Would you believe it?--Betty, by anticipation, tells me, that I am to be
refused. I am 'a vile, artful creature. Every body is too good to me.
My uncle Harlowe has been taken in, that's the phrase. They know how
it would be, if he either wrote to me, or saw me. He has, however, been
made ashamed to be so wrought upon. A pretty thing truly in the eye of
the world it would be, were they to take me at my word! It would look
as if they had treated me thus hardly, as I think it, for this very
purpose. My peculiars, particularly Miss Howe, would give it that
turn; and I myself could mean nothing by it, but to see if it would be
accepted in order to strengthen my own arguments against Mr. Solmes. It
was amazing, that it could admit of a moment's deliberation: that any
thing could be supposed to be done in it. It was equally against law and
equity: and a fine security Miss Bella would have, or Mr. Solmes, when I
could resume it when I would!--My brother and she my heirs! O the artful
creature!--I to resolve to live single, when Lovelace is so sure of
me--and every where declares as much!--and can whenever he pleases,
if my husband, claim under the will!--Then the insolence--the
confidence--[as Betty mincingly told me, that one said; you may easily
guess who] that she, who was so justly in disgrace for downright
rebellion, should pretend to prescribe to the whole family!--Should name
a husband for her elder sister!--What a triumph would her obstinacy go
away with, to delegate her commands, not as from a prison, as she called
it, but as from her throne, to her elders and betters; and to her father
and mother too!--Amazing, perfectly amazing, that any body could argue
upon such a proposal as this! It was a master-stroke of finesse--It was
ME in perfection!--Surely my uncle Harlowe will never again be so taken
in!'
All this was the readier told me, because it was against me, and would
tease and vex me. But as some of this fine recapitulation implied, that
somebody spoke up for me. I was curious to know who it was. But Betty
would not tell me, for fear I should have the consolation to find that
all were not against me.
But do you not see, my dear, what a sad creature she is whom you honour
with your friendship?--You could not doubt your influence over me: Why
did you not take the friendly liberty I have always taken with you,
and tell me my faults, and what a specious hypocrite I am? For, if my
brother and sister could make such discoveries, how is it possible, that
faults to enormous [you could see others, you thought, of a more secret
nature!] could escape you penetrating eye?
Well, but now, it seems, they are debating how and by whom to answer me:
for they know not, nor are they to know, that Mrs. Betty has told me all
these fine things. One desires to be excused, it seems: another chooses
not to have any thing to say to me: another has enough of me: and of
writing to so ready a scribbler, there will be no end.
Thus are those imputed qualifications, which used so lately to gain me
applause, now become my crimes: so much do disgust and anger alter the
property of things.
The result of their debate, I suppose, will somehow or other be
communicated to me by-and-by. But let me tell you, my dear, that I am
made so desperate, that I am afraid to open Mr. Lovelace's letter,
lest, in the humour I am in, I should do something (if I find it not
exceptionable) that may give me repentance as long as I live.