She made no reply, and my kinsman, without seeming to mind any one
else, rang the bell, saying, if _you_ don't dislike it, there is no more
to be said. The black, whom he had given me, presenting himself at the
door, Mr Warner desired him to step to his lodgings for his pipe and
some tobacco. The man quickly returned with a long japaned reed, with a
boll fixed at the end of it. Mr Warner called for a lighted taper, and
throwing himself back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other,
lighted his pipe with much composure, puffing large clouds of
smoak-a-cross Lady Sarah's nose, who sat at his right-hand. My sister,
who had really an unaffected aversion to tobacco, could not bear this;
she coughed excessively, and, with tears in her eyes, rose off her
chair, and retired to the other end of the room. My old gentleman
laughed till he weezed, nodding his head after her, and looking at me,
as much as to say, I am glad I have sent her off.
Sir George, though determined not to be put out of humour, thought this
was going too far; I was really uneasy myself, and hardly knew how to
act; for if I shewed any mark of distinction to Lady Sarah, I knew it
would be construed by Mr Warner as an affront to him. I ventured,
however, to tell her that if she would step into the drawing-room, I
should order coffee, and wait on her immediately.
Ay, said my brother, approaching his lady, and taking her by the hand,
let us get out of this horrid atmosphere that this honest gentleman has
raised about us. The honest gentleman vouchsafed not to look at him, and
my brother and sister withdrew into the adjoining room.
As soon as they were gone, Mr Warner threw down his pipe, and striking
the table with his clenched fist, burst into a loud laugh. Lord, Lord!
said he, pride _will_ have a fall. I think I have brought them down a
little; how like asses they both looked! Well, now I am satisfied--I
have had my revenge, you may go and drink your coffee with them, I'll
bid you good-by.
He immediately withdrew, and I joined my brother and sister, who were
heartily rejoiced that they had got rid of him.
Sir George said, he saw his design, but was resolved not to give an
opportunity for insults, and so held his tongue. As he is your friend,
Sidney, said he, I would not distress you by engaging you as a party on
either side, which must have been the case; for that old fellow would
not have suffered you to remain neutral.
I told him our kinsman was whimsical, but that as he was now thoroughly
satisfied at having paid them in kind, I was sure he would never again
seek to give them any offence, and they ought to forgive him by the law
of retaliation.
They laughed at the singularity of his manner, and the whole passed off
in mirth: though Lady Sarah declared he had made her quite sick with his
nauseous tobacco.
_March 3_
The ridiculous scene, my Cecilia, for a while called off my thoughts
from the melancholy subject which is now nearest my heart, I mean the
shocking account which Sir George gave me of Mrs--, can I bear to call
her--Faulkland! but it now recurs to me with all its horrors. Oh, my
dear, what a fatal wretch have I been to Mr Faulkland! my best purposes,
by some unseen power, are perverted from their ends. I wonder the food
which I take to nourish me is not converted into poison when I touch it.
But I will calm my troubled mind with this reflexion, that I _meant_ not
to do evil. Mr Faulkland, ignorant of his own misfortune, may (as
hundreds of others in the same situation are) still be happy, if that
light creature has but a single grain of honour or gratitude. I will not
think of it--anticipating as you used to call me, I will banish the
hateful idea from my mind.
_March 12_
What do you think, my Cecilia? Mrs Gerrarde has eloped from her husband,
and is now at Paris in quality of mistress to a young nobleman who
maintains her in vast splendour. I had this news in a letter from Mrs
Faulkland to-day.
Poor Pivet wrote his master an account of it. You know the agreement to
pay this young man an annual sum was conditional. Upon Mr Arnold's
death, Pivet tired of the termagant spirit, and intolerable coquetry of
his wife, was very glad to relax his discipline; and declared, were he
to have had a thousand a year, he would not undertake to keep her within
bounds; and that nothing but his great respect for Mr Faulkland could
have engaged him in the task so long. He acknowleges that he is very
glad to be rid of her, and as Mr Faulkland enabled him to set up very
handsomely in his business, I really think he is happy in his loss.
_March 14_
I have been deeply affected, my Cecilia, within these two days. If it
had not been in my power to relieve the distress I have been a witness
to, how unhappy would it have made me!
I was stepping out of my chariot yesterday morning, when a young woman
who stood at my door, in an old linnen gown, presented to me a little
band-box, open and filled with artificial flowers; she spoke not, but
the silent anguish in her looks drew my attention. She seemed about
eighteen, and very pretty. As an appearance of industry I think doubles
the claim which the poor have to our compassion, I took out of her box a
small sprig of jessamin, very naturally imitated, and asked the young
woman if she made those flowers herself.
She modestly replied, she did. And cannot you, child, said I, find any
one who would give you constant employment in this way to prevent your
wandering about in the streets to dispose of your work?
She answered, Yes, Madam, but I have a poor decrepid father in jail, who
cannot be without my assistance. I live with him, and only come out once
a week to sell my flowers. I might go to service, but he would die if I
were to leave him. Her gentle speech, her youth, and the unaffected
tender sorrow that appeared in her face, when she spoke of her father,
touched me to the heart.
I bade her come in, and taking her into the parlour, was desirous to ask
her some questions.
You look, said I, as if you had not been bred in poverty; pray what is
your father?
She blushed, and with down-cast eyes replied, A clergyman, Madam.
A clergyman, I repeated, what misfortunes (for such I must suppose they
were) drove him to the distressed situation you mention?
It _was_ a misfortune, Madam, and not any crime, answered the girl, with
tears in her eyes; my father is as good a man as ever was born.