take courage to aſſail him with all the rhetoric in my power. He is at pre⯑ſent at Nice, and his anſwer cannot be long in finding its way hither.

Mr. Howard thanked her Ladyſhip in warm terms for this offer, which in ſome meaſure ſoftened the harſh ſeverity of her preceding diſcourſe, and kindly added a thouſand circumſtances and recommenda⯑tions calculated to animate and encourage the dawning intereſt ſhe began to teſtify in the cauſe.

There is however one thing I muſt premiſe Sir, added ſhe; the young la⯑dies may perhaps be led to expect that I will invite them to my houſe, and give [51] them my notice and protection; but till my Lord's reſolution is known, I muſt be excuſed from venturing on a conduct which I have reaſon to apprehend may meet with his diſapprobation. The hour that brings me his Lordſhip's permiſſion, I ſhall receive my nieces with all the cordiality and ſatisfaction imaginable; till that arrives, I muſt needs ſay that I think the more private they remain, and the leſs they are beheld in public, the better; and I ſhould adviſe their friends to perſuade them into this mea⯑ſure.

Mr. Howard, who by the expreſſion their friends knew was meant only him⯑ſelf, replied—your Ladyſhip cannot ima⯑gine that in this country, where the young ladies arrived ſo lately, they poſ⯑ſeſs many friends; but I hope, as they are perfectly deſerving of thoſe given them by nature, a prejudice, which you muſt allow me to call unjuſt, will not [52] deprive them of one day poſſeſſing their regard. I make no doubt but that till Lord Belmont's anſwer arrives, or till their relations chooſe to introduce them, they will not of themſelves incline either to aſſume the family name, which they have not yet borne, or to appear in the world as his grand children.

In this particular I approve extremely of their prudence and delicacy, anſwered her Ladyſhip, and ſincerely wiſh them the ſucceſs their conduct in this point ſo juſtly merits. Indeed it would be the height of impropriety to let the world into thoſe family ſecrets, till they can with propriety be diſcloſed; and they ought undoubtedly to continue under the name of Seymour till Lord Belmont al⯑lows of the change; and in the interim I ſhall moſt willingly undertake to con⯑vey any letter or packet the young la⯑dies may be inclined to tranſmit to my Lord Belmont.

[53]Well, my dear Sir, cried Fanny, who had watched his return at the window, what ſucceſs?

I am not much pleaſed with the intelli⯑gence your countenance divulges, cried I.

My face is not then to be truſted, ſaid he, for at this moment I ſcarce know whether to be pleaſed or not. Lady Linroſe has diſſatisfied me without giv⯑ing me any juſt grounds for complaint. She expreſſes herſelf in your favour, and aſſures me ſhe will back your claims with all her intereſt, yet her manner, unintereſted and cold, contradicts what her tongue avers, and though rectitude may compel her to be your advocate, generoſity will not, I fear, induce her warmly to become your friend.

He then related minutely and cir⯑cumſtantially all that had paſſed between them. I think, ſaid he, when he had concluded, you ought undoubtedly to addreſs your grand father in your own [54] name, nor truſt to the pen of another a cauſe of ſo much moment. A letter, warm from the heart, and breathing the genuine ſentiments of duty and affection, cannot fail to ſoften and intereſt him.

I agreed perfectly in this opinion, and inſtantly retired to ſet about the taſk. You will perhaps imagine that it would not prove an eaſy one: but I found it attended with no ſort of difficulty. To write forcibly, little more is neceſſary than to be animated thoroughly with your ſubject. In this caſe, a thouſand expreſſions of energy and warmth give a ſtrength and eloquence to your ſtyle not to be attained by an unimpaſſioned wri⯑ter; and as I did not affect what my heart did not feel, my epiſtle was ex⯑tremely ſimple, though my tears, by blotting ſeveral, obliged me to write more than one copy.

I made Fanny join in the ſignature. It appeared very ſtrange to us to add a name ſo entirely new, nor could I hardly per⯑ſuade myſelf I had any right to claim it.

When the letter was finiſhed, I car⯑ried it down ſtairs in order to ſubmit it to Mr. Howard's peruſal, who was for⯑tunately alone. He was affected with the warmth with which I had expreſſed [59] myſelf: but my words were faint when compared with my feelings while I tranſ⯑mitted them to paper. Melted with the tender idea that I was yet allowed to addreſs myſelf to a ſurviving parent, I effaced the writing with my tears. A tear dropped down the cheek of Mr. Howard while he read. If Lord Bel⯑mont can indeed remain deaf to the voice of nature, ſaid he, when ſhe pleads in ſuch language as this, his heart cannot have been compoſed of thoſe flexible ma⯑terials of which thoſe of other men are formed.

He undertook himſelf to give it this day to Lady Linroſe, that it might ac⯑company her diſpatches for Nice.

Were it not for the uneaſy ſuſpenſe in which we muſt remain till Lord Bel⯑mont's [76] reſolution is known, our reſidence here would not be ſo uncomfortable as I at firſt concluded it would prove. Mr. Hindon is a good natured man, and of a very ſociable diſpoſition. He keeps an hoſpitable table, to which he generally brings home two or three gueſts every day, and theſe he treats with eaſe and benevolence without oſtentation. They are not, to be ſure, men of very bril⯑liant manners, or whoſe ſociety can be deemed extremely deſirable; being uſu⯑ally friends from Change, about his own age; men who have ſpent their lives in the plodding purſuits of gain, to the ac⯑quiſition of which all their talents have been invariably exerted—I had almoſt ſaid exhauſted, for their converſation ſel⯑dom diſplays either knowledge of arts or taſte for attainments that lead not to the great end of becoming rich. They claim, however, the merit of induſtry; and though ſometimes I am confounded [77] with their vulgarity, in men paſſed the middle of life one is leſs ſhocked with that roughneſs which proceeds from plain dealing than with the ſmart and forward attempts made by ſome of the beaux of this line to appear degagè men of the world againſt nature and education.

Mrs. Hindon, though far ſhort of my ſanguine expectations, is a well-meaning woman, and by no means deficient in ſeveral good qualities. Theſe are in⯑deed often obſcured by the want of one which beſtows luſtre on every other, I mean delicacy. She would not willingly inflict a wound, if ſhe was conſcious of its poignancy; but ſhe is totally deſti⯑tute of thoſe feelings which tell when anothers are hurt. Without being ge⯑nerous, ſhe does not fail in point of charity; I mean that branch of the duty that conſiſts in giving alms. She keeps excellent order in her family, piques herſelf upon being an active oeconomiſt, [78] goes ſeldom into public, and is not given to diſſipation. Our hours are early and regular, at leaſt when compared with thoſe which prevail in this country, and our evenings are generally ſpent at home, where now and then an eaſy friend joins the family party.

I have diſcovered one ſtriking fea⯑ture in Mrs. Hindon's character, to which perhaps may be attributed her unbounded civility to us. Yet I own it is unfair to place her kindneſs in a light that de⯑prives it of all its merit. She was her⯑ſelf of very low extraction, and probably for that reaſon has attached an idea of importance to rank and family, which induces her to attend with the moſt ſedu⯑lous regard and reſpect to all who have the ſlighteſt claim to diſtinction. Since our abode here, I have ſuſpected a ſcheme, which repeated obſervation now convinces me is not without foundation. Captain Wilmot, Mrs. Hindon's nephew, [79] in a manner lives in her houſe; and ex⯑cept at the ſeaſons of ſleeping or dreſſing, makes conſtantly one of the family. He is become of late extremely particular in his attentions to Fanny, and conti⯑nually entertains her in a ſort of half whiſper, which gives their converſation the air of a tete à tete. He is good-looking, though extremely vacant and inſipid; but having received the poliſh of a military education, is enabled to hold forth with eaſe and fluency in a complimentary ſtyle to which Fanny has no ſort of averſion. I have been a good deal alarmed, leſt, as ſhe is young and completely inexperienced, les petits ſoins de Monſieur le Capitaine, ſhould prove more ſucceſsful than were to be wiſhed. I have not failed therefore, in talking of him in private, to throw a degree of ridicule upon his behaviour and appear⯑ance, of all weapons the moſt dangerous againſt which a lover can contend, and [80] as Fanny is not extremely ſuſceptible, I think my plan will prove the deſtruction of Mrs. Hindon's; for that ſhe is at the bottom of the Captain's paſſion, and has beſtowed the proper ſupplies of fuel to blow it into a flame, I have no manner of doubt. Indeed her deſire of aggran⯑dizing her family by an alliance with Lord Belmont's, might alone have in⯑duced her to promote a match between Fanny and her nephew; but I make no doubt that beſides this motive, to a young man who is not in affluent circumſtances, Fanny's ten thouſand pounds, added to the expectations which Mrs. Hindon often inſinuates we may juſtly form from our grand father's liberality, would be an addition extremely deſirable. After all, he may be ſincerely enamoured, for Fanny poſſeſſes charms capable of in⯑tereſting more refined ſentiments than I ſuſpect the Captain to poſſeſs; yet I re⯑collect we were ſome time here before he ſeemed to know ſhe was even in the ſame [81] room with him, and his ſolicitude took its riſe all of a ſudden, without any ap⯑parent cauſe for the alteration, after an appearance of the moſt frigid indiffer⯑ence.

My ſuſpicions that the ſcheme was firſt ſuggeſted to him by his aunt, have been confirmed from remarking that Mrs. Hindon takes every opportunity of la⯑viſhing the moſt exaggerated encomiums on her nephew. He is the very beſt young man in the world; given to no vice; always kept himſelf out of the mad frolics of his military companions; and ſo good a ſon, that ſhe made no doubt he would make a figure equally reſpec⯑table in every other department of life.

Beſides, don't you think him extremely handſome, Miſs Fanny? I'm ſure if you had been within hearing of what he ſaid of you laſt night, you muſt have been flattered, though there was not one word of flattery in the caſe. He de⯑clared [82] you was in his opinion—you muſt excuſe me, Miſs Seymour—by far the handſomeſt of the two, and ſo amiable, and ſo elegant, and ſo like a young lady of the firſt quality. However I give you my word, Miſs Seymour, he allows you to be what all the world muſt ac⯑knowledge—compleatly lovely; but Miſs Fanny, he ſays, is an angel, and I think he is fairly caught at laſt.

You ſee, my dear, by this little trait, that Mrs. Hindon, with all her errors, is not in the leaſt artful. Indeed I be⯑lieve this plan no ſooner occurred to her⯑ſelf, than, though without intending it, ſhe contrived to communicate it to me. She is indeed incapable even of a pru⯑dent concealment; and when ſhe ima⯑gines her deſigns (for ſhe has a very active turn of mind) are cunningly hidden from every eye, a ſlight degree of penetration only is required to pierce through the thin diſguiſe. She does not ſpare flat⯑tery [83] you may perceive on this occaſion; and as ſhe knows the influence which two years ſeniority, added to the warmeſt attachment, have given me over Fanny's mind, you ſee I get my ſhare of it, as a perſon whom it is neceſſary to bring over to her intereſt.

I think Mr. Howard has likewiſe made a diſcovery of the ſcheme, which evi⯑dently meets with his diſapprobation; for he always appears chagrined and diſ⯑pleaſed when Wilmot joins us, and re⯑gards him with a ſcrutinizing eye when he whiſpers ſoft nonſenſe into Fanny's ear.

Indeed to a mind like his, ſo fraught with rectitude and good ſenſe, the utter impropriety of ſuch a ſtep muſt appear in full force; and I make no doubt that conſidering himſelf at preſent in the light of our guardian, he holds himſelf re⯑ſponſible to Lord Belmont for our con⯑duct. While under his immediate, his ſole direction, were this affair to involve [84] Fanny in a marriage ſo imprudent, it muſt reflect extremely even on Mr. How⯑ard's character; ſince from his connection with Wilmot, it would undoubtedly ap⯑pear to Lord Belmont as having received his ſecret concurrence and approbation.

Of ſuch a conduct, I am convinced Mr. Howard is incapable, even were he to draw from the event the moſt deſira⯑ble conſequenses to himſelf: but inde⯑pendent of this idea, I am miſtaken if a more forcible motive does not give ad⯑ditional weight to the repugnance with which he beholds Wilmot's aſſiduities.

I believe I once hinted to you, that Mr. Howard, during the infancy of our acquaintance, was extremely particular in his attentions to me. He was ever ſolicitous for my company, and ſought my converſation with eagerneſs and ſe⯑dulity. His behaviour at length alarmed me, and mine plainly told him how un⯑ſucceſsful any application beyond the [85] limits of friendſhip would prove; for though I eſteem, I admire his merits, and there is none of his ſex for whoſe character I have a higher reſpect; though his manners beſpeak his mind, and con⯑vey the mild benevolence of his nature into every look and motion; and though his years would not have been with me a material objection, yet, yet, Sophia, I could not have loved him. You will call me romantic perhaps; but never could Mr. Howard have enjoyed that tender intereſt in my heart which my lover muſt poſſeſs ere he becomes my huſband. My ſentiments partake of thoſe a daughter feels for her parent. They are thoſe of confidence, depend⯑ence, and gratitude; but they are far removed from thoſe ſoft, cordial, and inſinuating ties which make the duties of a wife her firſt happineſs, and enable her almoſt to exiſt but for the man to whom ſhe has given her hand.

[86]When Fanny returned from the con⯑vent, (for it was during her abode there that our acquaintance with Mr. Howard commenced) he was ſtruck with her ap⯑pearance: but he regarded her as a beau⯑tiful child, and was more delighted with her naivetè than her converſation; and though he often entered into chat, he never diſcourſed with her: till our mis⯑fortune in loſing our dear parent, by throwing us entirely under his care, made him feel Fanny's dependence, which at the period of my illneſs reſted ſolely on him, as a peculiar charm that ſeemed to ſoften and affect him.

While we travelled, ſhe leant on him for ſupport in every difficulty or alarm. To him every enquiry was made, and from him every explanation was expected; and there are few men, I believe, in whom the idea of protection, exerted to⯑wards a young and pleaſing object, will not create a tender intereſt, which if it [87] is not love, partakes extremely of the ſame ſentiment.

As for me, my ſpirits oppreſſed and my temper independent, I truſted a little more to myſelf, nor conſulted Mr. How⯑ard but when circumſtances called for counſel and aſſiſtance. To me therefore he ever behaves with reſpect and the moſt flattering regard; but to Fanny, his ad⯑dreſs has ſtill more ſoftneſs; he appears as if he conſidered her peculiarly his charge, and to gratify her in any little wiſh, however whimſical, evidently con⯑fers pleaſure on himſelf.

Yet if my ſuſpicions of his ſecret par⯑tiality are founded on truth, (for I will not pretend to be certain whether my ſurmizes are not partly the chimeras of my own imagination) he is acting on this occaſion like a man of honour, and as I ſhould have expected from his cha⯑racter. His attentions are thoſe which may be felt, but except by myſelf, I am [88] certain never have been remarked; nor has he once betrayed a wiſh to inſinuate himſelf into her good graces. No doubt he is conſcious that a man of moderate fortune cannot be conſidered by Lord Belmont as a match for his grand child; who, if he means to acknowledge her, muſt poſſeſs a variety of advantages, ac⯑cording to the world's opinion, ſufficient to carry a grandfather's views infinitely higher; neither is he inſenſible, I dare ſay, to the inequality of their years.

A girl of ſixteen, with all the thought⯑leſſneſs incident to her time of life, en⯑creaſed perhaps by the retirement of her education, cannot appear to ſober reaſon an elligible choice for a grave, ſedate man of forty three, whoſe proſpects of happineſs have probably been centered in expecting an amiable companion rather than a beloved miſtreſs, in the woman whom he makes the partner of his life. Yet probably thoſe very men, Sophia, [89] may not prove leſs liable than others to be caught by the charms of youth; and when that is the caſe, partiality no doubt perſuades them they have diſcovered the miſtreſs and companion in one, and that they may be able to mould a young and innocent mind as they pleaſe.

I am miſtaken if Mr. Howard's ima⯑gination has not ſometimes ſecretly ſug⯑geſted ſome ſuch ideas; though further than concealed wiſhes, I am confident [...]hey never will proceed.

Fatigued with writing, I laid down my pen to reflect on the tranſactions of a day, which, were I to live a thouſand years, I ſhall ever remember with pain. Oh! Sophia! have I not cauſe to be wounded to the ſoul. The man on earth who appears the moſt amiable in my eyes, has conceived perhaps an equal partiality for me; yet a falſe and inju⯑rious ſuſpicion muſt ſoon, nay muſt al⯑ready, have entirely obliterated and de⯑ſtroyed every favourable prepoſſeſſion, [122] and ſubſtituted in their room the loweſt and moſt contemptuous ſentiments. Have I not indeed cauſe to be hurt in the ten⯑dereſt part. No method can I deviſe for clearing my reputation in Mr. Roatſ⯑ley's opinion. I am under a fatal pro⯑miſe to conceal the whole affair from Mr. Howard, who is the only perſon that could have explained with delicacy and propriety any doubts that were to my diſadvantage, and I have little hopes Roatſley will henceforth feel the ſlighteſt ſolicitude about me, after the flagrant proof he has this day beheld of my defi⯑ciency in that point on which he juſtly reſts an importance ſo material. How can I now flatter myſelf, even ſhould I meet him in public, which is my ſole chance of encountering him, that he will give me an opportunity, by con⯑verſing with him, to teſtify how ſincerely my ſoul abhors the wretch whoſe con⯑duct merits my ſcorn and deteſtation, [123] and that my mind is far, far above thoſe vile and unaccountable ſuſpicions which he has been led, heaven knows how, to entertain againſt me.

But how on earth, my dear, have re⯑ports ſo infamous, ſo inconceivable, been circulated at our expence? who could have any intereſt in propagating them, and who could have been ſo infernally wicked as to invent ſuch injurious falſ⯑hoods, without ſome ſtrong and power⯑ful motive? Is it then poſſible to create ſecret and treacherous enemies, without performing or wiſhing ill to any one? The wretch Brumpton, you may per⯑ceive, is not alone at the bottom of theſe mortifying aſperſions; from various quarters it ſeems they have reached Mr. Roatſley's ears; even from the lips of his mother he ſays, though heaven is my witneſs I ſcarce knew till this moment that ſhe exiſted; and no ſooner, it is pro⯑bable, has ſhe been made acquainted with [124] the ſame fact in regard to us, than a thouſand infamous calumnies have at⯑tended the information. A variety of conjectures crowd upon my mind: but the only particular I can reſt on with any degree of conviction, is, that Mr. How⯑ard muſt not have arrived at a period of life enough advanced to allow with pro⯑priety of two female companions of our age; and this circumſtance, to ſlander⯑ous diſpoſitions, has moſt undoubtedly given riſe to theſe abominable ſuſpicions, yet how tainted with vice muſt that heart be, who from an accident ſo ſimple and natural, could infer and propagate accu⯑ſations ſo ſcandalous. If this is the world, Sophia, ten thouſand times better it had been for us had we never quitted our peaceful ſolitude.

Yeſterday evening, being what Mrs. Hindon calls her aſſembly night, we had a crowd of viſitors, who played at cards or converſed as they were inclined. Moſt [125] of them, however, did not remain long enough for either; but, as if ſatisfied with having teſtified their politeneſs by ſhew⯑ing themſelves, departed a few minutes after they entered.

Mrs. Hindon, who, to do her juſtice, never fails in attention towards my ſiſter and me, introduced to us a number of her friends; but an introduction in Eng⯑land, ſeldom or never, I find, is produc⯑tive of an acquaintance; it ſerves merely as a pretext that may be laid hold of at pleaſure for that purpoſe, but which, if diſinclined, obliges the parties only to the formality of a diſtant curtſey on their next meeting; a ceremony that is often dropped on ſucceeding interviews.

You may conclude I was not a little confuſed on hearing Captain Farnford's name announced among the firſt who ap⯑peared. He walked directly to the ſo⯑pha on which I was ſeated, and very con⯑fidentially began to enter into converſa⯑tion [126] with me upon general topics with the eaſe and familiarity of the moſt per⯑fect intimacy; but though conſtrained to remain in his company, I thought it by no means neceſſary to puniſh myſelf by attending to his diſcourſe, which ſoon overflowed with the moſt bombaſt and abſurd expreſſions of admiration; I there⯑fore turned from him with unfeigned diſguſt, and addreſſing myſelf to ſome ladies with whom I have contracted a tranſient acquaintance, pretended to be engroſſed with what had ſcarce the power of fixing my wandering thoughts. I found eſcaping from him, however, was quite impracticable, for he followed me for ſome time wherever I went with the moſt obtruſive perſeverance, without ſeeming to remark the repugnance I did not attempt to conceal, nor the con⯑temptuous ſilence with which I liſtened to him.

I flatter myſelf my behaviour at length [127] had the deſired effect. He began to look proudly diſpleaſed, and could no longer conceal the painful mortification his va⯑nity ſuffered from the cold neglect I diſ⯑covered to the diſplay of his accompliſh⯑ments. Indeed there is a ſecret ſelf-ap⯑probation and conceit diffuſed over his manner, which, independent of any other conſideration, would have alone rendered him diſagreeable to me; though I could perceive he was by no means regarded in this unfavourable point of view by the reſt of the company; on the contrary, the younger female part of it ſeemed to conſider him as a real fine gentleman, whoſe notice was ſolicited with an eager⯑neſs that ſoothed his pride and ſoftened his mortification.

A ſmall party being invited to ſtay ſupper, I was rejoiced to find that dur⯑ing the latter part of the evening he had changed his plan of operations, and in⯑ſtead of tormenting me with unceaſing [128] perſecution, had transferred his atten⯑tion to a young lady in company, who indeed received it with all the ſatisfaction he could wiſh. He ſeemed to aim at the old attempt of engaging intereſt by ex⯑citing jealouſy; from the idea that the ſex cannot with patience ſubmit to the mortification of being rivalled even in the admiration of thoſe for whom they have no value. Heaven grant his ſcheme may continue for ſome time, or rather that it may laſt for ever.

How buſy, my Sophia, is our preſent way of life, and how various the ſcenes in which we are engaged. I need now no longer repeat, as I uſed ſo frequently to do, when my journal was dated from our quiet retreat in Languedoc, that it is deficient in intereſt and incident.

[129]More events, my beloved friend, but none of a very pleaſing nature.

We have hitherto left the regulation of our finances wholly to Mr. Howard's care; who, more accuſtomed to matters of this kind than it is to be ſuppoſed my ſiſter or I could be, with his uſual good⯑neſs undertook to manage all our buſi⯑neſs of this nature; being in poſſeſſion of a large ſum for preſent uſe, which is not yet exhauſted, and concluding our fortunes ſecure in the funds under the inſpection of Mr. Benſeley's executors, we imagined ourſelves certain of inde⯑pendence.

Mr. Howard has been under ſome ap⯑prehenſions, I believe, about this money ever ſince our arrival here, though he forbore alarming us till the truth could be no longer concealed. The ſum is twenty thouſand pounds; all my father ever poſſeſſed; and for which he ſo⯑lemnly relinquiſhed all further claims or [130] expectations from his father's bounty (a precaution I find which was unneceſſary). This Mr. Benſeley had originally placed in the ſtocks; but a few days previous to his demiſe, ſome change in public credit unfortunately induced him to ſell out at a very great price, no doubt with the intention of laying out the money to more advantage. His death, however, unluckily taking place in the interim, no paper can be found by which the real proprietors of that money are aſcertained. A note alone has been diſcovered, in which Mr. Benſeley acknowledges a debt to my father of four thouſand pounds; and it is but too probable that Fanny and I muſt content ourſelves with this ſmall portion of that affluence of which we always concluded ourſelves ſecure. What is worſe, Mr. Benſeley's affairs are in ſuch embarraſſment and confuſion, that we ſhall not enjoy this little pittance till all is cleared; and as there are a [131] number of creditors, it is likely that even this may be conſiderably reduced.

Mr. Howard ſtrives to perſuade us that things may turn out better, and that it is not impoſſible but ſome lights may yet appear to prove our claims. He has conſulted lawyers on the occaſion, but he confeſſes they are not ſanguine, having given it as their opinion that unleſs wri⯑tings are found which plainly evince our right, a lawſuit would be an expenſive and ineffectual expedient; and it is evi⯑dent, from the friendly chagrin with which he juſt now divulged this diſa⯑greeable intelligence, that he thinks only part of this debt will be recovered. As to our fortune, that is irretrievably gone.

It has been juſtly obſerved, that the pecuniary diſappointments inflicted by Fortune never produce a laſting or pain⯑ful wound except to minds tainted with avarice: if we are enabled to live with decency and independence, though with [132] the ſtricteſt oeconomy, on what ſtill re⯑mains to us, I ſhould bluſh to repine at our loſs, though manifold are the advan⯑tages reſulting from affluence, and grate⯑ful the pleaſure which diſpenſing it pro⯑cures to the heart.

If our grandfather ſhould prove in⯑exorable, Sophia, the proſpect now is not a comfortable one: but I will not allow an unneceſſary anxiety about the future to add one moment's uneaſineſs to my preſent vexations: Lord Belmont never can permit us to remain in abſo⯑lute poverty: at all events, if we are re⯑jected by him, obſcurity muſt be our portion; and then a little—a very little will enable us to ſubſiſt with comfort and decency.

About an hour ago, while I was en⯑gaged writing in my dreſſing room, I was informed by Thereſe that Sir Edward Sudbury was below, and requeſted the honour of ſeeing me if not particularly engaged; and on entering the parlour, I perceived my new acquaintance, who po⯑litely apologized for the liberty he had [152] taken of enquiring after my health; but the ſituation in which I left you laſt night, Madam, ſaid he, gave me ſo much un⯑eaſineſs, that my deſire of making perſo⯑nal enquiries was not to be reſiſted.

I found myſelf at firſt a little embar⯑raſſed; but ſummoned courage to tell him that his viſit required no ſort of apo⯑logy, as I ſhould ever regard myſelf as particularly indebted to him for an ex⯑planation which might not otherwiſe for ſome time have reached my ears. This ſpeech, ſhort as it was, alluded to recol⯑lections which wounded me ſo ſeverely, that my cheeks were dyed with bluſhes; and I heſitated more than once before I came to the concluſion. Sir Edward himſelf ſeemed almoſt in equal confuſion; and his manner appeared ſo modeſt, mild, and reſpectful, that I could ſcarce recog⯑nize him for the man who had joined with his riotous companions in giving me ſuch pain and mortification. But large [153] allowances ought certainly to be made for his behaviour where his freedom was neither ſuſpected to occaſion pain nor ap⯑prehended to be conſidered as an inſult.

Y [...]ſterday evening we accompanied Mrs. Hindon to the Opera, the amuſe⯑ment of all others the moſt ſuited to my taſte; indeed in the ſtate my ſpirits then were, it was the only one for which I could have felt the ſlighteſt reliſh. A faint hope which I had entertained, that chance might carry Roatſley there alſo, conquered my reluctance at going, and ſupported me with courage and ſpirits for the exertion.

The inſtant I was ſeated, I caſt my eyes around the houſe in hopes of ſeeing him, though I well knew the confuſion the ſight of him muſt have given me, but [154] without ſucceſs, for he was no where to be found.

Sunk and diſappointed, I tried to at⯑tend to the muſic; and endeavoured to forget my dejection by participating in the general gaiety that ſat on every coun⯑tenance but mine. My attempts were however fruitleſs. The ſongs, which in private uſed to charm me, now, though improved to the higheſt pitch of perfec⯑tion by the moſt admirable vocal per⯑formers and the moſt excellent accom⯑panyment, could not even fix my wan⯑dering attention; and Mrs. Hindon's re⯑marks, by interrupting a train of ideas that abſorbed me, proved extremely fa⯑tigueing. Her inceſſant talking, poor woman, indeed almoſt exhauſted me, and I felt as a ſevere talk the ſhare I was conſtrained to take in a converſation ſo little intereſting. Oh! how painful it is, Sophia, to cover a heavy heart under the maſk of chearfulneſs.

[155]Melico had at length began one of his moſt melting ſongs; and it accorded ſo well "with my ſoul's ſadneſs" at that moment, that not only my attention was unavoidably engaged, but my inquietude ſoothed and lulled into compoſure. At this moment I accidentally diſcovered the face I had ſo anxiouſly ſought in one of the ſide boxes, not very far diſtant from that part of the pit where I was placed. I felt my face glow and my heart beat with great violence. He did not however obſerve me; but ſtood be⯑hind a young lady, who was indeed un⯑commonly beautiful, and with whom he converſed with infinite eagerneſs and ani⯑mation. I thought I could perceive that their diſcourſe was equally intereſting to both. They ſmiled delighted to each other, at particular paſſages of the ſong that ſeemed to enchant them, and though ſurrounded by ſeveral perſons of both [156] ſexes, appeared wholly engroſſed with each other.

At laſt, however, he looked round; and on diſcovering us bowed with po⯑liteneſs, which inſtantly carried the eyes of the young lady towards our party; and the moment after I ſaw that ſhe was en⯑quiring of him who we were. The ideas which this little circumſtance produced, and my conjectures what anſwer he could give to her interrogatories, added to my pain and confuſion. Soon after I ob⯑ſerved that he had quitted her; and while I was watching with anxiety to find in what part of the houſe he meant to place himſelf, gueſs my perturbation on find⯑ing that he had actually ſeated himſelf on the bench immediately behind me, where there happened to be a ſpare place. His face was overſpread with a deep colour while he paid me his compliments; and there was an air of gravity and penetra⯑tion in his countenance, as if he ſought [157] in mine the refutation or confirmation of his doubts, while this ſuſpicion mortified and wounded me ſo cruelly, that I was apprehenſive of raiſing the ſame commo⯑tion I had done at the play.

He perceived I looked diſturbed; and attributing it to the extreme heat, en⯑quired with ſuch evident ſoftneſs if I was not ill, that the tender and unexpected anxiety he manifeſted on this occaſion gave an inſtant revival to my ſpirits.

He then regretted his bad fortune, he ſaid, in having ſo unluckily miſſed ſeeing us when he had called at Mr. Hindon's both that day and the evening before; this, through the negligence of that gen⯑tleman's ſervants, had never come to our knowledge; and oh! what uneaſineſs would it not have ſpared me to have known that Mr. Roatſley had taken this ſtep towards having his unjuſt ſurmiſes confuted. I aſſured him the favour he had done us had been entirely unknown [158] to Mr. Howard, who undoubtedly would have immediately acknowledged his at⯑tention. He then began to talk of our accidental rencontre in the packet boat, and paid me a number of unmerited com⯑pliments on the compoſure of my be⯑haviour; for although I did not, like my poor Fanny, allow my terrors to diſ⯑tract me, I was very far from deſerving the encomiums he laviſhed on me. Pray my Sophia does not his exaggerations on this occaſion betray— But I ſee you ſmile. I will however be perfectly un⯑reſerved.—Does it not manifeſt ſomething like partiality? and may I not draw this inference from it, that he will be open to conviction. O [...] [...]his I may ſurely be confident; that although to the eye of a man ſo penetrating, ſo intelligent as Roatſ⯑ley, many errors and defects in my man⯑ner and converſation muſt be apparent, new as I am to the world and ignorant of its forms and etiquettes, yet no real im⯑propriety, [159] nothing below the dignity of the female character, can poſſibly be diſ⯑covered by a candid and well diſpoſed mind; and this little pride, my dear, en⯑abled me, after my firſt flutters were over, to acquit myſelf during the remain⯑der of the evening with tolerable eaſe. Supported by conſcious rectitude, I de⯑termined not to yield to the baſhfulneſs and conſtraint which were ſtealing upon me; but in juſtice to my own character to ſhew myſelf to him ſuch as I really was, and leave him to repent and bluſh for the injury he had done me.

He often recurred to the accident that had produced our acquaintance, and called it the moſt fortunate of his life The moſt fortunate of your life, cried Fanny, who is extremely literal: that is ſtrange indeed. Sure there can be no ſort of pleaſure in being frightened out of one's wits, and very near being drowned into [160] the bargain? for my own part I never reflect on it without horror.

This return to his compliment, ut⯑tered with ſuch naivité, made him ſmile. Nay, ſaid ſhe, the ſtorm was ſo violent that I think the moſt courageous of men needed not have bluſhed to have owned themſelves terrified.

Had I been in danger of loſing my cou⯑rage on that occaſion, ſaid he, Miſs Sey⯑mour would have taught me my duty.

Mr. Howard at this moment joined us. Mr. Roatſley and he ſeemed mutu⯑ally pleaſed at meeting; and ſoon after the latter whiſpered that Lady Linroſe was in the houſe, and pointed her out to us in the box which Roatſley had juſt quitted.

Our curioſity to ſee her was inexpreſ⯑ſible: ſhe ſeems under fifty, and poſſeſſes an air of majeſtic dignity in her appear⯑ance, blended however with a cold ſe⯑verity of aſpect that deſtroys the admira⯑tion [161] her figure excites, and renders her countenance harſh and unamiable. It is indeed wholly devoid of that affability of expreſſion which denotes a diſpoſition to be pleaſed, and which ever confers pleaſure on the beholder. The inſtant I had ſtudied her features, I could not perſuade myſelf I ſhould ever recognize either the kind relation or tender friend in Lady Linroſe.

From having obſerved Mr. Roatſley of her party, I naturally conjectured he muſt be of her acquaintance, and began to flatter myſelf that through this unex⯑pected channel of intelligence I might be able to learn ſome particulars relating to a family, with whom, in ſpite of our preſent prepoſſeſſions, we may one day become as intimately connected by af⯑fection as we are at preſent from conſan⯑guinity. I therefore demanded if he was acquainted with that lady in black, point⯑ing [162] to the part of the houſe where ſhe was placed.

What lady pray? ſaid he.

That lady, cried Fanny: ſhe who ſits to the right in the box you were juſt now ſeated in. Don't you think ſhe is the moſt ſevere, diſagreeable-looking woman you ever beheld.

What lady do you talk of? repeated he, aſtoniſhed no doubt at Fanny's in⯑conſiderate warmth of expreſſion.

Lady Linroſe, returned ſhe. You have been of her party all this time. Sure you muſt know her?

As Mr. Roatſley was ſilent, and did not ſeem inclined to give the ſlighteſt en⯑couragement to Fanny's thoughtleſs im⯑prudence, who, unacquainted with the etiquette of ſociety, perpetually diſre⯑gards the little artifices which common politeneſs demands, and never once con⯑ſidered that Lady Linroſe might be, for any thing ſhe knew, one of the moſt inti⯑mate [163] of his friends, I endeavoured to check her from proceeding farther, but in vain. Lord, continued ſhe, inatten⯑tive to the coldneſs with which he liſtened to her remarks, don't you think ſhe looks croſs and ill-natured? I have not once obſerved her ſmile or look pleaſed all the while I have been watching her countenance: beſides Hermione, turning to me, is it not very ſtrange for a widow to make a public appearance ſo early. I thought nobody had done ſo in Eng⯑land till at leaſt ſix months after their huſband's deceaſe; did not Mrs. Hindon ſay ſo the other evening, when we were on this ſubject? Oh! but I had forgot that they did not live together, and my Lord was ſo ill-humoured, I ſuppoſe, her Ladyſhip conſidered him as no great loſs, though I think ſhe might have ſhewn a little more regard to his me⯑mory though only for the ſake of decency.

I tried by a look to ſtop her volubility: [164] though in fact my own ſentiments of her Ladyſhip's conduct in this laſt inſtance were ſimilar to my ſiſter's. Her prudence has not impreſſed us, you may believe, with the moſt favourable opinion of her heart; and this procedure, which I am told is unuſual, was not calculated, for improving it.

Mr. Roatſley's gravity deterred me, however, from avowing my ſecret thoughts. Pray, ſaid he to Fanny, after a ſhort pauſe, with a half ſmile—has Lady Linroſe the honour of your ac⯑quaintance?

Oh! Lord! no, cried ſhe, without conſidering how unaccountable this vio⯑lent prepoſſeſſion againſt an utter ſtranger muſt appear, I never beheld her in my life till this moment.

Then how, pray, has ſhe been ſo un⯑lucky as to fall under your diſpleaſure.

My diſpleaſure! cried ſhe, embar⯑raſſed; oh not at all. I merely diſlike [165] her appearance. She looks ſulky and proud, and I hate thoſe ſort of people.

She is very unfortunate indeed, re⯑turned he. I then contrived to put a period to the ſubject by calling Fanny's attention to another object; for I dreaded the ſuſpicion and curioſity her ſimplicity might excite in Mr. Roatſley, who ſeemed both amuſed and aſtoniſhed at her converſation.

Not for a moment during the remain⯑der of the evening did he leave us; and by the vivacity of his diſcourſe, and the amiable gentleneſs of his manner, he in⯑ſenſibly reſtored my tranquillity, diſſipated my confuſion, and inſpired me with a flow of ſpirits almoſt equal to what ap⯑pears natural to himſelf.

When all was concluded, he attended us to Mrs. Hindon's carriage; and re⯑queſted leave, in polite terms, to indem⯑nify himſelf, he ſaid, for his late diſap⯑pointment by waiting on us again.

[166]I have not ſpent an evening ſo agree⯑ably ſince that we paſſed at Dover. In⯑deed I even give laſt night greatly the preference, it having all the advantages of a moſt painful contraſt to enhance its value. My ſufferings in the early part of the evening conferred a double reliſh on the ſatisfaction of the ſucceeding.

I feel myſelf now relieved from a load of uneaſineſs which I ſupported with much anxiety; for I am convinced from Roatſley's behaviour laſt night, nay from the very expreſſion of his countenance, that we are completely juſtified in his opinion, at leaſt with regard to the vile aſperſions ſo cruelly circulated againſt us.

Sir Edward Sudbury, who did not obſerve us till near the concluſion of the laſt dance, joined us before we left the houſe, and requeſted me to introduce him to Mrs. Hindon; which, as I wiſhed that lady to remain ignorant of the cir⯑cumſtances of our acquaintance, was ra⯑ther [167] diſagreeable to me; however I had no choice, and fortunately contrived to evade her enquiries by informing her of my own accord that I had been in com⯑pany with him at Mrs. Weldon's.

We are beginning to grow extremely impatient for diſpatches from Nice. Mr. Howard tells us that by courſe of poſt we ought to have received letters before this time; and ſurely on this ſub⯑ject little time for conſideration is re⯑quired. Why then does Lord Belmont retain us in ſuſpence.

Mrs. Hindon being rather indiſpoſed to-day, ſhe kept her room all the morn⯑ing, and taking my work, I went to ſit with her, Fanny having gone to call upon Lady Farnford, whoſe repeated ci⯑vilities [168] demanded or rather extort ſome return on our part.

Mrs. Hindon was very preſſing with me to accompany her; but you may be⯑lieve her entreaties had no ſort of effect: as the ſight of Captain Farnford was abſolutely diſagreeable to me, it would be ſtrange indeed, I ſaid, if I threw my⯑ſelf in his way when it was in my power ſo eaſily to avoid it.

This viſit naturally led the ſubject to that family, upon which Mrs. Hindon began to laviſh a thouſand encomiums. Lady Farnford is her relation; and there has ever ſubſiſted between them from in⯑fancy a very intimate friendſhip. They are extremely oppoſite in point of ap⯑pearance; Lady Farnford being a little lean figure, with a very cold and dry ad⯑dreſs; but they are both equally prying and inquiſitive, which is I ſuppoſe their chief bond of union, though Lady Farn⯑ford does not talk ſo much in a week as her friend does in one day.

[169]Captain Farnford, Mrs. Hindon ſaid, had always been reckoned a young man of very ſhining parts, and his figure and addreſs were ſingularly elegant. He was a little wild to be ſure; but what of that? few young ladies regarded that error as a material fault at his time of life, and in him it ſeemed more the effects of life and gaiety than of any inclination to vice. Some people, it was true, thought him a little extravagant; but this was the foi⯑ble of a generous mind. For her part, to ſee a young man too near, was of all things what moſt diſguſted her; beſides, continued ſhe, as he is not yet burthened with a wife and family, no doubt he has not turned his mind towards oecono⯑my; but when he is once fairly ſettled, I'll anſwer for it it will be the ſtudy of his life in all reſpects to render the wo⯑man of his choice compleatly happy.

I began now to ſuſpect to what all this tended. I tried, however, to ward off [170] an explanation, by coldly acquieſcing in her ſentiments as a perſon unintereſted in the cauſe; but my plan would not ſuc⯑ceed.

I am glad you think ſo, Miſs Sey⯑mour, cried ſhe, for indeed, to tell you the real truth of the matter, the poor Captain is quite in deſpair at your diſtant and frigid manner towards him; and my Lady, whoſe heart is wrapt up in her ſon's happineſs, and who herſelf admires you above all women, deſires nothing on earth ſo fervently as that he may render himſelf acceptable to you. Many a good match has been propoſed to Captain Farnford, I aſſure you; but till he ſaw you he hated the very idea of matrimo⯑ny, to which now he annexes every hope of happineſs.

I am extremely ſorry Madam, an⯑ſwered I, to receive this information. I flattered myſelf my behaviour had ſuffi⯑ciently explained to Captain Farnford that [171] my ſentiments were fixed and immovea⯑ble on this head, and I imagined, if he ſtill deceived himſelf, you was able to have convinced him how little ſucceſsful this application could ever be. If how⯑ever you Madam have been commiſſioned to talk with me on the ſubject, I entreat you will no longer delay acquainting him at once from me, that there is not the ſlighteſt chance—there is not even a poſ⯑ſibility of my altering my reſolution. I hope you will excuſe me when I acknow⯑ledge, added I, that there is hardly any propoſal could be made to me at which I ſhould feel a more invincible repug⯑nance, and I earneſtly beg you will men⯑tion a ſubject no more which is diſagree⯑able to me even to think of.

Poh, poh, Miſs Seymour; upon my word you are abſolutely cruel. However I aſſure you I won't carry this meſſage, which I know would be a death warrant to the Captain's hopes. I have known [172] many a young lady change her mind after declaring herſelf ten times more violently determined than you are, and I hope to ſee you alter your reſolution one day in his favour. Indeed if you perſiſt in pre⯑cluding him from all chance of ſeeing you, how can the young man find op⯑portunity to plead his cauſe. I really think I muſt aſſiſt him. I aſſure you he importunes me inceſſantly for only ten minutes converſation with you, as if it was more than life to him, and though your heart is hardened, mine is quite melted at his ſufferings.

If ten minutes converſation would rid me of his ſolicitations for ever, ſaid I, I would certainly puniſh myſelf ſo far as to give him that ſatisfaction; but as I have reaſon to imagine it would rather feed than extinguiſh his hopes, I think it would be as unfair to him as painful to myſelf.

Nay but till you bid him deſpair your⯑ſelf, [173] you may be convinced what I ſay will have little effect; and I hope when you ſee ſo fine a young man at your feet, you will find yourſelf ſoftened in his fa⯑vour in ſpite of your preſent oppoſition.

I aſſured her again and again that my diſlike and prepoſſeſſion againſt him were inſurmountable; but ſhe went on with⯑out the ſlighteſt regard to all I ſaid, re⯑peating time when we met, I ſhould not be able to adhere to my inflexibility.

The return of Fanny relieved me from this fatiguing converſation. Lady Farn⯑ford had loaded her with civilities, and almoſt forced her to promiſe to go back to dinner: Miſs Farnford, on her part, was equally kind, and indeed ſeems re⯑ſolved to become Fanny's intimate friend, without any ſort of interchange of affec⯑tions between them; taking every op⯑portunity of getting her aſide; and quite unſolicited, with the communicative im⯑prudence of a boarding ſchool girl, mak⯑ing [174] her the confidant of a thouſand little trifling love affairs, or, as ſhe terms them, flirtations. The equality of their ages, and the flattery which Miſs Farn⯑ford ſo laviſhly employs to gain Fanny's confidence, have cemented a ſort of inti⯑macy between them, though they are too diſſimilar in diſpoſition even to receive any real gratification from the ſociety of each other.

In the evening Mrs. Hindon being almoſt well, and able to walk into the drawing room, one or two of her female friends came in, and were prevailed with to remain to make up a party at whiſt. Fanny having got half through a favou⯑rite novel, took this opportunity of ſlip⯑ping up ſtairs to finiſh it; and as I was opening my work box to take out my netting, Mr. Howard drew me aſide from the company. I have got ſome⯑thing to ſay to you, Miſs Seymour, ſaid he, and placed himſelf by me on the ſopha.

[175]You muſt know, proceeded he, that your acquaintance Mr. Roatſley, (I co⯑loured at the name) told me laſt night at the opera that if I was at leiſure this morning he would call about twelve, as he wiſhed extremely to have a few mi⯑nutes converſation with me in private, and this day he kept his appointment.

Oh Sophia! how your Hermione's heart beat at this information, Mr. Howard too looked earneſt and grave. The lights however were at ſome diſtance, and I hope my confuſion was unobſerved.

Mr. Roatſley, continued Mr. How⯑ard, with the politeneſs natural to him apologized with ſome little embarraſſ⯑ment for the liberty he ſaid he was about to take.

Do you think, Sophia, that I was not embarraſſed at this preamble. Indeed I dare not acknowledge even to myſelf what abſurd notions were at that inſtant crouding into my thoughts.

[176]Mr. Howard went on. He then ex⯑plained to me, ſaid he, a very intricate ſeries of iniquity, with which I would not ſhock your ears, did I not conceive it as abſolutely neceſſary to put you on your guard.

Good heavens, cried I, what are you going to tell me?

You have no reaſon thank God, an⯑ſwered he, to ſuffer now any apprehen⯑ſions, as the danger is at an end; but I cannot call to mind that my own impru⯑dence was the original cauſe of the inju⯑rious reports, without the utmoſt ſelf-re⯑proach. I think no man can be more ſenſible than myſelf of the value and im⯑portance of my charge, yet I own I com⯑mitted the moſt unpardonable overſight in allowing you and your ſiſter to remain for a week under the roof of a woman of whoſe character I was not perfectly in⯑formed.

Her appearance indeed was ſo plauſi⯑ble, and your ſtay to be ſo ſhort, that I [177] took it on truſt, nor once harboured a ſuſpicion of her being what ſhe has proved—one of the moſt abandoned and profligate of her ſex: a wretch entirely diveſted of honour and conſcience, who has had the audacity and wickedneſs to traffic with your reputation, and who perceiving you had kindled the preſump⯑tuous wiſhes of a libertine, dared to re⯑preſent you to him in the moſt doubtful, nay in the moſt infamous light, in order, by flattering his licentious hopes, to reap the lucrative fruits of his folly and pro⯑digality.

Oh! my dear Sir, interrupted I in a tone of impatient vexation, let us return to ſolitude and obſcurity, where, though liſtleſneſs may intrude and languor invade our quiet, danger and mortification never can moleſt us. How unjuſt have I not been to the cautious experience of my dear father, in ſometimes ſuſpecting he had repreſented the world and its falla⯑cious [178] charms through that medium with which calamity and diſappointment ever inveſt the face of nature. I am now fa⯑tally convinced that the pleaſures of ſo⯑ciety fade and diſappear when oppoſed to the ſnares, anxieties, and diſguſts, which ſour and taint all its enjoyments.

You are too young, and much too amiable, returned Mr. Howard, ſmiling at my impetuoſity, to become a cynic ſo early upon thoſe whom nature has formed to adorn ſociety as well as to improve it. The world has powerful claims; and Miſs Seymour muſt not talk of diſguſt becauſe a temporary mortification ob⯑ſcures for a moment the many rational enjoyments which it offers to every well-regulated mind. But you muſt allow me to go on with my ſtory.

Mr. Roatſley, after expreſſing himſelf in the warmeſt and moſt reſpectful terms of both the amiable ſiſters, confeſſed that he had been infinitely ſhocked and aſto⯑niſhed [179] to learn, immediately almoſt on his arrival in town, that they were re⯑garded in a very injurious light by his friend Captain Bradſhaw, who from re⯑ſiding under the ſame roof had apparently acceſs to proper information, and had received his from the woman of the houſe.

Mr. Roatſley confidently aſſerted the falſhood of theſe defamatory ſuſpicions, and requeſted his friend to be more par⯑ticular in his enquiries, and to talk again with the landlady, who when interrogated ſtill continued to inſinuate that you were not altogether what you appeared. Mr. Roatſley however was not ſo weak as to allow his judgment to be biaſſed by this report, nor was he lead for a moment to do you injuſtice, although he found that rumours to your diſadvantage were preſſed on him from more quarters than one; all originating no doubt from the ſame ſource; till one evening at the play, when he confeſſed—

[180]Oh! repeat it not to me, dear Sir, cried I; I know too well that it was quite natural for him to think me light, thought⯑leſs, and imprudent, when he beheld me at Drury lane attended by the wretch, whom I then found out to be Captain Farnford, and to all appearance volunta⯑rily receiving his attentions: an accident which my indiſpoſition alone occaſioned; for you may believe no inducement on earth, had I been in a ſituation to have repulſed him, ſhould have forced me to have granted him the ſhadow of my no⯑tice.

Well, Miſs Seymour, thoughtleſs and imprudent I really believe he might con⯑clude you to be, nor could he poſſibly think otherwiſe, ignorant as he was of the circumſtances that produced Farnford's attendance, and conſcious of the juſt cauſe he had given you for repugnance and diſdain. He ſaw you together in the fame party, and it ſeems ſupported by him [181] when you left the box. He could not but imagine you had permitted all this, and of courſe muſt have ſuppoſed your reſentment neither ſo laſting nor ſo ſevere as in ſtrict delicacy he thought it ought to have been. Yet Mr. Roatſley ſolemnly ſwore, that to the diſadvantage of your reputation a doubt or ſuſpicion never once found place in his breaſt; and tho' wholly ignorant myſelf of the circum⯑ſtances of the fact, I eaſily convinced him that in a point of delicacy Miſs Sey⯑mour could not poſſibly be found in the ſlighteſt degree deficient.

That intereſt, however, which youth and beauty ſeldom fail to excite in the heart of a young man, (a ſentiment, added he with a half ſmile, which Mr. Roatſley ſeems formed to feel with en⯑thuſiaſtic force) made him undergo no little diſappointment I conjecture in per⯑ceiving you had ſo ill anſwered the expec⯑tation to which your acquaintance, inte⯑reſting [182] tho' ſhort, had given birth; for he confeſſed that he had been indefati⯑gable in his enquiries about you, tho' very fruitleſs you may believe they muſt have proved; and tho' I underſtood the hint in this avowal; I did not think myſelf at liberty to ſatisfy his curioſity, and there⯑fore let it paſs unnoticed.

He owns, however, that theſe unjuſt ſurmizes received ſome degree of credi⯑bility from meeting you a few days after, accompanied by this ſame audacious young man, who put you into a chair, unattended by your ſervant, at the door of your former lodgings; but this part of his information I perſiſted in averring was impoſſible, and that he muſt have miſtaken ſome other perſon for you.

Oh it was me indeed, cried I, and the rencontre you may be certain gave me equal pain and terror: nor ſhould I have concealed it for a moment, had not the wretch extorted a promiſe which fear [183] alone perſuaded me to grant him never to divulge it to you.

Good heaven! how did the ſcoundrel contrive to meet with you?

Through the connivance of that wicked woman, ſaid I. But as my pro⯑miſe, tho' conſtrained, remains ſtill in force, except as to that part of it which chance has informed you, I am not at liberty to give you the particulars, nei⯑ther are they at all neceſſary; ſince I hope in God, as the wretch is quite undeceived in regard to my character, I have nothing now to alarm me except the perſecution of ſolicitation, which I hope by ſedu⯑louſly avoiding him to eſcape.

Mr. Howard's mild countenance red⯑dened with indignation at this account, which quickly infuſed an apprehenſion into my mind, that under the character of our guardian he might think it neceſ⯑ſary to reſent my affronts. The inſtant this idea ſtruck me, I ſoftened as much [184] as poſſible what I had juſt been acknow⯑ledging, and aſſured him that during our laſt interview Farnford had appeared ſo much piqued and offended at my uncon⯑querable reſerve, that I had reaſon to flat⯑ter myſelf I ſhould be tormented by him no more; and added, that when I was entirely in his power, all he had aſked was forgiveneſs, and permiſſion to viſit me, having repeatedly ſworn that an in⯑jurious ſuſpicion of my character had alone given riſe to a conduct which he now ſincerely abjured, and of which he heartily repented.

Let him then teſtify his concern and regret as he ought, by avoiding your pre⯑ſence, ſaid Mr. Howard. Had I known the other day that I was at the ſame table with the man who had dared ſubject you to inſult, I ſhould moſt aſſuredly—

Then thank heaven you did not, inter⯑rupted I. Indeed the leſs this affair is mentioned or remembered the better; [185] and before you leave me I inſiſt on your promiſe never even to hint to Captain Farnford your knowledge of theſe parti⯑culars. I aſk it as a favour, the grant of which is eſſential to my peace. You need not, I am ſure, be told how deli⯑cate an interference of this kind muſt prove, where my fame and my repoſe are ſo deeply intereſted. Let me beſeech you therefore to give me your word ne⯑ver to take notice to Captain Farnford of what you have been informed.

I need not at leaſt be told, ſaid he with gravity, that the title by which I ſhould in that caſe act might be juſtly called in queſtion; but as I have the happineſs at preſent of conſidering you as being under my particular protection, tho' I hope that you will ſoon experience a parent's care, you muſt not inſiſt on binding me from acting as circumſtances may in fu⯑ture require. I agree ſo entirely in your ſentiments however, as to the delicacy [186] of this matter, that you may reſt aſſured while the wretch moleſts you no more I ſhall not interfere, though I ſhould have the moſt perfect ſatisfaction in chaſ⯑tiſing him for his impudence.

But I have not done with my diſagree⯑able explanation, Miſs Seymour, conti⯑nued Mr. Howard, and your acute ſen⯑ſibility almoſt intimidates me from con⯑feſſing all to you, ſince I am afraid what I am going to add muſt wound in a ſtill more vulnerable part; for I am well aware that to a youthful and enthuſiaſtic heart, no blow is ſo painful, no pang is ſo ſevere, as to be told it has beſtowed its affections unworthily.

Theſe words threw me into a ſtate of confuſed conſternation not to be deſcribed, and dyed my cheeks with bluſhes: for indeed my imagination hurried me in an inſtant into a thouſand wild conjectures; the truth however after a moment ruſhed upon my mind. You need not fear to [187] alarm me as to this part of your infor⯑mation, cried I, for it is no ſecret to me; and the ſhock, tho' at firſt extremely diſ⯑treſſing, received its cure in the reſent⯑ment and indignation which treatment ſo abominable excited. It is of Mrs. Wel⯑don I perceive you are going to ſpeak; but tho' I am in part acquainted with the artifice and duplicity of her character, a myſtery ſurrounds her ſituation through which I have not been able to penetrate. I then briefly related the alarming ſitua⯑tion into which that horrid woman had ſo artfully drawn me, and the fortunate circumſtances that had relieved me from my danger. Mr. Howard was loſt in aſtoniſhment at my recital, and ſhuddered on reflecting how critical the ſnare might have proved in which this infamous wo⯑man had ſo inhumanly entrapped me.

Mr. Roatſley, ſaid he, has let me into the particulars of her hiſtory, which are well known, and have made no ſmall [186] [...] [187] [...] [188] noiſe; tho' from her change of name I never could have ſuſpected that Mrs. Weldon was the famous Mrs. Brereton, whoſe imprudence has long been no ſecret to the world.

Good heavens! cried I, how then could ſuch a woman find admittance to the a⯑bode of Madame de Clarence. Has ſhe too been deceived by her artifices?

I believe it is not unknown to you, re⯑turned he, that among the number of Monſieur de Clarence's good qualities, thoſe of attachment to his amiable lady, and a proper diſcharge of domeſtic du⯑ties, are not to be enumerated. Mrs. Weldon appeared at the chateau as his friend, nor did Madame ſuſpect that un⯑der that ſpecious character, ſhe had har⯑boured her moſt invidious enemy; till about the time of your departure from Languedoc, or immediately after it.

Mr. Howard then informed me more particularly of this profligate woman's [189] real hiſtory. She was, it ſeems, origi⯑nally a girl of low birth, whoſe name was Ware, and whoſe uncommon beauty induced Colonel Brereton, at the age of ſixty five, to pay his addreſſes to her, having become violently enamoured from accidentally meeting with her at an aſ⯑ſembly while his regiment was quartered at York. This gentleman, though of a very limited underſtanding, as may be concluded from his conduct on this im⯑prudent occaſion, poſſeſſed an affluent fortune, and was nearly related to Lord Belmont. His lady's taſte for gallantry became ſoon ſuſpected, and at laſt grew ſo notorious, that finding herſelf gradu⯑ally deſerted by that brilliant circle to which her marriage had introduced her, and to charm and embelliſh which ſhe poſſeſſed ſo powerfully every talent, ſhe perſuaded her huſband, ever blind to his diſhonour and infatuated by her inſinua⯑ting addreſs, to carry her over to France, [190] where her amours, though well known, were leſs prejudicial to her gay career, becauſe unproductive of the world's con⯑tempt, at leaſt the faſhionable part of it, and unattended by its deſertion.

Her huſband, dying about a twelve-month after, bequeathed her his whole fortune, the greateſt part of which had already fallen a ſacrifice to her unbounded extravagance. Mr. Brereton's natural heir, however, at preſent diſputes at law the portion of it that remains, alledging that from ſome private entail he was not empowered to diſpoſe of it at pleaſure; and it is thought the lady will be legally deprived of an inheritance which ſhe ſo little deſerves, and which ſhe gained merely by the effects of her artful ma⯑nagement, and the powerful influence ſhe poſſeſſed over her ſuperannuated huſband.

After Mr. Brereton's death, his wife's conduct became ſo flagrant as to force thoſe who had been hitherto willingly [191] blind to her infamy no longer to ſhut their eyes, and as a proper regard to the rules of propriety is a tax which virtue never more rigorouſly exacts from vice than where her genuine and intrinſic va⯑lue is leaſt admitted, ſhe ſoon found her ſtay in France could not enable her to continue in that brilliant ſociety where ſhe had been accuſtomed to ſhine with ſuch eclat. At this period, her ac⯑quaintance with Monſieur de Clarence commenced while he ſpent ſome time at the city of M— for the recovery of his health, whither his lady had not accom⯑panied him.

He ſoon became enſlaved by the charms of Mrs. Brereton, and weakly conſented to her requeſt of being invited to the reſidence of his lady at the Chateau de Clarence, on the footing of a friend recommended to his peculiar care by her deceaſed huſband. Madame de Cla⯑rence was eaſily deceived; and without [192] difficulty conſented to entreat the favour of a viſit from his agreeable Engliſh ac⯑quaintance, who on her part regarding it as an ingenious ſtroke of policy to re⯑gain in ſome meaſure the good opinion of the world, to whom ſhe might boaſt being ſtill admitted into an intimacy ſo reſpectable, complied with eagerneſs and ſatisfaction. The company of the Che⯑valier de Mertane ſoon, however, inter⯑rupted the harmony which ſubſiſted be⯑tween Monſieur de Clarence and Mrs. Weldon, (for ſuch was the name ſhe now choſe to aſſume, probably from an ap⯑prehenſion that the imprudence of Mrs. Brereton might not be wholly unknown even to Madame de Clarence, whilſt un⯑der a borrowed name ſhe might be eaſily impoſed on.) The youth and weakneſs of the Chevalier almoſt inſtantly ſug⯑geſted to that abandoned woman the hopes of repairing her injured reputation and her exhauſted finances, by an union, [193] the rank and opulence of which offered both to her vanity and profuſion the moſt ample gratification.

This explanation fully accounts for the mortification and diſpleaſure, too painful for concealment, which ſhe ſo evidently diſcovered on perceiving the Chevalier's partiality for me. He was not however proof againſt her powers of faſcination; and after my determined rejection, accepted with great cordiality the conſolation which Mrs. Weldon's kindneſs afforded. He was indeed almoſt involved in this perilous ſnare, when the fortunate jealouſy of Monſieur de Cla⯑rence happily relieved him from his dan⯑ger. That gentleman, influenced either by pique or principle, or perhaps by both, ſuddenly informed the Chevalier's father of the ſon's matrimonial intentions, as alſo with ſome particulars relating to the lady's character, which induced the old gentleman to appear unexpectedly [194] one morning at the chateau, from whence he carried off the Chevalier without al⯑lowing him the ceremonial of a private farewell conference with his miſtreſs.

From more circumſtances than one both Mr. Howard and I perceived that this affair muſt have been in agitation during the time of our abode in the fa⯑mily; for the poor Chevalier's depar⯑ture ſucceeded ours but a few days, and it ſeems a thorough reconciliation having immediately taken place between Mrs. Weldon and Monſieur de Clarence, their mutual imprudence ſoon infuſed ſuſpi⯑cions into Madame which induced her to inſiſt upon that lady's inſtant diſmiſ⯑ſion. To this demand the huſband, unwilling to come to an open rupture with Madame, whoſe family and con⯑nections demand peculiar reſpect, con⯑ſented; and Mrs. Weldon's lawſuit re⯑quiring her preſence in England, ſhe ſet off directly for this country.

[195]I was actually frozen with horror on learning this account. Good heavens! exclaimed I, does ſuch a character of vice and duplicity exiſt, and can it belong to woman?

Oh! Miſs Seymour, returned Mr. Howard, a mind like yours, delicate and pure, bleſſed with conſcious innocence and fortified with intuitive integrity, can form no ideas adequate to that degrada⯑tion to which licentiouſneſs and profligacy often reduce the female mind; but to dwell no longer on a theme ſo melan⯑choly, I muſt inform you, that after having related theſe particulars, which Mr. Roatſley had received from a friend lately arrived from the Continent, and intimately acquainted with the parties concerned, he confeſſed how inexpreſſibly confounded and aſtoniſhed he had been on perceiving you the morning before laſt ſtanding at the window of a houſe which he had been told was occupied by [196] his unworthy relation; and ſtill more was he ſhocked, when at a ſecond glance, he recollected Mrs. Brereton herſelf, whoſe features he inſtantly recognized, though it is many years ſince he beheld her. Scarcely could he credit his ſenſes. Yet ſo ſtrongly did the dignity and innocence of your countenance contradict this con⯑firmation of your levity, that inſtead of convincing it awakened him from his error. Imprudent he might believe you, but infamous it was impoſſible he could for an inſtant ſuſpect you to be; and upon revolving the circumſtances in his mind, it inſtantaneouſly ſtruck him that the daring Farnford muſt have bribed that infamous woman to entrap you to her houſe. This idea no ſooner occurred, than a thouſand circumſtances ſeemed to enforce its conviction. Farnford's cha⯑racter, which though unſtained by actual villany, is looſe and unprincipled, aſſured him he would not be ſcrupulous in ef⯑fecting [197] his ends by whatever means in his power. He knew beſides that the woman was in his pay, and to lay him under further contributions, ſhe might be induced to miſrepreſent your beha⯑viour, conſcious that the knowledge of your being a woman of rank and charac⯑ter muſt have checked his hopes and re⯑ſtrained his liberality to herſelf. Mr. Roatſley began to ſuſpect that your ac⯑quaintance with Mrs. Weldon might have originated alſo from ſome ſuch ma⯑chinations, and he inſtantly determined to acquaint me with his ſuſpicions; and having enquired at our old lodgings for our preſent reſidence with the eagerneſs of a man of honour anxious to ſecure virtue and innocence from deſtruction, he haſtened to this houſe without loſs of time; for me only he enquired, for to me only could ſo delicate an explanation be made, but I was unluckily from home. Next morning he repeated his viſit, but [198] being engaged in buſineſs, he was denied admittance. On his return home, how⯑ever, he encountered a gentleman with whom he is particularly intimate, and who in the confidence of friendſhip con⯑feſſed to him how amazed he had been to meet with a young lady not only of the moſt elegant but of the moſt innocent and amiable appearance at the houſe of his profligate relation, Mrs. Weldon, who from being now notoriouſly infamous, was wholly excluded all honourable ſo⯑ciety: his friend added, that this aban⯑doned woman had repreſented the young lady, whoſe name was Seymour, as a girl of light character and dependant for⯑tune, but having been more than once in her company, this injurious error had appeared to him ſo apparent, that he had thought it incumbent on him to atone for it by repreſenting to her the hazards of her ſituation, an information that had operated ſo violently on her ſpirits as [199] fully convinced him how entirely ſhe muſt have been deceived as to the character of her companion.

Amiable, generous Roatſley! May not I call the man ſo, my Sophia, who has ſo humanely intereſted himſelf in my affairs. How many, in a ſimilar ſitua⯑tion, would have contented themſelves with leaving me to my fate, eſpecially after that perplexed ſeries of unfortunate events, which might have too juſtly led him to regard me with contempt; how few would have given themſelves the trouble of inveſtigating this matter to the foundation, and exerted themſelves in a manner ſo nobly, to extricate a young woman whoſe conduct he had ſo much reaſon to contemn, and who had been repreſented to him in a light ſo unwor⯑thy. Surely gratitude at leaſt may be allowed me after this ſtriking inſtance of a benevolence of which I have reaped ſo largely the fruit: yet heaven grant that [200] this dangerous ſentiment lead not my heart too far. Vexatious it has in⯑deed proved; but ah! Sophia, had not heaven directed and preſerved me, this intelligence had arrived greatly too late.

The whiſt party breaking up, and ſup⯑per being announced, Mr. Howard ſeized an opportunity, while we were on the ſtairs, to whiſper that Mr. Roatſley re⯑gretted extremely not having ſeen my ſiſter and me this morning, when he had called, particularly as he leaves town to⯑morrow, and is engaged by buſineſs the early part of the day. Mr. Howard how⯑ever, who was not ſufficiently acquainted with many of the unaccountable facts to which Mr. Roatſley's ſtory alluded, and was only enabled, from his knowledge of my diſpoſition and character, to pro⯑nounce that ſome myſterious appearances muſt have involved my actions in ob⯑ſcurity, had of his own accord offered [201] him a ſhort viſit before his departure, to explain from my own information what had ſeemed either extraordinary or im⯑prudent in my conduct, and is actually to meet him at the Britiſh Coffee-houſe for that purpoſe.

I hope, added that worthy friend, with a penetrating ſmile, as he entered the ſupper room, that Mr. Roatſley, in his return to town, will find the diſagreeable air of ſecrecy and myſtery, which muſt confound all his enquiries reſpecting you and your ſiſter, completely removed by the approbation and public countenance of Lord Belmont.

I took no notice of this little hint; but walked on with a mind ah! how enlight⯑ened! how relieved! to find myſelf re⯑inſtated in Mr. Roatſley's good opinion; to know that he had ſhewn himſelf ſo anxious, ſo deeply concerned in an affair in which I alone was intereſted, gave a ſpirit to my countenance, and a gaiety [202] to my heart, not to be enjoyed but when contraſted by previous uneaſineſs and depreſſion.

Ah! my dear Sophia! how infinitely am I ſhocked. Poor Madame de Cla⯑rence! alas! ſhe is no more! A ſhort letter from her huſband, which I received laſt night, announces this melancholy in⯑telligence. An epidemic fever carried her off after a week's illneſs, and Fanny and I have been weeping her irreparable loſs with tears of bitter affliction. A friend—a maternal friend! reſpected and beloved, is a bleſſing which heaven ſends but once in our lives, and to us can ne⯑ver be ſupplied. In our preſent ſituation, this blow cannot fail to be felt with re⯑doubled poignancy. There now remains not to us one ſingle friend of our own [203] ſex, (my Sophia, my invaluable Sophia excepted) who excites or returns to us the tender intereſt of affection. What a diſmal, what a ſolitary ſtate. That wretch, Mrs. Weldon! how I deteſt her, for troubling with ſuſpicion and uneaſineſs the mind of that amiable, that reſpecta⯑ble woman, ſo near the cloſe of her days. Oh were ſhe capable of remorſe, how muſt it wring her boſom at this moment.

I am inexpreſſibly anxious to learn a thouſand particulars relating to this dear friend's laſt illneſs: for her huſband's letter is extremely conciſe, and merely informs us, in terms of unfeigned afflic⯑tion, of the melancholy event. Doubtleſs he muſt be overwhelmed with the moſt poignant diſtreſs; that diſtreſs which re⯑ſults from the reflection of a miſconduct he preſerves no longer the power of re⯑pairing.

We inclined much to indulge our ſadneſs in our own apartments but Mrs. [204] Hindon ſoon drove us from ſolitude by inſiſting upon ſitting with us in order to comfort us: and the poor woman talked ſo inceſſantly of the delicacy and acute⯑neſs of her feelings, and repeated ſuch various inſtances of the exceſs of her own unfortunate ſenſibility, that we were glad to accompany, her down ſtairs to the gentlemen, as ſome relief from her te⯑dious converſation.

Sir Edward called again this morning. He really appears to be an amiable man, and poſſeſſes ſomewhat in his appear⯑ance ſo mild and unpreſuming, that he prepoſſeſſes one at firſt ſight in his fa⯑vour.

I forgot to tell you that Mr. Roatſley and Mr. Howard met the other morning according to appointment; and after an [205] explanatory converſation, which the for⯑mer aſſured Mr. Howard was wholly un⯑neceſſary, as not a doubt could remain on his mind after having been favoured with an opportunity of being in Miſs Seymour's company at the Opera, he ſet out on his excurſion.

Sir Edward ſupped with us this even⯑ing. Mrs. Hindon, delighted with an acquaintance of his figure and addreſs, has given him a general invitation to her houſe, which he ſeems well diſpoſed to accept, and repays her civilities with abundant marks of attention.

Captain Wilmot had been, as uſual, in earneſt converſation yeſterday evening [206] with Fanny, who while ſhe pretends to laugh at his abſurdities always appears pleaſed with his aſſiduities. He had been repeating to her a number of verſes, all on the ſoft ſubject of love, which he informed her were the effuſions of his own paſſion that had inſpired him with a poetical ardour. Of one of theſe Fanny inconſiderately requeſted a copy, not re⯑flecting that to demand a poem, of which ſhe was herſelf the theme, confeſſed no little ſatisfaction at the compliment. Wilmot told her he had it in his pocket book, which he haſtily produced; and anxious to avoid obſervation, privately delivered to her a paper without himſelf looking into it.

Fanny having no opportunity to pe⯑ruſe the ſtanzas, ſlipped them into her pocket, from whence ſhe drew them the moment we retired after ſupper: when conceive her aſtoniſhment on finding the copy of verſes converted into a letter di⯑rected [207] to Captain Wilmot. Haſtily throwing her eyes over it, ſhe was ſtruck with the words—"your old flame Jenny Parſons," and ſuddenly yielding to a cu⯑rioſity which cannot be defended, ſhe took advantage of the poor youth's un⯑fortunate blunder, and read as follows:

[212]You may eaſily judge how confounded Fanny muſt be to perceive by this letter, ſo wonderfully preſented to her know⯑ledge, that with all his timidity and dif⯑fident deſire of ingratiating himſelf, Wil⯑mot regarded his ſolicitations as certain of ſucceſs, and had communicated his expectations to his friend with all the vanity of a man who did not allow him⯑ſelf even to doubt.

I was employed laſt night pretty late, and was ſtill reading in my dreſſing room, when my ſiſter, who I concluded was gone to bed, flew to me with the epiſtle in her hand, with a countenance as pale as death, in which mortification, anger, and aſtoniſhment were ſtrongly painted. She informed me of the accident; and as tears are a relief which Fanny has ever at hand, her gentle diſpoſition al⯑lowing of no other vent to her indigna⯑tion, ſhe could not help crying from [213] vexation, while ſhe entreated me to read it.

The part of it, however, which pro⯑voked her moſt, was that humiliating ſentence where Wilmot appears to have boaſted to his correſpondent that ſhe had been very eaſily melted to compliance, a phraze that ſeverely wounded her pride. You ſee, cried ſhe, he has never once mentioned me. I dare ſay he never thought about me. 'Tis my fortune alone about which he is ſo anxious. No doubt it would have been of ſome ſer⯑vice in advancing him in his profeſſion; but God knows, had he been informed how matters ſtand, he never would have paid me his addreſſes on account of an advantage which no longer exiſts, and he is both weak and vain if he concludes I have been ſo eaſily melted as he flattered himſelf, or that I have liſtened with pleaſure to ſolicitations which have fa⯑tigued [214] and tormented me ever ſince our reſidence in this houſe.

Solicitations, Fanny, cried I; I never knew till this moment that Wilmot had made any advances that could go under the name of ſolicitations. Strange in⯑deed, if I have continued thus long ig⯑norant of any part of his behaviour, yet certain I am you have never once hinted to me any thing which could be conſtrued into that meaning.

Oh! my dear Hermione! exclaimed ſhe, burning into a freſh flood of tears, I will tell you all.

All! cried I, terrified at the expreſ⯑ſion, what is the all of which you are to inform me? for indeed I ſuſpected ſome frightful imprudence from the agitation in which I beheld her.

She could not, however, immediately relieve my fears, and tears of mortifica⯑tion choaked her utterance.

Oh! cried ſhe at length, how can I [215] tell you; you, that are older and ſo much wiſer than I, you will think meanly of me, and I would ſooner loſe the good opinion of the whole world than be de⯑ſpiſed by you.

My deareſt Fanny, ſaid I in the ten⯑dereſt accents, you may aſſure yourſelf that is impoſſible. My knowledge of your heart muſt ever conceal and exte⯑nuate all your little errors, and it is un⯑kind in you to imagine that mine could for an inſtant harbour a ſentiment ſo in⯑jurious of which you were the object.

She then confeſſed to me that about ten days ago Wilmot had declared his paſſion in the warmeſt and moſt affecting terms; and though I did not love him, cried ſhe, at leaſt I am certain it gave me no pain to reject him on my own ac⯑count, yet I could not be wholly unmoved at prayers and entreaties which ſeemed the reſult of the moſt ardent affection; an affection, repeated ſhe, which I now [216] plainly perceive my fortune alone in⯑ſpired. All however that he deſired, re⯑mitting his hopes of ſucceſs to time and aſſiduity, was that you, whom he appre⯑hended and whom I well knew not to be in his intereſt, ſhould not for ſome time be made acquainted with his propoſals; and to this requeſt, ſoftened by his ap⯑parent diſtreſs, I was weak enough un⯑willingly to conſent; though it ſhocked me extremely that you, who are my only friend and advizer, and to whom every thought of my heart has ever been known, ſhould continue ignorant of an affair which but for this fortunate diſco⯑very might have intereſted it too much.

As ſhe finiſhed ſpeaking, ſhe ſobbed on my boſom moſt bitterly. You may believe I embraced and ſoothed her ten⯑derly. But tell me, my dear, ſaid I, what further lengths you have been pre⯑vailed with to go. There are no engage⯑ments in the caſe I hope.

[217]No, thank God, cried ſhe, though heaven knows how I have been perſe⯑cuted and tormented, not only by Wil⯑mot himſelf but by Mrs. Hindon, who has warmly eſpouſed his cauſe and pri⯑vately pleaded his paſſion on every occa⯑ſion when ſhe could get me by myſelf; and not having my beloved Hermione to direct me, for they both kept me ſtea⯑dily to my raſh promiſe of ſecrecy, though I often deſired permiſſion to diſcloſe this affair to you, into what an abyſs of mi⯑ſery might I not have been plunged from my folly and inexperience; bewildered by Mrs. Hindon's partial repreſentation of this imprudent ſtep, and ſoftened by the continual aſſiduities and deſpair of a man who ſeemed to adore me.

Artful wretches! can I give them, So⯑phia, a milder appellation? What a plan was here to entrap my amiable, inno⯑cent, unſuſpecting Fanny. And becauſe my eyes were ſuppoſed to be open to [218] the thouſand objections againſt a match, in favour of which not one ſingle advan⯑tage can be preſented, I was to be kept out of the ſecret till too late effectually to interfere; whilſt my dear and only ſiſter was to prove a victim to the need and prodigality of the one, and to the abſurd and deſtructive vanity of the other.

What a deſpicable character does this letter plainly prove Wilmot's to be. I am amazed, on looking back, that the whole affair did not occur to my ſuſpi⯑cion. But the art of the one, and the low cunning of the other, added to my truſt in Fanny's confidence in my advice, all conſpired to deceive me. You ſee too, there is a hint of a previous engage⯑ment. Poor Miſs Parſons! her dejec⯑tion and depreſſion are now fully ac⯑counted for. How hard has been her fate. Deprived of her parents at a pe⯑riod of life when the feelings are moſt acutely ſenſible to the ſhafts of misfor⯑tune, [219] conſtrained to endure a haughty and indelicate dependance, her affections and her pride had yet a wound more painful to receive, a ſting more corroding to undergo. Her ſufferings, and her patient forbearance of complaint, endear her to me in the moſt affecting point of view, and I ſhall now more anxiouſly than ever exert myſelf to ſoften her an⯑guiſh, by every kindneſs and attention in my power to beſtow.

As to my dear Fanny, though this pro⯑vidential diſcovery produced a tempo⯑rary mortification, and drew ſome tears of vexation from her eyes, her heart, ſlightly if at all touched, had nothing deeply to hurt or painfully to intereſt it; and as ſhe was thoroughly ſenſible of the riſques from which ſhe had juſt eſcaped, ſhe beheld with horror the precipice on which ſhe had been ſtanding, and re⯑quired not either argument or perſuaſion (though by way of caution I beſtowed [220] both very laviſhly) to convince her how fortunate this accident had proved. Her innocent mind, unacquainted with diſ⯑guiſe and unuſed to concealment, felt relieved of a painful weight by the con⯑feſſion which her firſt agitation had ex⯑torted from her; yet I had no little dif⯑ficulty in reconciling her to herſelf on account of having forfeited her promiſe, which indeed ſhe had falſified almoſt unconſciouſly in the height of her emo⯑tions.

Since I have done ſo, ſaid ſhe, though I think I have been to blame, do not ex⯑poſe me to Mrs. Hindon. Diſhonoura⯑bly as ſhe has acted towards me, I ought not to have receded from the promiſe I gave. I ought indeed to have poſſeſſed both ſenſe and reſolution ſufficient for acting without counſel; but you may reſt aſſured never, never, ſhall I riſque my peace by granting another promiſe to the ſame purport. I have ſuffered too [221] ſeverely from this ill judged concealment, and ſhall take the firſt opportunity of informing Mrs. Hindon that I am deter⯑mined in my reſolution never again to liſten to her nephew on the ſubject, of his paſſion—never indeed ſhall he have an opportunity of tormenting me more.

To calm her, I gave her my word I ſhould not mention one ſyllable of the matter to Mrs. Hindon. Yet I was ſomewhat at a loſs how to proceed. To apply to Mr. Howard, was to hazard engaging him in a quarrel with his ſiſter in law; nor could I myſelf reſent her behaviour while we were partaking of her civilities. I reſolved therefore to be ſilent on the ſubject; and by never quit⯑ting Fanny's ſide, who herſelf wiſhed to avoid any intercourſe with Wilmot, ſo to regulate her manner in future as en⯑tirely to deſtroy the hopes to which his vanity and her imprudence had given riſe. Yet I could hardly talk to the art⯑ful [222] woman this morning at breakfaſt with any degree of temper.

Sir Edward ſpent yeſterday evening here; and really grows ſo very particu⯑lar, both in his attentions and converſa⯑tion, that I begin to feel the neceſſity of a reſerve, which his modeſty, and the obligations I owe him, render very un⯑pleaſant. Adieu! my Sophia. I have juſt received your delightful packet. Ah my love! are there no hopes, now you are ſo near as Paris, that your father may be prevailed with to pay England a viſit. Oh that I were with you to ſolicit this favour on my knees.

Going down this morning to break⯑faſt, I was ſurpriſed when I entered to find Lady Farnford and Mrs. Hindon tete a tete, and ſeemingly in earneſt converſa⯑tion. Good morning, Miſs Seymour, cried the latter with a ſmiling air, the traces of laſt night's hauteur being en⯑tirely vaniſhed from her brow. Lady Farnford likewiſe accoſted me with abun⯑dance of civility and kindneſs, and they inſiſted on placing me between them.

Come, cried Mrs. Hindon, after a ſhort pauſe, which ſhe appeared to have em⯑ployed in conſidering how ſhe ſhould in⯑troduce without abruptneſs what ſhe in⯑tended to ſay—Why ſhould there be ſuch diſtance among friends? To tell the plain truth Miſs Seymour, I could not ſhut my eyes all night for thinking in what a deſtitute and diſmal way you and Miſs Fanny muſt live if you are not ruled and perſuaded by thoſe who are intereſted [262] in you. Here is Lady Farnford, who de⯑clares herſelf as anxious for your welfare as if you were her own children, and who proteſts that if you were ſo in fact ſhe ſhould be the firſt to adviſe an immediate application to my Lord Belmont. His Lordſhip cannot ſee his grandchildren ſtarve, or what is ſcarcely preferable, juſtle through life neglected and forgot⯑ten, for want of that little which his af⯑fluent fortune can ſpare with eaſe. Con⯑ſider he is unacquainted with your mis⯑fortune. He concludes you poſſeſſed of twenty thouſand pounds; and tho' that is but a trifle to what you might reaſon⯑ably expect, yet no doubt he might ima⯑gine it enough to ſupport you genteelly. I aſſure you in your caſe, with ſuch juſt claims, I would not content myſelf even with a little; and if he finds you mean to make a piece of work about it, take my word for it he will alter his tone as they ſay. Mr. Howard told us t'other day, [263] talking of your father, that if he had choſen to refuſe the compromiſe offered him by my Lord, he might have been in poſſeſſion of one of Lord Belmont's eſtates of three thouſand per annum; and tho' he gave away his own money, he had undoubtedly no right to mar the in⯑heritance of his children. That alone would ſurely make a good law ſuit; and the ſimple apprehenſion of it would cer⯑tainly be ſufficient to frighten my Lord into terms. Come, Miſs Seymour, I'm ſure a young lady of your ſenſe muſt ſee clearly that rather than have ſuch diſtur⯑bance and noiſe created, your grandfather would eaſily be induced to ſettle hand⯑ſomely on you, were it only for huſh money.

Allow me to aſſure you once for all, Madam, anſwered I, that nothing on earth ſhall ever prevail with me to at⯑tempt ſuch a meaſure. I am confident you muſt have wholly miſunderſtood Mr. [264] Howard on this point; for ſuch are the unhappy circumſtances of the caſe, that my father preſerved no ſort of claim upon Lord Belmont's fortune, and was tho⯑roughly ſatisfied and contented with the ſtipulation. Tho' this ſum is now great⯑ly reduced, we have reaſon to hope a lit⯑tle ſtill remains, and on that little I truſt we ſhall be able to ſubſiſt independant of theſe cruel relations, who have ſo unna⯑turally renounced us. To have recourſe to law, (were there even a probability of ſucceſs,) is a plan at which delicacy and pride equally revolt.

Pride and nonſenſe, cried ſhe. Indeed Miſs Seymour I cannot conceive for my part the meaning of all this delicacy and refinement. 'Tis paſt my comprehenſion I confeſs.

Perhaps, cried Lady Farnford, who had not as yet been able to ſpeak for the volubility of her friend—perhaps Miſs Seymour is deterred by the hopeleſneſs of [265] ſucceſs. All the world eſteems Lord Belmont irrevocable in his determina⯑tions. He is indeed a very obſtinate, whimſical old man. Lady Linroſe too is generally diſliked; being haughty, proud, and inflexible.

Yes, and no doubt her Ladyſhip finds her own advantage, cried Mrs. Hindon, in keeping her nieces at a diſtance from their grandfather.

We have no reaſon to accuſe her La⯑dyſhip of any ſuch intention, ſaid I. Per⯑haps, had ſhe poſſeſſed either ſenſibility or benevolence equal to our wiſhes, we might have expected a little more kindneſs (tho' ever ſo privately offered,) to two un⯑friended relations; who, divided from their friends, and in a manner alone in the univerſe, lay claim, from her at leaſt, to the good offices of humanity: but tho' ſhe has not proved warmly our friend and protectreſs, I am thoroughly convinced ſhe is far from having injured the cauſe [266] intruſted to her care. She is not gene⯑rally beloved; but is allowed to be a woman of principle and honour; and a trifling portion of theſe qualities muſt prove ſufficient to deter her from a con⯑duct ſo unworthy.

Well, Miſs Seymour, reſumed Lady Farnford, Lady Linroſe is not a woman eaſily melted by ſentiments of pity. But pride may extort where charity fails; and the deſire of preventing a revival of—of the unlucky ſtory, may perhaps prevail with her to intercede with my Lord Bel⯑mont to allow you a pretty round ſum to be quiet.

To Lady Linroſe, cried I with firm⯑neſs, never will I apply.

Why then, returned Lady Farnford, what I mean to propoſe is, applying to their ſon. The idea occurred to me laſt night, on hearing Mr. Roatſley talked of in the higheſt terms by ſome friends we had to ſup with us.

[267]Mr. Roatſley! exclaimed I.

Yes, Mr. Roatſley. It ſeems his elec⯑tion to the borough of—took place the day before yeſterday. Some of the company had been warmly his friends on that occaſion, which naturally led them to talk of him, and they ſpoke in ſuch high terms of his character, that I could not avoid at the time concluding what probability of ſucceſs an application of this kind muſt have to a young man of his diſpoſition.

What connection has Mr. Roatſley with Lady Linroſe? cried I in a tremor.

Lord don't you know, Miſs Seymour, that he is their ſon, and of courſe your firſt couſin.

Their ſon! Good heavens! exclaimed I, quite out of breath.

Good ſtars, ſaid Mrs. Hindon, is not that the young man who accompanied you in your paſſage from Calais, and of whom my brother talks ſo highly?

[268]I know not, Madam.—But I hope not.

And pray why do you hope ſo? For my part I think it is the moſt agreeable intelligence at this juncture you could wiſh to hear: for I aſſure you my brother Howard told me that he ſeemed much ſtruck, and indeed no wonder, by the elegance of your appearance; and be⯑ſides, was it not he who attended you ſo aſſiduouſly at the Opera houſe. Oh! I make no doubt he knew perfectly well how nearly you were connected, though perhaps a prohibition from her Ladyſhip deterred him from acknowledging the re⯑lationſhip. And ſo you never once ſuſ⯑pected that he was the late Lord Linroſe's ſon all the while? well that is the drolleſt affair I have heard this age.

I dare ſay Madam, cried I, there may be ſome miſtake in this, elſe we ſhould have been ſooner informed. How comes the ſon of Lady Linroſe to appear under a borrowed name?

[269]O as to that point, ſaid Lady Farnford, in this country nothing is more common. Mr. Roatſley aſſumed his preſent name becauſe it was accompanied by the inhe⯑ritance of an eſtate in Ireland, left him by an uncle of his mother's, who died a few months ago.

How ſhall I convey to you, Sophia, an idea of the variety of emotions that agi⯑tated my heart at this moment. Oh! it is wholly impoſſible! This intelligence, ſo unexpected, ſo extraordinary, and oh! ſhall I add, ſo mortifying, (for a mixture of humiliation rendered my feelings at this moment ſtill more intolerable, ac⯑tually drew tears from my eyes:—tears, the ſource of which I could not abſo⯑lutely define, but which, to my compa⯑nions, appeared merely the natural effects of uncertainty and vexation.

Oh! Sophia! how long have we re⯑mained in ignorance with regard to a point ſo infinitely intereſting. But I now [270] find that this inheritance, and conſe⯑quently this change of name, took place immediately before our arrival in Eng⯑land. Indeed, on inveſtigating the mat⯑ter, Mr. Howard has diſcovered that Mr. Roatſley's return was occaſioned by that event. Mr. Howard therefore, in his enquiries relative to our family, heard often of a Mr. Dudley, but was informed he was abroad with his brother and Lord Belmont, and never received the ſlighteſt hint to lead him to conclude that our agreeable fellow traveller, Mr. Roatſley, was in fact the ſecond ſon of the late Lord Linroſe, whoſe character, even from the lips of Mrs. Weldon, does ſo much honour to his family. Indeed, had theſe enquiries been made of late, no doubt we muſt have been immediately acquain⯑ted with the truth; but the ſociety in which he ranges is totally diſtinct from that in which chance has placed us, and you may recollect it was directly on our [271] arrival that Mr. Howard exerted himſelf to ſatisfy our anxious deſire of being in⯑formed of every circumſtance concerning our relations. At that time Mr, Roatſ⯑ley was himſelf but juſt arrived at his mother's country ſeat. His return was not generally known; and as we have not been once in any private company with him, excepting one half hour in our own lodgings, no opportunity for a diſ⯑covery could poſſibly have occurred. Not but that a ſecret ſolicitude has in⯑duced me more than once to aſk ſeveral ladies who have been at different times viſitors here if they were acquainted with Roatſley; but a negative reply was al⯑ways given, and I make no doubt he is wholly unknown to moſt of Mrs. Hin⯑don's friends.

I will not, however, comment on this intereſting diſcovery till I have concluded my fatiguing converſation with theſe of⯑ficious adviſers.

[272]You muſt know, reſumed Lady Farn⯑ford, that this young man has one of the beſt characters in the kingdom. To him therefore, Miſs Seymour, I would adviſe you to apply by letter without loſs of time, or perhaps Mr. Howard might tranſact the buſineſs better in perſon. Mr. Roatſley is adored by his family; and poſſeſſes, I am told, an influence over the mind of Lord Belmont which would in⯑ſure ſucceſs. If the old Lord thinks his vow binding, why he may keep it if he pleaſes, only let him act with juſtice, and ſupport you in the line of life to which you were born.

Good God, my dear Sophia, what a propoſal? It entirely diveſted me of the patience and temper with which I had hitherto liſtened to advice ſo ſelfiſh, ſo indelicate, ſo perfectly unfeeling. I there⯑fore put a final period to a perſecution that was grown intolerable, by expreſſing [273] myſelf with a cold and determined dig⯑nity, bordering perhaps a little on hauteur.

I muſt beg leave, ſaid I when I could contrive to be heard, entirely to act for myſelf and from my own ſentiments, in a point in which myſelf and ſiſter only are concerned; and tho' we muſt con⯑ſider ourſelves as under obligations to thoſe friends who wiſh to alter a reſolu⯑tion they may deem abſurd and prejudi⯑cial to our intereſt, yet I muſt uſe the freedom to acknowledge that we partake ſo much of our grandfather's firmneſs as to be quite immoveable in our determi⯑nations, when convinced there is nothing in them contrary to reaſon and rectitude.

The gravity with which I pronounced this, diſconcerted them; and they both in a breath began to apologize for the liberty they had taken in an affair in which they ſaid our intereſt alone could be ſuppoſed to influence them. I could not reſiſt ſmiling at the expreſſion. I have [274] ſome reaſon to apprehend, however, that I ſhould not ſo ſoon have got rid of im⯑portunities equally troubleſome and of⯑ficious, had not the reſt of the family made their appearance to breakfaſt, which happily interrupted the eager volubility of the ladies.

Oh, my Sophia, what a diſcovery! It has engroſſed and abſorbed me ever ſince I was made acquainted with it. Is it in⯑deed poſſible that the ties of blood as well as thoſe of affection have united me with this amiable young man. I bluſh to make this confeſſion in terms ſo ſtrong, ſo explanatory; but the agitation of the preſent moment gives defiance to diffi⯑dence and ſhame, and conquers the reluc⯑tance with which ſuch an avowal muſt ever be accompanied.

I have pondered and conſidered every circumſtance of Mr. Roatſley's conduct ſince the beginning of our acquaintance, and indeed there are a number of circum⯑ſtances [275] explained by this information, which hurt and diſpleaſe me.

After thinking and reflecting on the whole tenour of his behaviour, I am con⯑vinced that duty and obedience to his fa⯑mily have enrolled him a party in their determinations. How flattering, how humane were his attentions during our paſſage, while ignorant of our ſecret claims to his good offices: yet how eaſily was he impreſſed with the moſt injurious ſuſ⯑picions to our diſadvantage immediately afterwards: ſuſpicions, to which he muſt have ſubmitted with hardly an attempt towards being undeceived; for what con⯑fidence was to be repoſed in the repre⯑ſentations of a woman to whoſe character and principles, even by the confeſſion of his friend Captain Bradſhaw, neither truſt nor credit were to be given. Oh! So⯑phia! I am afraid he would have re⯑mained at eaſe under this falſe opinion, had not Mr. Howard's letter to Lady [276] Linroſe diſcovered us to him as a connec⯑tion, in whoſe infamy and diſgrace a ſlight degree of delicacy muſt have ren⯑dered him concerned. It was the know⯑ledge of this circumſtance, I now plainly perceive, that induced him to make known to Mr. Howard his fears for my ſafety, and which prevailed on him to diſcover an anxiety that wore the engag⯑ing aſpect of diſintereſted humanity, whilſt ſuppoſed to have actuated the bo⯑ſom of a ſtranger, but which in Mr. Roatſley was but giving way to natural feelings.

I expreſs myſelf perhaps with acrimo⯑ny; indeed on reading over what I have written I am confounded at my warmth of expreſſion. It is not eaſy, however, wholly to diveſt ones ſelf of prejudice in a point dear and intereſting to the heart. I am ſeverely wounded and diſappointed at one part of his conduct, which leads me perhaps to view it in other particu⯑lars [277] through a falſe and unjuſt medium. His behaviour after all, in regard to me, has been amiable, nay noble in the higheſt degree: but ah! did he poſſeſs the mind, the ſoul, the feelings which I have been blind enough to attribute to him, never could he have ſtooped to countenance a tranſaction ſo cruel and unnatural as that of renouncing us. He would not have paſſed himſelf upon us for a ſtranger, con⯑cealed the relationſhip of which he was aſhamed, and courted our acquaintance under a borrowed form while he poſſeſſed a title ſo indiſputable to our notice, had he choſen to have claimed it.

Perhaps indeed his mother had laid her injunctions on him to remain neuter in this affair till Lord Belmont's intentions were made known. But am I blinded by prepoſſeſſion when I aſſert that to deſert us after our accidental rencontre, and that profuſion of profeſſions of which it was productive, to withdraw his attention and [278] regard only when from the renunciation of his family and from the peculiarity of our circumſtances he knew it was become eſſential to us, is a ſtep which even pa⯑rental duty can by no means juſtify. Common minds may argue in that man⯑ner, may in that manner act from mo⯑tives of cold obedience, but if his heart is compoſed of materials ſo frigid, ſo cor⯑rect, it is a loſs little to be regretted. I am offended Sophia, and perhaps unjuſt⯑ly; but I had weakly flattered myſelf our ſentiments were in ſome meaſure con⯑genial; and his conduct has proved ſo oppoſite from what I am certain mine in ſimilar circumſtances would have been, that I am ſeverely wounded.

But my warmth may perhaps have led my concluſions too far. Lord Belmont's reſolution relative to us, muſt have ar⯑rived during his grandſon's abſence at his election, in which caſe he can hardly as yet have been informed of it, nor conſe⯑quently [279] have determined how he will in future conduct himſelf. His return to town, which will probably happen in the courſe of a few days, muſt therefore ex⯑plain whether or not I have done him injuſtice. If he yet ſhews himſelf in the light of our relation, and diſavows his part of the family compact, I ſhall confeſs him wholly entitled to the too favourable opinion I have hitherto entertained of him.

I wiſh things may not be ſtill worſe with regard to Mr. Benſeley's affairs than Mr. Howard has acknowledged; for that worthy friend is extremely thought⯑ful; and altho' I wiſhed exceedingly to have a little private converſation with him in order to conſult about our future plans, I could find no opportunity, for he left the parlour immediately after he had done breakfaſt, and has been abroad all the morning. No time however is to be loſt in deciding. I am now doubly [280] anxious that our country ſcheme may take place; and am labouring to become ea⯑ger for it; endeavouring to repreſent it to myſelf in the gaieſt colours, as the ru⯑ral abode of peace, innocence, and har⯑mony, where no agitations ſhall in future ruffle, nor painful mortifications diſturb the calm ſerenity of our lives. But it is in vain. My buſy imagination perpetu⯑ally places it in a different point of view, as a ſtate of peacefulneſs, where tho' no⯑thing wounds us nothing ſhall intereſt; and as a retirement, where tho' we enjoy tranquillity we ſhall not be able to taſte happineſs; and tho' tranquillity is per⯑haps in this fluctuating ſtate the ſole point attainable, and that to which, all our wiſhes ought to be directed, yet at our time of life it is not eaſy to reſiſt the flat⯑tering hope that days of real enjoyment are yet in ſtore for us. If this is a delu⯑ſion, yet oh may I ever cheriſh it as a ſupport in every diſtreſs and a prop un⯑der [281] every difficulty; without which ſooth⯑ing conſolation life would be a burthen and ſorrow unſupportable.

I forgot to mention that Fanny has not ſeen Wilmot ſince the diſcovery of the letter. His abſence, which is unuſual, muſt either be attributed to the conſciouſ⯑neſs of his ſchemes having been detected by his miſtake, or to the change in our affairs, which took place immediately after that event. No doubt his aunt has warned him to keep out of the way till our future expectations are clearly aſcer⯑tained. Fanny, whoſe latent ſpirit has been rouſed by his duplicity, took the earlieſt opportunity to inform Mrs. Hin⯑don of her unalterable reſolution to break off all connection with her nephew. The lady received this determination with ſome appearance of ſurpriſe, but with much leſs oppoſition than would have fol⯑lowed ſuch a ſtep ſome days ago.

Mr. Howard did not appear yeſterday till dinner was announced, I had it there⯑fore in my power only to hint to him that I requeſted he would not attempt from friendly compaſſion to conceal any addi⯑tional diſappointments that were yet to be told us. He aſſured me that nothing deciſive had taken place; Mr. Benſeley's affairs continuing in the confuſion and uncertainty in which, he had before re⯑preſented them. This paſſed in a large company who dined here and ſtaid the evening; by which means it was not poſ⯑ſible for me to requeſt a private confe⯑rence with him. Mr. Howard ſeems, with his uſual goodneſs, to participate in our chagrin; for I never obſerved him before ſo grave and thoughtful as he has been ſince the arrival of Lord Belmont's [283] letter. I began to ſuſpect that ſome pri⯑vate uneaſineſs might have affected his ſpirits; but a peculiar ſoftneſs in his ad⯑dreſs, both to Fanny and myſelf, now convinces me that to his heart the diſ⯑treſſes of his friends and thoſe more par⯑ticularly his own, convey almoſt equal pain.

I have had a long converſation this morning with Miſs Parſons. My heart, ſoftened by my own diſappointments, ſympathizes in her's with augmented commiſeration; and as ſhe perceives that I, who was ſo lately the happy object of her envy and admiration, as created for the enjoyment of affluence, proſperity, and ſocial happineſs, am now her com⯑panion in ſuffering, ſhe returns my at⯑tentions by redoubling her endeavours to ſoothe and amuſe me, while ſhe finds, that tho' born to ſo many advantages, I am no leſs open than herſelf to the attacks of fortune.

[284]You imagine. Miſs Seymour, ſaid ſhe this morning as we ſat together at work in my dreſſing room, (for Mrs. Hindon was gone out and I had inſiſted on Fan⯑ny's accompanying her in hopes that a little variety might diſſipate the chagrin of her ſpirits,) you imagine, and with reaſon that your mortifications and diſ⯑treſſes have been ſevere: yet what have your ſufferings proved when compared with mine: hardly had I cloſed the eyes of one beloved parent, when the other claimed the ſame ſad duty. Theſe are however misfortunes which by the courſe of nature we muſt all expect. Heart⯑rending and acute as is the wound that ſuch calamities inflict. Time's lenient hand generally beſtows the balm to cloſe it. That loſs, heavy and irretrievable, did not come alone: the ſeverities of de⯑pendance, inſignificance, and contempt, were the miſerable conſequences of a blow in itſelf ſcarce ſupportable. Nor [285] was this all. She ſtopped, and hiding her face with her hands, ſuddenly gave way to a violent burſt of tears, which ſeemed to have been irrepreſſible and wholly overcame her.

I know well, cried I, you have ſuffered the rigours of fate, and Heaven knows what yet may remain for our portion, ſhould it pleaſe Almighty Providence to deprive us of independence, by taking away the remnant of our ſcanty fortune. All we ſhall have for it, my amiable friend, is to endeavour to profit from your laud⯑able example, and to ſuffer unrepiningly thoſe ills, which from truſt in the unerring juſtice of Heaven, we may reſt aſſured muſt in the end work for our good.

Ah! Madam! cried ſhe, but there is one blow, cruel, biting, and acute, which the Almighty has not inflicted on you, and indeed it appears impoſſible you ſhould ever experience. You may behold yourſelf abandoned by the world, regarded [286] with diſdain, and treated with indelicacy; but this you may bear, and from the conſcious ſuperiority of your mind, may bear perhaps with indifference; but ah! Miſs Seymour, there are wounds yet more bitter, feelings yet more keen, which I have endured, and which I heartily pray you may never know.

Heaven only knows, thought I to my⯑ſelf, whether theſe bitter, keen, and heart⯑felt ſufferings, may not yet prove mine.

Yes cried I, to the amiable, unhappy girl, taking hold of her hand with unfeig⯑ned compaſsion, I am ſenſible you claim too juſtly the ſuperiority in affliction. My heart feels ſincerely for what yours has endured. You have my warmeſt ſympa⯑thy; and if the demand is not importu⯑nate, and the recital will not prove a probe rather than a relief, will you gra⯑tify me ſo far as to unburthen your mind to me.

It is long, long, cried ſhe, ſoftened [287] at my requeſt, ſince my heart has experi⯑enced the ſolace of confidence. The world turns wich diſguſt from the oppreſſ⯑ed; it flies diſtreſs as if contagious; and proſperity beholds it as a frightfull pic⯑ture preſented to its view to check diſſi⯑pation and to frown on enjoyment.

She then told me that when ſhe was yet at ſchool, Captain Wilmot, at that time a young Enſign, and nearly related to her, uſed frequently to ſpend ſome weeks at her father's vicarage for the amuſement of ſhooting; and that during the holidays, when ſhe always returned home, he conſtantly paid her the moſt flattering attention, till ſhe confeſſed he made ſome impreſſion on her heart. Be⯑ing however hardly fifteen, and little of her age, ſhe looked upon herſelf as a mere girl, and the ſchool duties gene⯑rally drove her couſin from her thoughts and conquered her attachment.

At ſeventeen ſhe quitted ſchool entirely. [288] It was then that the abovementioned di⯑verſion furniſhed a pretence for the Cap⯑tain's ſpending almoſt the whole ſhooting ſeaſon at their houſe; a circumſtance that the young lady ſuſpected proceeded from a tenderer motive. In fact he had been but a ſhort time there, when he took an opportunity to diſcloſe his paſſion, which met with all the ſucceſs he could have wiſhed.

Gained by his early and continued par⯑tiality, accuſtomed as her near relation to ſee him in the moſt favourable light and to hear him favourably ſpoken of by others, ſhe was blind to the inſipidity and conceited folly of his character. Ha⯑bit and affection equally conſpired to con⯑ceal his errors from her view; and if ſhe caught occaſionally a tranſient glimpſe of his imperfections, his unbounded pro⯑feſſions of love, added to her tenderneſs for him, caſt a partial veil over his de⯑fects. She acknowledged to her lover, [289] that her heart had not been proof againſt his aſſiduities, and that were her parents to agree to their union, her conſent ſhould follow.

Mr. Parſons's illneſs however, which ſoon after followed, prevented the ſub⯑ject from being mentioned either to him or his lady. Miſs Parſons, from almoſt never quitting the bed ſide of her father, had few opportunities of entertaining her lover. The family was become anxious and gloomy, and the Captain not finding his reſidence ſo agreeable as formerly, ſoon left them to join his regiment.

Mr. Parſons's death, which happened a few days after the lover departed, bringing the embarraſſment of his affairs to light, informed the Captain too ſoon that inſtead of a very comfortable ſettle⯑ment, (for ſome previous windfalls to the family had induced him to conclude that Miſs Parſons would be left in affluent circumſtances,) he ſhould not receive a ſhilling with his bride.

[290]I hope, Madam, you will do me the juſtice to believe, ſaid ſhe, that in ſuch circumſtances I was not girl enough to remain blind to the many obſtacles which then appeared againſt my union with a young ſoldier, who had little more than his commiſſion to ſubſiſt on; and fear⯑ing that from motives of delicacy he might be under difficulties how to act, I wrote to him as ſoon as grief would al⯑low me, and laying briefly before him the diſadvantages of fulfilling our wiſhes at that time, ſince my mother and I ex⯑iſted merely upon a ſmall precarious pen⯑ſion, which depended on her life, added, with many aſſurances of unalterable af⯑fection, that till things wore a more fa⯑vourable aſpect, our engagements muſt be ſuſpended.

Would you believe it, Madam! my letter for ſix weeks remained unanſwered, tho' ſurely my diſmal ſituation demanded at leaſt the ſympathy of a man who had ſo [291] lately profeſſed himſelf my lover: and when at length it arrived, it was ſome time before I could comprehend the con⯑tents. It was dated ten days after the receipt of mine; though undoubtedly it could not have taken above a month to come from Liverpool, where his regi⯑ment was quartered. But this artifice, I afterwards found, was intended to deceive me into an opinion, that it had been written previous to a ſucceſſion to ſix hundred a year, which had fallen to him by the death of a diſtant relation.

In this epiſtle, written with the moſt phlegmatic indifference, he pretends, to regard my letter as intended to cancel all our engagements; to which he implicit⯑ly ſubmits with many feigned expreſſions of regret.

My conduct, he ſaid, induced him ſincerely to wiſh that he might never be⯑hold me more. He called me inſenſible, unfeeling, and ungrateful; and after be⯑ſtowing [292] a number of other appellations equally falſe and deceitful, concluded with praying that time and abſence might enable him to conquer a paſſion, which every line of his letter proved exiſted no more.

On a firſt peruſal, I really imagined that ſome meaning miſconſtrued, or ſome phraze miſunderſtood, had given umbrage to my couſin, and in the height of my uneaſineſs inſtantly again wrote to him. I aſſured him ſolemnly that I ſhould ever regard as ſacred the engagement into which I had entered with my whole heart, and to fulfil which was it's firſt wiſh; and that all I deſired was to poſtpone an event that ſeemed at preſent mutually imprudent.

This however he thought proper never to acknowledge; and I was ſoon convin⯑ced that he had joyfully laid hold of this opportunity to regain his freedom. The conviction of his infidelity coſt me many [293] ſighs; but the death of my dear and re⯑ſpected mother ſoon awakened me to new affliction.

Having been in her laſt moments re⯑commended by her to my aunt, and left ſolely dependent on her care, I was in⯑vited, ſoon after the laſt ſad duties were performed, to take up my reſidence in her family, and began immediately to experience that cruel reverſe which has embittered every ſucceeding hour. You cannot but have perceived, my dear Miſs Seymour, that my misfortunes have re⯑duced me almoſt to a level with the do⯑meſtics in this houſe. Mrs. Hindon evi⯑dently regards me, and uniformly treats me as a menial dependent, inſtead of cheriſhing me with that care which my connexion with her claims and which her ſolemn promiſe to my mother to take charge of me ſeemed to imply and led me to expect. In lieu of thoſe careſſes, and that admirarion which in my hap⯑pier [294] days any little advantages I poſ⯑ſeſſed never failed to excite, and which made me think with pleaſure on ſpending my days under her protection, I found my aunt was one of thoſe who are wholly influenced by ſituation and appearances. Seeing me deſtitute and forlorn, ſhe now regarded me as an orphan whom an oſtentation of charity induced her to retain, and who, though entitled as her relation to ſubſiſtence, its unavoidable attendants were contempt and degrada⯑tion.

You will eaſily imagine, that in my humiliation I met the eyes of my couſin with additional pain. The day on which you dined here, immediately after your arrival, was that on which I ſaw him for the firſt time: and though I am certain he muſt have felt embarraſſed and diſ⯑concerted at the rencontre, he behaved with a degree of inſolence and effrontery which converted my expiring regret (for [295] it is not eaſy wholly to eradicate a firſt and ſtrong impreſſion) into ſelf congra⯑tulation and gratitude to heaven that I had been ſpared a fate ſo miſerable as that of being connected with a human being capable of ſuch meanneſs and in⯑delicacy.

I was now in company with Captain Wilmot every day; but we mutually avoided being ſo without witneſſes; and ſome time elapſed, though probably you never remarked it, before we even exchanged words. The cuſtom of ſee⯑ing me has however ſo entirely con⯑quered all embarraſſment or ſhame on his part, (if he was ever capable of any) that he has more than once preſumed to treat me with the familiarity due only to an inferior, calling me his pretty Jenny with the impertinent eaſe of a man who imagines that in my ſituation even his freedoms muſt be well received and dare not be reſented. In ſuch cir⯑cumſtances, [294] [...] [295] [...] [296] where pride and delicacy are liable every moment to the ſevereſt wounds, with no enjoyment in the pre⯑ſent and no chearing expectations for the future; happineſs is a phantom which flies me, and which I have no proſpect of overtaking on this ſide of the grave.

The unfortunate girl concluded her ſtory with tears, in which compaſſion made me heartily join. I think, my Sophia, my diſtreſſes ſeem nothing when compared with the burthen ſhe has ſup⯑ported ſo long, and from which there appears ſo little proſpect of relief. How ſhould I have rejoiced had more proſ⯑perous circumſtances allowed me to place this amiable young woman be⯑yond the reach of [...] pride and poverty, and ena [...] [...] to pre⯑ſerve an honourable independence.