What are the women below to me?--I want not to establish myself with
them. Need they know all that passes between my relations and you and
me?
Neither are they any thing to me, Madam. Only, that when, for the sake
of preventing the fatal mischiefs which might have attended your
brother's projects, I have made them think us married, I would not appear
to them in a light which you yourself think so shocking. By my soul,
Madam, I had rather die, than contradict myself so flagrantly, after I
have related to them so many circumstances of our marriage.
Well, Sir, the women may believe what they please. That I have given
countenance to what you told them is my error. The many circumstances
which you own one untruth has drawn you in to relate, is a justification
of my refusal in the present case.
Don't you see, Madam, that your uncle wishes to find that we are married?
May not the ceremony be privately over, before his mediation can take
place?
Urge this point no further, Mr. Lovelace. If you will not tell the
truth, I will to-morrow morning (if I see Captain Tomlinson) tell it
myself. Indeed I will.
Will you, Madam, consent that things pass as before with the people
below? This mediation of Tomlinson may come to nothing. Your brother's
schemes may be pursued; the rather, that now he will know (perhaps from
your uncle) that you are not under a legal protection.--You will, at
least, consent that things pass here as before?--
To permit this, is to go on in an error, Mr. Lovelace. But as the
occasion for so doing (if there can be in your opinion an occasion that
will warrant an untruth) will, as I presume, soon be over, I shall the
less dispute that point with you. But a new error I will not be guilty
of, if I can avoid it.
Can I, do you think, Madam, have any dishonourable view in the step I
supposed you would not scruple to take towards a reconciliation with your
own family? Not for my own sake, you know, did I wish you to take it;
for what is it to me, if I am never reconciled to your family? I want no
favours from them.
I hope, Mr. Lovelace, there is no occasion, in our present not
disagreeable situation, to answer such a question. And let me say, that
I shall think my prospects still more agreeable, if, to-morrow morning
you will not only own the very truth, but give my uncle's friend such an
account of the steps you have taken, and are taking, as may keep up my
uncle's favourable intentions towards me. This you may do under what
restrictions of secrecy you please. Captain Tomlinson is a prudent man;
a promoter of family-peace, you find; and, I dare say, may be made a
friend.
I saw there was no help. I saw that the inflexible Harlowe spirit was
all up in her.--A little witch!--A little--Forgive me, Love, for calling
her names! And so I said, with an air, We have had too many
misunderstandings, Madam, for me to wish for new ones: I will obey you
without reserve. Had I not thought I should have obliged you by the
other method, (especially as the ceremony might have been over before any
thing could have operated from your uncle's intentions, and of
consequence no untruth persisted in,) I would not have proposed it. But
think not, my beloved creature, that you shall enjoy, without condition,
this triumph over my judgment.
And then, clasping my arms about her, I gave her averted cheek (her
charming lip designed) a fervent kiss.--And your forgiveness of this
sweet freedom [bowing] is that condition.
She was not mortally offended. And now must I make out the rest as well
as I can. But this I will tell thee, that although her triumph has not
diminished my love for her, yet it has stimulated me more than ever to
revenge, as thou wilt be apt to call it. But victory, or conquest, is
the more proper word.
There is a pleasure, 'tis true, in subduing one of these watchful
beauties. But by my soul, Belford, men of our cast take twenty times the
pains to be rogues than it would cost them to be honest; and dearly, with
the sweat of our brows, and to the puzzlement of our brains, (to say
nothing of the hazards we run,) do we earn our purchase; and ought not
therefore to be grudged our success when we meet with it--especially as,
when we have obtained our end, satiety soon follows; and leaves us little
or nothing to show for it. But this, indeed, may be said of all worldly
delights.--And is not that a grave reflection from me?
I was willing to write up to the time. Although I have not carried my
principal point, I shall make something turn out in my favour from
Captain Tomlinson's errand. But let me give thee this caution; that thou
do not pretend to judge of my devices by parts; but have patience till
thou seest the whole. But once more I swear, that I will not be
out-Norris'd by a pair of novices. And yet I am very apprehensive, at
times, of the consequences of Miss Howe's smuggling scheme.
My conscience, I should think, ought not to reproach me for a
contrivance, which is justified by the contrivances of two such girls as
these: one of whom (the more excellent of the two) I have always, with
her own approbation, as I imagine, proposed for my imitation.
But here, Jack, is the thing that concludes me, and cases my heart with
adamant: I find, by Miss Howe's letters, that it is owing to her, that I
have made no greater progress with my blooming fair-one. She loves me.
The ipecacuanha contrivance convinces me that she loves me. Where there
is love there must be confidence, or a desire of having reason to
confide. Generosity, founded on my supposed generosity, has taken hold
of her heart. Shall I not now see (since I must forever be unhappy, if I
marry her, and leave any trial unessayed) what I can make of her love,
and her newly-raised confidence?--Will it not be to my glory to succeed?
And to her's and to the honour of her sex, if I cannot?--Where then will
be the hurt to either, to make the trial? And cannot I, as I have often
said,
reward her when I will by marriage?
'Tis late, or rather early; for the day begins to dawn upon me. I am
plaguy heavy. Perhaps I need not to have told thee that. But will only
indulge a doze in my chair for an hour; then shake myself, wash and
refresh. At my time of life, with such a constitution as I am blessed
with, that's all that's wanted.
Good night to me!--It cannot be broad day till I am
awake.--Aw-w-w-whaugh--pox of this yawning!
Is not thy uncle dead yet?
What's come to mine, that he writes not to my last?--Hunting after more
wisdom of nations, I suppose!--Yaw-yaw-yawning again!--Pen, begone!