disadvantage when her lover knows himself to be so much beloved that she
dare not let her anger continue long, for fear of losing him for ever.
He was well convinced that mere worldly prudence could not make a
lasting resistance against a strong passion, and such he flattered
himself hers was. He therefore ventured to resume the subject; but his
perseverance increased Lady Mary's surprise and she began to think
herself affronted. Her partiality pleaded in his favour some time; but
at length she thought it necessary to retire, notwithstanding his utmost
endeavours to detain her. As she left him, she desired him to learn to
believe better of her understanding: she perceived it no otherwise an
insult; her education had deprived her of that delicacy which should
have made her feel a severe mortification at the little share she had of
the good opinion of a man she loved; on the contrary, she esteemed the
affront she had received a proof of his affection. She had often indeed
heard the name of virtue, but by the use she had known made of the word,
it appeared to her to have no other signification than prudence. She was
not at all shocked with Lord Robert's conduct; but resolved not to
concur in his views, because she had no inclination to do so, that
overbalanced her very moderate degree of prudence. On this account she
determined to avoid being again alone with him.
Lady Mary's natural sense gave rise to some doubts, whether the very
open professions of gallantry which Lord Robert had made to her were
common; she had been frequently addressed with freedom, but his
behaviour seemed more than commonly presuming. In order to find what
others would think of it, she often turned the conversation to those
sort of subjects, and was a good deal startled one day by a lively, but
amiable and modest young lady who said she believed no man that was not
an absolute fool, or at the time intoxicated, ever insulted a woman with
improper behaviour or discourse, if he had not from some impropriety in
her conduct seen reason to imagine it would not be ill received; and I
am sure, added she, 'if such a thing was ever to befall me, it would
convert me into a starched prude, for fear that hereafter innocent
vivacity might be mistaken for vicious levity: I should take myself very
severely to task, convinced the offence was grounded on my conduct; for
I am well persuaded there is something so respectable in virtue that no
man will dare to insult it, except when a great disparity in
circumstances encourages an abandoned wretch to take advantage of the
necessity of the indigent.'
Lady Mary was greatly affected by this sentiment she began to reflect on
her own behaviour, and could not but see that Lord Robert might, without
any great danger of offending, hazard the behaviour he had been guilty
of; since in effect she had not conceived much anger against him, and
though she had hitherto avoided being again alone with him, yet she had
not shewn any very great marks of displeasure. She now watched with
attention the conduct of other young ladies; many of them seemed to act
on the same principles as herself; but she observed that she who had by
her declaration first raised in her suspicions about her own behaviour,
had a very different manner from hers. She was indeed gay and lively;
but her vivacity seemed under the direction of modesty. In her greatest
flow of spirits, she hazarded no improper expression, nor suffered
others to do so without a manifest disgust she saw that the gentlemen
who conversed with her preserved an air of respect and deference, which
they laid aside when they addressed women whose vivacity degenerated
into levity. She now began to perceive some impropriety in her own
behaviour, and endeavoured to correct it; but nothing is more difficult
than to recover a dignity once lost. When she attempted to restrain her
gaiety within proper bounds, she was laughed at for her affectation: if,
when the conversation was improper, she assumed an air of gravity, she
was accused of the vapours or received hints that she was out of humour.
These were great discouragements in her endeavours to correct the errors
of her conduct, but gave her less pain than the difficulties she was
under about Lord Robert St George. He still continued to address her
with a freedom of manners which she now perceived was insulting; she
wanted to discourage his insolence but feared giving a total offence to
a man who had too great a share of her affections; she was apprehensive
that if she quite deprived him of his hopes, she should entirely lose
him and he would attach himself to some other woman. This situation was
dangerous and Lord Robert knew the power he had over her. The dilemma
she was in really abated the vivacity she wished to restrain, but it was
immediately attributed to the anxiety of a love-sick mind, and she was
exposed to continual raillery on that subject. Her lover secretly
triumphed, flattering himself that her passion was now combating on his
side.
In this situation she was unable to determine what part to act, and all
her intimates were too much like herself to be capable of advising her.
Thus distressed, she resolved to cultivate the acquaintance of the young
lady who had opened her eyes to her own conduct, and try what relief she
could obtain from her advice. This was easily effected; Lady Mary was
too amiable not to have any advances she made answered with pleasure. An
intimacy soon ensued.
Lady Mary communicated to her new friend all the difficulties of her
situation and confessed to her the true state of her heart. That young
lady was not void of compassion for her uneasiness; but told her that
while she was encouraging Lord Robert's passion, she was losing his
esteem, which alone was worth preserving. 'I allow,' said she, 'that by
depriving him of his hopes, you may put an end to his addresses; but
consider, my dear Lady Mary, what satisfaction they can afford you if
they are only the result of a fondness for your person which would lose
all its charms for him as soon as it became familiarized by possession.
You would then at once find yourself both neglected and despised by the
man for whose sake you had rendered yourself truly despicable. I know
you are incapable of an action that would at the same time rid you of
his esteem and of the more valuable consciousness of knowing yourself to
be truly estimable. I am not of the opinion of those who think chastity
the only virtue of consequence to our sex; but it is certainly so very
essential to us that she who violates it seldom preserves any other. And
how should she? For if there are others as great, greater there cannot
be, there is none so necessary. But herein I know you are of my opinion;
I only therefore intreat you to shew Lord Robert that you are so; do not
let him mistake your real sentiments; nor in order to preserve his love,
if custom will oblige me to call his passion by that name, leave him
reason to flatter himself that you will fall a victim to his arts and
your own weakness.
'Consider with yourself,' continued she, 'which is most desirable, his
esteem or his courtship? If you really love him, you can make no
comparison between them, for surely there cannot be a greater suffering
than to stand low in the opinion of any person who has a great share of
our affections. If he neglects you on finding that his criminal designs
cannot succeed, he certainly does not deserve your love, and the
consciousness of having raised yourself in his opinion and forced him to
esteem you, together with the pleasure of reflecting that you have acted
as you ought, will afford you consolation.'
These arguments had due weight with Lady Mary, she determined to follow
her friend's advice and submit to the consequences. Lady Sheerness had
company that evening and among the rest Lord Robert. He was, as usual,
assiduous in his addresses to Lady Mary who, withdrawing to a little
distance from the company, told him, that she had too long suffered his
lordship to continue a courtship, which he had plainly acknowledged was
made with such views as gave her great reason to blame herself for ever
having listened to it. She acknowledged that the levity of her conduct
had been such as lessened her right to reproach him. Encouraged by her
errors, and presuming perhaps on a supposition that he was not
unpleasing to her, he had ventured to insult her in a flagrant manner,
but without complaining of what was past, she thought herself obliged to
tell him his pursuit was in vain; that the errors in her conduct were
the fault of education; nor might she so soon have been convinced of
them if his behaviour had not awakened her to a sense of some
impropriety in her own conduct, which, conscious of the innocence of her
intentions, she had never suspected: she then told him that if he did
not entirely desist from all addresses to her she should be obliged to
acquaint her aunt with his behaviour, who could not suffer such an
insult on her niece to pass unresented.
As soon as she had thus explained herself to Lord Robert, she mingled
with the crowd, though with a mind little inclined to join in their
conversation; but her young friend was there and endeavoured to support
her spirits, which were overcome by the effort she had made. This young
lady soon after went into the country and returned no more to London.
Lord Robert was so disconcerted that he left the room as soon as Lady
Mary had thus given him his dismissal. As their acquaintance lay much in
the same set, they frequently saw each other. Lord Robert endeavoured to
conquer Lady Mary's resolution by sometimes exciting her jealousy and at
others making her the object of his addresses; but she continued steady
in her conduct, though with many secret pangs. He began at last to
converse with her with greater ease to himself as his passion abated
when no longer nourished by hope; and notwithstanding a remainder of
pique, he could not forbear treating her with a respect which her
conduct deserved; for he plainly saw she had acted in contradiction to
her own heart. This alteration in his behaviour afforded her great
satisfaction; and though her love was not extinguished, it ceased to be
very painful when she was persuaded she had obtained some share of his
esteem.
When Lady Mary was in her twentieth year, Lady Sheerness was seized with
a lingering, but incurable disorder. It made little alteration in her
mind. In this melancholy situation she applied to cards and company to
keep up her spirits as assiduously as she had done during her better
health. She was incapable indeed of going so much abroad, but her
acquaintance, who still found her house agreeable, applauded their
charity in attending her at home. Cards even employed the morning, for
fear any intermission of visitors should leave her a moment's time for
reflection. In this manner she passed the short remainder of her life,
without one thought of that which was to come. Her acquaintance, for I
cannot call them as they did themselves, friends, were particularly
careful to avoid every subject that might remind her of death. At night
she procured sleep by laudanum; and from the time she rose, she took
care not to have leisure to think; even at meals she constantly engaged
company, lest her niece's conversation should not prove sufficient to
dissipate her thoughts. Every quack who proposed curing what was
incurable was applied to, and she was buoyed up with successive hopes of
approaching relief.
She grew at last so weak that, unable even to perform her part at the
card-table, Lady Mary was obliged to deal, hold her cards and sort them
for her, while she could just take them out one by one and drop them on
the table. Whist and quadrille became too laborious to her weakened
intellects, but loo supplied their places and continued her amusement to
the last, as reason or memory were not necessary qualifications to play
at it.
Her acquaintances she found at length began to absent themselves, but
she re-animated their charity by making frequent entertainments for
them, and was reduced to order genteel suppers to enliven the evening,
when she herself was obliged to retire to her bed. Though it was for a
considerable time doubtful whether she should live till morning, it was
no damp to the spirits of any of the company from which she had
withdrawn, except to Lady Mary, who, with an aching heart, was obliged
to preside every evening at the table, and to share their unfeeling
mirth, till two or three o'clock in the morning.
She was greatly afflicted with the thought of her aunt's approaching
death, whose indulgence to her, however blameable, had made a deep
impression on her heart; as this gave a more serious turn to her mind,
she could not see Lady Sheerness's great insensibility to what must
happen after death without much concern. The great care that was taken
to rob her of leisure to reflect on matters of such high importance
shocked her extremely; and she was disgusted with the behaviour of those
she called her friends, who she plainly perceived would have fallen into
total neglect of her had she not found means to render her house more
amusing to them than any into which they could enter. She now saw that
friendship existed not without esteem; and that pleasurable connections
would break at the time they were most wanted.
This course of life continued, till one evening Lady Sheerness was
seized with a fainting fit at the card-table, and being carried to her
bed, in half an hour departed to a world of which she had never thought
and for which she was totally unprepared.
As Lady Mary was not able to return to the company, they in decency, not
in affliction, retired.
Having long expected this event, her grief was greater than her
surprise. She sent for the gentleman who she knew was her aunt's
executor, that her will might be opened and necessary directions given
for the funeral. Lady Mary had no doubt of succeeding to an easy
fortune, and when the will was read it confirmed her in that supposition
by appointing her sole heiress. But the executor told her he feared she
would find no inheritance. The will was made on her first coming to Lady
Sheerness, when there was some remains of the money her lord had left
her, but he was well convinced it had since been not only entirety
expended, but considerable debts incurred.
This account was soon proved true by the demands of numerous creditors.
Lady Mary gave up all her aunt's effects, which fell short of the debts,
and remained herself in the same destitute condition from which Lady
Sheerness had rescued her. This was a very severe shock; she had seen
sufficient proof of the little real friendship to be found in such
fashionable connections as she had been engaged in, to know that she had
nothing to hope from any of her acquaintance. Her father had been at
variance with most of his relations, and Lady Sheerness had kept up the
quarrel. She had therefore little expectation of assistance from them in
the only wish she could form, which was to obtain a pension from the
government, whereto her rank seemed to entitle her. She saw no resource
but in the pride of some insolent woman who would like to have a person
of her quality dependent on her; a prospect far worse than death. Or
possibly, good-nature might procure her a reception among some of her
acquaintance; but as she had nothing even to answer her personal
expenses, how soon would they grow weary of so chargeable a visitor?
While she was oppressed with these reflections, and had nothing before
her eyes but the gloomy prospect of extreme distress, she received a
message from Lady Brumpton, who waited in her equipage at the door,
desiring to be admitted to see her, for Lady Mary had given a general
order to be denied, being unfit to see company, and unwilling to be
exposed to the insulting condolence of many whose envy at the splendour
in which she had lived and the more than common regard that had usually
been shewn her, would have come merely to enjoy the triumph they felt on
her present humiliation.
Lady Brumpton was widow to Lady Mary's half-brother. She had been a
private gentlewoman of good family but small fortune, by marrying whom
her lord had given such offence to his father that he would never after
admit him to his presence. Lady Sheerness had shewn the same resentment
and there no longer subsisted any communication between the families.
Lord Brumpton had been dead about three years and left no children.
His widow was still a fine woman. She was by nature generous and humane,
her temper perfectly good, her understanding admirable. She had been
educated with great care, was very accomplished, had read a great deal
and with excellent taste; she had great quickness of parts and a very
uncommon share of wit. Her beauty first gained her much admiration; but
when she was better known, the charms of her understanding seemed to
eclipse those of her person. Her conversation was generally courted, her
wit and learning were the perpetual subjects of panegyric in verse and
prose, which unhappily served to increase her only failing, vanity. She
sought to be admired for various merits. To recommend her person she
studied dress and went to considerable expense in ornaments. To shew her
taste, she distinguished herself by the elegance of her house, furniture
and equipage. To prove her fondness for literature, she collected a
considerable library; and to shew that all her esteem was not engrossed
by the learned dead, she caressed all living geniuses; all were welcome
to her house, from the ragged philosopher to the rhyming peer; but while
she only exchanged adulation with the latter, she generously relieved
the necessities of the former. She aimed at making her house a little
academy; all the arts and sciences were there discussed, and none dared
to enter who did not think themselves qualified to shine and partake of
the lustre which was diffused round this assembly.
Though encircled by science and flattery, Lady Mary's distress reached
Lady Brumpton's ears and brought her to that young lady's door, who was
surprised at the unexpected visit, but could not refuse her admittance.
Lady Brumpton began by apologizing for her intrusion but excused herself
on the great desire she had of being acquainted with so near a relation
of her lord's, who, as she was too young to have any share in the
unhappy divisions in the family, she was persuaded was free from those
ill-grounded resentments which the malice and impertinence of
tale-bearers are always watchful to improve; and when she considered
herself as the first occasion of the quarrel, she thought it her duty,
in regard to her deceased lord's memory, to offer that protection his
sister might justly demand from her, and which her youth rendered
necessary.
Lady Mary was charmed with the politeness of Lady Brumpton's address,
but still more with the generosity of her behaviour in seeking her out,
at a time when so many were diligent to avoid her. The acknowledgements
she made for the favour done her spoke as much in her recommendation as
her person. Lady Brumpton after some conversation told her she had a
request to make to which she could not well suffer a denial; this was no
other than that she would leave that melancholy house and make hers the
place of her fixed abode; for as, by Lord Brumpton's will, he had
bequeathed her his whole fortune, she should not enjoy it with peace of
mind if his sister did not share in the possession.
This very agreeable invitation filled Lady Mary with joy and surprise.
She made a proper return to Lady Brumpton for her generosity and they
agreed that Lady Mary should remove to her house the next day.
When Lady Mary was left alone to reflect on this unexpected piece of
good fortune, and considered the distress she had been in but two hours
before, and from which she was now so happily delivered; when she
reflected on the many calamities wherewith from her childhood she had
been threatened and by what various means she had been saved so often
from ruin, she could not forbear thinking that she was indeed the care
of that Being who had hitherto employed so little of her thoughts. Such
frequent mercies as she had received, sometimes in being preserved from
the fatal consequences of her own follies, at others from the
unavoidable distresses to which she had been exposed, awakened in her
mind a lively gratitude to the supreme Disposer of all human events. The
poor consolations to which her aunt had been reduced in the melancholy
conclusion of her life shewed her that happiness did not consist in
dissipation, nor in tumultuous pleasures, and could alone be found in
something which every age and every condition might enjoy. Reason seemed
this source of perpetual content and she fancied that alone would afford
a satisfaction suitable to every state of mind and body. Some degree of
religion she imagined necessary, and that to perform the duties it
required was requisite to our peace. But the extent of true religion she
had never considered, though her great good fortune told her that she
ought to be thankful for the blessings conferred and not distrust the
care of providence, of which she had received such signal proofs.
She had often heard Lady Brumpton ridiculed under the appellation of a
genius and a learned lady; but when she recollected who those persons
were, no other than the open professors of folly, it did not prejudice
that lady in her opinion, but rather raised her expectation of being
introduced into a superior race of beings for whose conversation she
knew herself unqualified, but from whom she hoped for some improvement
to her understanding, too long neglected.
In this disposition of mind Lady Brumpton found her at the hour that she
had appointed to fetch her. They went directly into Lady Brumpton's
dressing room, who presented Lady Mary with a settlement she had
prepared of a hundred pounds a year which she begged her to accept for
her clothes and desired that whenever she found it insufficient she
would draw on her for more: she at the same time made her the first
payment.
Lady Mary, now entered into a new set of company, frequently found
herself entirely at a loss; for she was so totally unacquainted with the
subjects of their discourse that she understood them almost as little as
if they had talked another language; she told Lady Brumpton how much she
was concerned at her own ignorance and begged she would give her some
directions what she should read. That lady, whose chief aim was to
shine, recommended to her the things most likely to fall into
conversation, that she might be qualified to bear her part in it. Lady
Mary took her advice and read some moral essays, just published; then a
new play; after that the history of one short period; and ended with a
volume of sermons then much in fashion. When she began to examine what
she had acquired by her studies, she found such a confusion in her
memory, where a historical anecdote was crowded by a moral sentiment and
a scrap of a play interwoven into a sermon, that she determined to
discontinue that miscellaneous reading and begin a regular and improving
course, leaving to others the privilege of sitting in judgement on every
new production.
In this situation Lady Mary continued some years, without any
mortification, except what she felt from seeing the consequences of Lady
Brumpton's too great vanity. It led her into expenses, which though they
did not considerably impair her fortune, yet so far straitened it that
she frequently had not power to indulge the generosity of her mind where
it would have done her honour and have yielded her solid satisfaction.
The adulation which she received with too much visible complacency
inspired her with such an opinion of herself as led her to despise those
of less shining qualities, and not to treat any with proper civility
whom she had not some particular desire to please, which often gave
severe pangs to bashful merit, and called her real superiority in
question; for those who observed so great a weakness were tempted to
believe her understanding rather glittering than solid. The desire of
attracting to her house every person who had gained a reputation for
genius occasioned many to be admitted whose acquaintance were a disgrace
to her, and who artfully taking advantage of her weakness by excess of
flattery found means of imposing on her to any degree they pleased.