Holborn, June 27th.
I HAVE just received, my dearest Sir, your kind present, and still kinder letter. Surely, never had orphan so little to regret as your grateful Evelina! Though motherless, though worse than fatherless, bereft from infancy of the two first and greatest blessings of life, never has she had cause to deplore their loss; never has she felt the omission of a parent’s tenderness, care, or indulgence; never, but from sorrow for them, had reason to grieve at the separation! Most thankfully do I receive the token of your approbation, and most studiously will I endeavour so to dispose of it, as may merit your generous confidence in my conduct.
Your doubts concerning Mr. Macartney give me some uneasiness. Indeed, Sir, he has not the appearance of a man whose sorrows are the effect of guilt. But I hope, before I leave town, to be better acquainted with his situation, and enabled, with more certainty of his worth, to recommend him to your favour.
I am very willing to relinquish all acquaintance with Sir Clement Willoughby, as far as it may depend upon myself so to do; but, indeed I know not how I should be able to absolutely forbid him my sight.
Miss Mirvan, in her last letter, informs me that he is now at Howard Grove, where he continues in high favour with the Captain, and is the life and spirit of the house. My time, since I wrote last, has passed very quietly, Madame Duval having been kept at home by a bad cold, and the Branghtons by bad weather. The young man, indeed, has called two or three times; and his behavior, though equally absurd, is more unaccountable than ever: he speaks very little, takes hardly any notice of Madame Duval, and never looks at me without a broad grin. Sometimes he approaches me, as if with intention to communicate intelligence of importance; and then, suddenly stopping short, laughs rudely in my face.
O how happy shall I be, when the worthy Mrs. Clinton arrives!
Yesterday morning, Mr. Smith called to acquaint us that the Hampstead assembly was to be held that evening; and then he presented Madame Duval with one ticket, and brought another to me. I thanked him for his intended civility, but told him I was surprised he had so soon forgotten my having already declined going to the ball.
“Lord, Ma’am,” cried he, “how should I suppose you was in earnest? come, come, don’t be cross; here’s your Grandmama ready to take care of you, so you can have no fair objection, for she’ll see that I don’t run away with you. Besides, Ma’am, I got the tickets on purpose.”
“If you were determined, Sir,” said I, “in making me this offer, to allow me no choice of refusal or acceptance, I must think myself less obliged to your intention than I was willing to do.”
“Dear Ma’am,” cried he, “you’re so smart, there is no speaking to you; — indeed you are monstrous smart, Ma’am! but come, your Grandmama shall ask you, and then I know you’ll not be so cruel.”
Madame Duval was very ready to interfere; she desired me to make no further opposition, said she should go herself, and insisted upon my accompanying her. It was in vain that I remonstrated; I only incurred her anger: and Mr. Smith having given both the tickets to Madame Duval with an air of triumph, said he should call early in the evening, and took leave.
I was much chagrined at being thus compelled to owe even the shadow of an obligation to so forward a young man; but I determined that nothing should prevail upon me to dance with him, however my refusal might give offence.
In the afternoon, when he returned, it was evident that he purposed to both charm and astonish me by his appearance: he was dressed in a very showy manner, but without any taste; and the inelegant smartness of his air and deportment, his visible struggle against education to put on the fine gentleman, added to his frequent conscious glances at a dress to which he was but little accustomed, very effectually destroyed his aim of figuring, and rendered all his efforts useless.
During tea entered Miss Branghton and her brother. I was sorry to observe the consternation of the former, when she perceived Mr. Smith. I had intended applying to her for advice upon this occasion, but had been always deterred by her disagreeable abruptness. Having cast her eyes several times from Mr. Smith to me, with manifest displeasure, she seated herself sullenly in the window, scarce answering Madame Duval’s enquiries; and when I spoke to her, turning absolutely away from me.
Mr. Smith, delighted at this mark of his importance, sat indolently quiet on his chair, endeavouring by his looks rather to display, than to conceal, his inward satisfaction.
“Good gracious!” cried young Branghton, “why, you’re all as fine as a five-pence! Why, where are you going?”
“To the Hampstead ball,” answered Mr. Smith.
“To a ball!” cried he. “Why, what, is aunt going to a ball? Ha, ha, ha!”
“Yes, to be sure,” cried Madame Duval; “I don’t know nothing need hinder me.”
“And pray, aunt, will you dance too?”
“Perhaps I may; but I suppose, Sir, that’s none of your business, whether I do or not.”
“Lord! well, I should like to go! I should like to see aunt dance of all things! But the joke is, I don’t believe she’ll get ever a partner.”
“You’re the most rudest boy ever I see,” cried Madame Duval, angrily: “but, I promise you, I’ll tell your father what you say, for I’ve no notion of such vulgarness.”
“Why, Lord, aunt, what are you so angry for? there’s no speaking a word, but you fly into a passion: you’re as bad as Biddy, or Poll, for that, for you’re always a-scolding.”
“I desire, Tom,” cried Miss Branghton, “you’d speak for yourself, and not make so free with my name.”
“There, now, she’s up! There’s nothing but quarrelling with the women; it’s my belief they like it better than victuals and drink.”
“Fie, Tom,” cried Mr. Smith, “you never remember your manners before the ladies: I’m sure you never heard me speak so rude to them.”
“Why, Lord, you are a beau; but that’s nothing to me. So, if you’ve a mind, you may be so polite as to dance with aunt yourself.” Then, with a loud laugh, he declared it would be good fun to see them.
“Let it be never so good, or never so bad,” cried Madame Duval, “you won’t see nothing of it, I promise you; so pray don’t let me hear no more of such vulgar pieces of fun; for, I assure you, I don’t like it. And as to my dancing with Mr. Smith, you may see wonderfuller things than that any day in the week.”
“Why, as to that, Ma’am,” said Mr. Smith, looking much surprised, “I always thought you intended to play at cards, and so I thought to dance with the young lady.”
I gladly seized this opportunity to make my declaration, that I should not dance at all.
“Not dance at all!” repeated Miss Branghton; “yes, that’s a likely matter truly, when people go to balls.”
“I wish she mayn’t,” said the brother; “‘cause then Mr. Smith will have nobody but aunt for a partner. Lord, how mad he’ll be!”
“O, as to that,” said Mr. Smith, “I don’t at all fear of prevailing with the young lady, if once I get her to the room.”
“Indeed, Sir,” cried I, much offended by his conceit, “you are mistaken; and therefore I beg leave to undeceive you, as you may be assured my resolution will not alter.”
“Then, pray, Miss, if it is not impertinent,” cried Miss Branghton, sneeringly, “what do you go for?”
“Merely and solely,” answered I, “to comply with the request of Madame Duval.”
“Miss,” cried young Branghton, “Bid only wishes it was she, for she has cast a sheep’s eye at Mr. Smith this long while.”
“Tom,” cried the sister, rising, “I’ve the greatest mind in the world to box your ears! How dare you say such a thing of me!”
“No, hang it, Tom, no, that’s wrong,” said Mr. Smith, simpering; “it is indeed, to tell the lady’s secrets. — But never mind him, Miss Biddy, for I won’t believe him.”
“Why, I know Bid would give her ears to go,” returned the brother; “but only Mr. Smith likes Miss best — so does every body else.”
While the sister gave him a very angry answer, Mr. Smith said to me in a low voice, “Why now, Ma’am, how can you be so cruel as to be so much handsomer than your cousins? Nobody can look at them when you are by.”
“Miss,” cried young Branghton, “whatever he says to you don’t mind him for he means no good; I’ll give you my word for it, he’ll never marry you; for he has told me again and again, he’ll never marry as long as he lives; besides, if he’d any mind to be married, there’s Bid would have had him long ago, and thanked him too.”
“Come, come, Tom, don’t tell secrets; you’ll make the ladies afraid of me: but I assure you,” lowering his voice, “if I did marry, it should be your cousin.”
Should be! — did you ever, my dear Sir, hear such unauthorised freedom? I looked at him with a contempt I did not wish to repress, and walked to the other end of the room.
Very soon after Mr. Smith sent for a hackney-coach. When I would have taken leave of Miss Branghton, she turned angrily from me, without making any answer. She supposes, perhaps, that I have rather sought, than endeavoured to avoid, the notice and civilities of this conceited young man.
The ball was at the long room at Hampstead.
This room seems very well named, for I believe it would be difficult to find any other epithet which might with propriety distinguish it, as it is without ornament, elegance, or any sort of singularity, and merely to be marked by its length.
I was saved from the importunities of Mr. Smith, the beginning of the evening, by Madame Duval’s declaring her intention to dance the first two dances with him herself. Mr. Smith’s chagrin was very evident; but as she paid no regard to it, he was necessitated to lead her out.
I was, however, by no means pleased, when she said she was determined to dance a minuet. Indeed, I was quite astonished, not having had the least idea she would have consented to, much less proposed, such an exhibition of her person. She had some trouble to make her intentions known, as Mr. Smith was rather averse to speaking to the master of the ceremonies.
During this minuet, how much did I rejoice in being surrounded only with strangers! She danced in a style so uncommon; her age, her showy dress, and an unusual quantity of rouge, drew upon her the eyes, and I fear the derision, of the whole company. Whom she danced with, I know not; but Mr. Smith was so ill-bred as to laugh at her very openly, and to speak of her with as much ridicule as was in his power. But I would neither look at, nor listen to him, nor would I suffer him to proceed with any speech which he began, expressive to his vexation at being forced to dance with her. I told him, very gravely, that complaints upon such a subject might, with less impropriety, be made to every person in the room than to me.
When she returned to us, she distressed me very much, by asking what I thought of her minuet. I spoke as civilly as I could; but the coldness of my compliment evidently disappointed her. She then called upon Mr. Smith to secure a good place among the country dancers; and away they went, though not before he had taken the liberty to say to me in a low voice, “I protest to you, Ma’am, I shall be quite out of countenance, if any of my acquaintance should see me dancing with the old lady!”
For a few moments I very much rejoiced at being relieved from this troublesome man; but scarce had I time to congratulate myself, before I was accosted by another, who begged the favour of hopping a dance with me.
I told him that I should not dance at all; but he thought proper to importune me, very freely, not to be so cruel; and I was obliged to assume no little haughtiness before I could satisfy him I was serious.
After this, I was addressed much in the same manner, by several other young men; of whom the appearance and language were equally inelegant and low-bred; so that I soon found my situation was both disagreeable and improper, since, as I was quite alone, I fear I must seem rather to invite than to forbid the offers and notice I received; and yet, so great was my apprehension of this interpretation, that I am sure, my dear Sir, you would have laughed had you seen how proudly grave I appeared.
I knew not whether to be glad or sorry, when Madame Duval and Mr. Smith returned. The latter instantly renewed his tiresome intreaties, and Madame Duval said she would go to the card-table; and as soon as she was accommodated, she desired us to join the dancers.
I will not trouble you with the arguments which followed. Mr. Smith teased me till I was weary of resistance; and I should at last have been obliged to submit, had I not fortunately recollected the affair of Mr. Lovel, and told my persecutor, that it was impossible I should dance with him, even if I wished it, as I had refused several persons in his absence.
He was not contented with being extremely chagrined; but took the liberty, openly and warmly, to expostulate with me upon not having said I was engaged.
The total disregard with which, involuntarily, I heard him, made him soon change the subject. In truth, I had no power to attend to him; for all my thoughts were occupied in re-tracing the transactions of the two former balls, at which I had been present. The party — the conversation — the company — O how great the contrast!
In a short time, however, he contrived to draw my attention to himself, by his extreme impertinence; for he chose to express what he called his admiration of me, in terms so open and familiar, that he forced me to express my displeasure with equal plainness.
But how was I surprised, when I found he had the temerity — what else can I call it? — to impute my resentment to doubts of his honour: for he said, “My dear Ma’am, you must be a little patient; I assure you I have no bad designs, I have not upon my word; but, really, there is no resolving upon such a thing as matrimony all at once; what with the loss of one’s liberty, and what with the ridicule of all one’s acquaintance — I assure you Ma’am you are the first lady who ever made me even demur upon this subject; for, after all, my dear Ma’am, marriage is the devil.”
“Your opinion, Sir,” answered I, “of either the married or the single life, can be of no manner of consequence to me; and therefore I would by no means trouble you to discuss their different merits.”
“Why, really, Ma’am, as to your being a little out of sorts, I must own I can’t wonder at it; for, to be sure, marriage is all in all with the ladies; but with us gentlemen it’s quite another thing! Now only put yourself in my place; — suppose you had such a large acquaintance of gentlemen as I have — and that you had always been used to appear a little — a little smart among them — why, now could you like to let your self down all at once into a married man?”
I could not tell what to answer; so much conceit, and so much ignorance, both astonished and silenced me.
“I assure you, Ma’am,” added he, “there is not only Miss Biddy — though I should have scored to mention her, if her brother had not blab’d, for I’m quite particular in keeping ladies’ secrets — but there are a great many other ladies that have been proposed to me; — but I never thought twice of any of them, that is, not in a serious way:— so you may very well be proud,” offering to take my hand; “for I assure you, there is nobody so likely to catch me at last as yourself.”
“Sir, “cried I, drawing myself back as haughtily as I could, “you are totally mistaken, if you imagine you have given me any pride I felt not before, by this conversation; on the contrary, you must allow me to tell you, I find it too humiliating to bear with it any longer.”
I then placed myself behind the chair of Madame Duval: who, when she heard of the partners I had refused, pitied my ignorance of the world, but no longer insisted upon my dancing.
Indeed, the extreme vanity of this man, makes me exert a spirit which I did not, till now, know that I possessed: but I cannot endure that he should think me at his disposal.
The rest of the evening passed very quietly, as Mr. Smith did not again attempt speaking to me; except, indeed, after we had left the room and while Madam Duval was seating herself in the coach, he said, in a voice of pique, “Next time I take the trouble to get any tickets for a young lady, I’ll make a bargain before-hand, that she shan’t turn me over to her grandmother.”
We came home very safe; and thus ended this so long projected and most disagreeable affair.
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:51