Thus it was—My charmer accompanied Mrs. Moore again to church this
afternoon. I had been in very earnest, in the first place, to obtain
her company at dinner: but in vain. According to what she had said to
Mrs. Moore,* I was too considerable to her to be allowed that favour.
In the next place, I besought her to favour me, after dinner, with
another garden-walk. But she would again go to church. And what reason
have I to rejoice that she did!
* See Letter III. of this volume.
My worthy friend, Mrs. Bevis, thought one sermon a day, well observed,
enough; so staid at home to bear me company.
The lady and Mrs. Moore had not been gone a quarter of an hour, when a
young country-fellow on horseback came to the door, and inquired for
Mrs. Harriot Lucas. The widow and I (undetermined how we were to
entertain each other) were in the parlour next the door; and hearing
the fellow’s inquiry, O my dear Mrs. Bevis, said I, I am undone, undone
for ever, if you don’t help me out!—Since here, in all probability, is
a messenger from that implacable Miss Howe with a letter; which, if
delivered to Mrs. Lovelace, may undo all we have been doing.
What, said she, would you have me do?
Call the maid in this moment, that I may give her her lesson; and if it
be as I imagined, I’ll tell you what you shall do.
Wid. Margaret!—Margaret! come in this minute.
Lovel. What answer, Mrs. Margaret, did you give the man, upon his
asking for Mrs. Harriot Lucas?
Peggy. I only asked, What was his business, and who he came from? (for,
Sir, your honour’s servant had told me how things stood): and I came at
your call, Madam, before he answered me.
Lovel. Well, child, if ever you wish to be happy in wedlock yourself,
and would have people disappointed who want to make mischief between
you and your husband, get out of him his message, or letter if he has
one, and bring it to me, and say nothing to Mrs. Lovelace, when she
comes in; and here is a guinea for you.
Peggy. I will do all I can to serve your honour’s worship for nothing:
[nevertheless, with a ready hand, taking the guinea:] for Mr. William
tells me what a good gentleman you be.
Away went Peggy to the fellow at the door.
Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas?
Fellow. I must speak to her her own self.
Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace—for Heaven’s
sake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace.
Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?—She is fair; I
am brown. She is slender: I am plump—
Lovel. No matter, no matter—The fellow may be a new-come servant: he is
not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be
bloated and in a dropsy.
Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do.
Lovel. True—but the clown may not know that. ’Tis but for a present
deception. Peggy, Peggy, call’d I, in a female tone, softly at the
door. Madam, answer’d Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door.
Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And
get his business from him, whatever you do.
Away went Peggy.
Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your
handkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he
may not see your eyes and your hair.—So—that’s right.—I’ll step into
the closet by you.