‘My dearest life,’ cried he, ‘is it possible you can be so cruel? Can your nature and your countenance be so totally opposite? Can the sweet bloom upon those charming cheeks, which appears as much the result of good-humour as of beauty – ’
‘O, Sir,’ cried I, interrupting him, ‘this is very fine; but I had hoped we had had enough of this sort of conversation at the Ridotto, and I did not expect you would so soon resume it.’
‘What I then said, my sweet reproacher, was the effect of a mistaken, a prophane idea, that your understanding held no competition with your beauty; but now, now that I find you equally incomparable in both, all words, all powers of speech, are too feeble to express the admiration I feel of your excellencies.’
‘Indeed,’ cried I, ‘if your thoughts had any connection with your language, you would never suppose that I could give credit to praise so very much above my desert.’
This speech, which I made very gravely, occasioned still stronger protestations, which he continued to pour forth, and I continued to disclaim, till I began to wonder that we were not in Queen-Ann-Street, and begged he would desire the coachman to drive faster.
‘And does this little moment,’ cried he, ‘which is the first of happiness I have ever known, does it already appear so very long to you?’
‘I am afraid the man has mistaken the way,’ answered I, ‘or else we should ere now have been at our journey’s end. I must beg you will speak to him.’
‘And can you think me so much my own enemy? – if my good genius has inspired the man with a desire of prolonging my happiness, can you expect that I should counteract its indulgence?’
I now began to apprehend that he had himself ordered the man to go a wrong way, and I was so much alarmed at the idea, that, the very instant it occurred to me, I let down the glass, and made a sudden effort to open the chariot-door myself, with a view of jumping into the street; but he caught hold of me, exclaiming, ‘For Heaven’s sake, what is the matter?’
‘I – I don’t know,’ cried I (quite out of breath), ‘but I am sure the man goes wrong, and, if you will not speak to him, I am determined I will get out myself.’
‘You amaze me,’ answered he (still holding me), ‘I cannot imagine what you apprehend. Surely you can have no doubts of my honour?’
He drew me towards him as he spoke. I was frightened dreadfully, and could hardly say, ‘No, Sir, no, – none at all, – only Mrs Mirvan, – I think she will be uneasy.’
‘Whence this alarm, my dearest angel? – What can you fear? – my life is at your devotion, and can you, then, doubt my protection?’
And so saying he passionately kissed my hand.
Never, in my whole life, have I been so terrified. I broke forcibly from him, and, putting my head out of the window, called aloud to the man to stop. Where we then were I know not, but I saw not a human being, or I should have called for help.
Sir Clement, with great earnestness, endeavoured to appease and compose me; ‘If you do not intend to murder me,’ cried I, ‘for mercy’s, for pity’s sake, let me get out!’
‘Compose your spirits, my dearest life,’ cried he, ‘and I will do every thing you would have me.’ And then he called to the man himself, and bid him make haste to Queen-Ann-Street. ‘This stupid fellow,’ continued he, ‘has certainly mistaken my orders; but I hope you are now fully satisfied.’
I made no answer, but kept my head at the window, watching which way he drove, but without any comfort to myself, as I was quite unacquainted with either the right or the wrong.
Sir Clement now poured forth abundant protestations of honour, and assurances of respect, entreating my pardon for having offended me, and beseeching my good opinion: but I was quite silent, having too much apprehension to make reproaches, and too much anger to speak without.
In this manner we went through several streets, till at last, to my great terror, he suddenly ordered the man to stop, and said, ‘Miss Anville, we are now within twenty yards of your house; but I cannot bear to part with you, till you generously forgive me for the offence you have taken, and promise not to make it known to the Mirvans.’
I hesitated between fear and indignation.
‘Your reluctance to speak, redoubles my contrition for having displeased you, since it shews the reliance I might have on a promise which you will not give without consideration.’
‘I am very, very much distressed,’ cried I, ‘you ask a promise which you must be sensible I ought not to grant, and yet dare not refuse.’
‘Drive on!’ cried he to the coachman; – ‘Miss Anville, I will not compel you; I will exact no promise, but trust wholly to your generosity.’
This rather softened me; which advantage he no sooner perceived, than he determined to avail himself of, for he flung himself on his knees, and pleaded with so much submission, that I was really obliged to forgive him, because his humiliation made me quite ashamed: and, after that, he would not let me rest till I gave him my word that I would not complain of him to Mrs Mirvan.
My own folly and pride, which had put me in his power, were pleas which I could not but attend to in his favour. However, I shall take very particular care never to be again alone with him.
When, at last, we arrived at our house, I was so overjoyed, that I should certainly have pardoned him then, if I had not before. As he handed me up stairs, he scolded his servant aloud, and very angrily, for having gone so much out of the way. Miss Mirvan ran out to meet me, – and who should I see behind her, but – Lord Orville!
All my joy now vanished, and gave place to shame and confusion; for I could not endure that he should know how long a time Sir Clement and I had been together, since I was not at liberty to assign any reason for it.
They all expressed great satisfaction at seeing me, and said they had been extremely uneasy and surprised that I was so long coming home, as they had heard from Lord Orville that I was not with Madame Duval. Sir Clement, in an affected passion, said that his booby of a servant had misunderstood his orders, and was driving us to the upper end of Piccadilly. For my part, I only coloured, for though I would not forfeit my word, I yet disdained to confirm a tale in which I had myself no belief.
Lord Orville, with great politeness, congratulated me, that the troubles of the evening had so happily ended, and said, that he had found it impossible to return home, before he enquired after my safety.
In a very short time he took leave, and Sir Clement followed him. As soon as they were gone, Mrs Mirvan, though with great softness, blamed me for having quitted Madame Duval. I assured her, and with truth, that for the future I would be more prudent.
The adventures of the evening so much disconcerted me, that I could not sleep all night. I am under the most cruel apprehensions, lest Lord Orville should suppose my being on the gallery-stairs with Sir Clement was a concerted scheme, and even that our continuing so long together in his chariot, was with my approbation, since I did not say a word on the subject, nor express any dissatisfaction at the coachman’s pretended blunder.
Yet his coming hither to wait our arrival, though it seems to imply some doubt, shews also some anxiety. Indeed Miss Mirvan says, that he appeared extremely anxious, nay uneasy and impatient for my return. If I did not fear to flatter myself, I should think it not impossible but that he had a suspicion of Sir Clement’s design, and was therefore concerned for my safety.
What a long letter is this! however, I shall not write many more from London, for the Captain said this morning, that he would leave town on Tuesday next. Madame Duval will dine here to-day, and then she is to be told his intention.
I am very much amazed that she accepted Mrs Mirvan’s invitation, as she was in such wrath yesterday. I fear that to-day I shall myself be the principal object of her displeasure; but I must submit patiently, for I cannot defend myself.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. Should this letter be productive of any uneasiness to you, more than ever shall I repent the heedless imprudence which it recites.
Letter Twenty-Two
Evelina in continuation
Monday morning, April 18
Mrs Mirvan has just communicated to me an anecdote concerning Lord Orville, which has much surprised, half pleased, and half pained me.
While they were sitting together during the opera, he told her that he had been greatly concerned at the impertinence which the young lady under her protection had suffered from Mr Lovel; but that he had the pleasure of assuring her, she had no future disturbance to apprehend from him.
Mrs Mirvan, with great eagerness, begged he would explain himself, and said she hoped he had not thought so insignificant an affair worthy his serious attention.
‘There is nothing,’ answered he, ‘which requires more immediate notice than impertinence, for it ever encroaches when it is tolerated.’ He then added, that he believed he ought to apologize for the liberty he had taken of interfering, but that, as he regarded himself in the light of a party concerned, from having had the honour of dancing with Miss Anville, he could not possibly reconcile to himself a patient neutrality.
He then proceeded to tell her, that he had waited upon Mr Lovel the morning after the play; that the visit had proved an amicable one, but the particulars were neither entertaining nor necessary; he only assured her, Miss Anville might be perfectly easy, since Mr Lovel had engaged his honour never more to mention, or even to hint at what had passed at Mrs Stanley’s assembly.
Mrs Mirvan expressed her satisfaction at this conclusion, and thanked him for his polite attention to her young friend.
‘It would be needless,’ said he, ‘to request that this affair may never transpire, since Mrs Mirvan cannot but see the necessity of keeping it inviolably secret; but I thought it incumbent upon me, as the young lady is under your protection, to assure both you and her of Mr Lovel’s future respect.’
Had I known of this visit previous to Lord Orville’s making it, what dreadful uneasiness would it have cost me! Yet that he should so much interest himself in securing me from offence, gives me, I must own, an internal pleasure greater than I can express; for I feared he had too contemptuous an opinion of me, to take any trouble upon my account. Though, after all, this interference might rather be to satisfy his own delicacy, than from thinking well of me.
But how cool, how quiet is true courage! Who, from seeing Lord Orville at the play, would have imagined his resentment would have hazarded his life? yet his displeasure was evident, though his real bravery and his politeness equally guarded him from entering into any discussion in our presence.
Madame Duval, as I expected, was most terribly angry yesterday; she scolded me for I believe two hours, on account of having left her, and protested she had been so much surprised at my going, without giving her time to answer, that she hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep. But she assured me, that if ever I did so again, she would never more take me into public. And she expressed an equal degree of displeasure against Sir Clement, because he had not even spoken to her, and because he was always of the Captain’s side in an argument. The Captain, as bound in honour, warmly defended him, and then followed a dispute in the usual style.
After dinner, Mrs Mirvan introduced the subject of our leaving London. Madame Duval said she should stay a month or two longer. The Captain told her she was welcome, but that he and his family should go into the country on Tuesday morning.
A most disagreeable scene followed; Madame Duval insisted upon keeping me with her; but Mrs Mirvan said, that as I was actually engaged on a visit to Lady Howard, who had only consented to my leaving her for a few days, she could not think of returning without me.
Perhaps if the Captain had not interfered, the good-breeding and mildness of Mrs Mirvan might have had some effect upon Madame Duval; but he passes no opportunity of provoking her, and therefore made so many gross and rude speeches, all of which she retorted, that, in conclusion, she vowed she would sooner go to law, in right of her relationship, than that I should be taken away from her.
I heard this account from Mrs Mirvan, who was so kindly considerate as to give me a pretence for quitting the room, as soon as this dispute began, lest Madame Duval should refer to me, and insist on my obedience.
The final result of the conversation was, that, to soften matters for the present, Madame Duval should make one in the party for Howard Grove, whither we are positively to go next Wednesday. And though we are none of us satisfied with this plan, we know not how to form a better.
Mrs Mirvan is now writing to Lady Howard, to excuse bringing this unexpected guest, and to prevent the disagreeable surprise, which must, otherwise, attend her reception. This dear lady seems eternally studying my happiness and advantage.
To-night we go to the Pantheon, which is the last diversion we shall partake of in London, for to-morrow –
This moment, my dearest Sir, I have received your kind letter.
If you thought us too dissipated the first week, I almost fear to know what you will think of us this second, – however, the Pantheon this evening will probably be the last public place which I shall ever see.
The assurance of your support and protection in regard to Madame Duval, though what I never doubted, excites my utmost gratitude: how, indeed, cherished under your roof, the happy object of your constant indulgence, how could I have borne to become the slave of her tyrannical humours? – pardon me that I speak so hardly of her, but, whenever the idea of passing my days with her occurs to me, the comparison which naturally follows, takes from me all that forbearance, which, I believe, I owe her.
You are already displeased with Sir Clement: to be sure, then, his behaviour after the Opera will not make peace with you. Indeed, the more I reflect upon it, the more angry I am. I was entirely in his power, and it was cruel in him to cause me so much terror.
O my dearest Sir, were I but worthy the prayers and the wishes you offer for me, the utmost ambition of my heart would be fully satisfied! but I greatly fear you will find me, now that I am out of the reach of your assisting prudence, more weak and imperfect than you could have expected.
I have not now time to write another word, for I must immediately hasten to dress for the evening.
Letter Twenty-Three
Evelina in continuation
Queen-Ann-Street, Tuesday, April, 19
There is something to me half melancholy in writing an account of our last adventures in London; however, as this day is merely appropriated to packing, and preparations for our journey, and as I shall shortly have no more adventures to write, I think I may as well complete my town journal at once. And, when you have it all together, I hope, my dear Sir, you will send me your observations and thoughts upon it to Howard Grove.
About eight o’clock we went to the Pantheon. I was extremely struck with the beauty of the building, which greatly surpassed whatever I could have expected or imagined. Yet, it has more the appearance of a chapel, than of a place of diversion; and, though I was quite charmed with the magnificence of the room, I felt that I could not be as gay and thoughtless there as at Ranelagh, for there is something in it which rather inspires awe and solemnity, than mirth and pleasure. However, perhaps it may only have this effect upon such a novice as myself.
I should have said, that our party consisted only of Captain, Mrs and Miss Mirvan, as Madame Duval spent the day in the city: – which I own I could not lament.
There was a great deal of company; but the first person we saw was Sir Clement Willoughby. He addressed us with his usual ease, and joined us for the whole evening. I felt myself very uneasy in his presence; for I could not look at him, nor hear him speak, without recollecting the chariot adventure; but to my great amazement, I observed that he looked at me without the least apparent discomposure, though certainly he ought not to think of his behaviour without blushing. I really wish I had not forgiven him, and then he could not have ventured to speak to me any more.
There was an exceeding good concert, but too much talking to hear it well. Indeed I am quite astonishe
d to find how little music is attended to in silence; for though every body seems to admire, hardly any body listens.
We did not see Lord Orville, till we went into the tea-room, which is large, low, and under ground, and serves merely as a foil to the apartments above; he then sat next to us; he seemed to belong to a large party, chiefly of ladies; but, among the gentlemen attending them, I perceived Mr Lovel.
I was extremely irresolute whether or not I ought to make any acknowledgements to Lord Orville for his generous conduct in securing me from the future impertinence of that man; and I thought, that as he had seemed to allow Mrs Mirvan to acquaint me, though no one else, of the measures which he had taken, he might, perhaps, suppose me ungrateful if silent: however, I might have spared myself the trouble of deliberating, as I never once had the shadow of an opportunity of speaking unheard by Sir Clement. On the contrary, he was so exceedingly officious and forward, that I could not say a word to any body, but instantly he bent his head forward, with an air of profound attention, as if I had addressed myself wholly to him: and yet, I never once looked at him, and would not have spoken to him on any account.
Indeed, Mrs Mirvan, herself, though unacquainted with the behaviour of Sir Clement after the opera, says it is not right for a young woman to be seen so frequently in public with the same gentleman; and, if our stay in town was to be lengthened, she would endeavour to represent to the Captain the impropriety of allowing his constant attendance; for Sir Clement, with all his easiness, could not be so eternally of our parties, if the Captain was less fond of his company.
At the same table with Lord Orville, sat a gentleman, – I call him so only because he was at the same table, – who, almost from the moment I was seated, fixed his eyes steadfastly on my face, and never once removed them to any other object during tea-time, notwithstanding my dislike of his staring, must, I am sure, have been very evident. I was quite surprised, that a man whose boldness was so offensive, could have gained admission into a party of which Lord Orville made one; for I naturally concluded him to be some low-bred, and uneducated man; and I thought my idea was indubitably confirmed, when I heard him say to Sir Clement Willoughby, in an audible whisper, – which is a mode of speech very distressing and disagreeable to bystanders, – ‘For Heaven’s sake, Willoughby, who is that lovely creature?’
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