with the Baronet was universally expected, and, in conclusion,
notwithstanding her earnest desire that he would instantly and
explicitly inform Sir Robert of her determination, he repeatedly
refused to give him any final answer till she had taken more time for
consideration.
Cecilia was extremely displeased at this irksome importunity, and still
more chagrined to find her incautious emotion at the Opera-house, had
given rise to suspicions of her harbouring a partiality for a man whom
every day she more heartily disliked.
While she was deliberating in what manner she could clear up this
mistake, which, after she was left alone, occupied all her thoughts, she
was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Monckton, whose joy in meeting
her at length by herself exceeded not her own, for charmed as he was
that he could now examine into the state of her affairs, she was not
less delighted that she could make them known to him.
After mutual expressions, guarded, however, on the part of Mr. Monckton,
though unreserved on that of Cecilia, of their satisfaction in being
again able to converse as in former times, he asked if she would permit
him, as the privilege of their long acquaintance, to speak to her with
sincerity.
She assured him he could not more oblige her.
“Let me, then,” said he, “enquire if yet that ardent confidence in your
own steadiness, which so much disdained my fears that the change of
your residence might produce a change in your sentiments, is still as
unshaken as when we parted in Suffolk? Or whether experience, that foe
to unpractised refinement, has already taught you the fallibility of
theory?”
“When I assure you,” replied Cecilia, “that your enquiry gives me no
pain, I think I have sufficiently answered it, for were I conscious of
any alteration, it could not but embarrass and distress me. Very far,
however, from finding myself in the danger with which you threatened
me, of _forgetting Bury, its inhabitants and its environs_, I think
with pleasure of little else, since London, instead of bewitching, has
greatly disappointed me.”
“How so?” cried Mr Monckton, much delighted.
“Not,” answered she, “in itself, not in its magnificence, nor in its
diversions, which seem to be inexhaustible; but these, though copious as
instruments of pleasure, are very shallow as sources of happiness:
the disappointment, therefore, comes nearer home, and springs not from
London, but from my own situation.”
“Is that, then, disagreeable to you?”
“You shall yourself judge, when I have told you that from the time of
my quitting your house till this very moment, when I have again the
happiness of talking with you, I have never once had any conversation,
society or intercourse, in which friendship or affection have had any
share, or my mind has had the least interest.”
She then entered into a detail of her way of life, told him how little
suited to her taste was the unbounded dissipation of the Harrels, and
feelingly expatiated upon the disappointment she had received from the
alteration in the manners and conduct of her young friend. “In her,”
she continued, “had I found the companion I came prepared to meet,
the companion from whom I had so lately parted, and in whose society
I expected to find consolation for the loss of yours and of Mrs
Charlton's, I should have complained of nothing; the very places that
now tire, might then have entertained me, and all that now passes for
unmeaning dissipation, might then have worn the appearance of variety
and pleasure. But where the mind is wholly without interest, every thing
is languid and insipid; and accustomed as I have long been to think
friendship the first of human blessings, and social converse the
greatest of human enjoyments, how ever can I reconcile myself to a state
of careless indifference, to making acquaintance without any concern
either for preserving or esteeming them, and to going on from day to
day in an eager search of amusement, with no companion for the hours
of retirement, and no view beyond that of passing the present moment in
apparent gaiety and thoughtlessness?”
Mr Monckton, who heard these complaints with secret rapture, far from
seeking to soften or remove, used his utmost endeavours to strengthen
and encrease them, by artfully retracing her former way of life, and
pointing out with added censures the change in it she had been lately
compelled to make: “a change,” he continued, “which though ruinous
of your time, and detrimental to your happiness, use will, I fear,
familiarize, and familiarity render pleasant.”
“These suspicions, sir,” said Cecilia, “mortify me greatly; and why,
when far from finding me pleased, you hear nothing but repining, should
you still continue to harbour them?”
“Because your trial has yet been too short to prove your firmness, and
because there is nothing to which time cannot contentedly accustom us.”
“I feel not much fear,” said Cecilia, “of standing such a test as might
fully satisfy you; but nevertheless, not to be too presumptuous, I have
by no means exposed myself to all the dangers which you think surround
me, for of late I have spent almost every evening at home and by
myself.”
This intelligence was to Mr Monckton a surprise the most agreeable he
could receive. Her distaste for the amusements which were offered her
greatly relieved his fears of her forming any alarming connection, and
the discovery that while so anxiously he had sought her every where in
public, she had quietly passed her time by her own fireside, not only
re-assured him for the present, but gave him information where he might
meet with her in future.
He then talked of the duel, and solicitously led her to speak [openly]
of Sir Robert Floyer; and here too, his satisfaction was entire; he
found her dislike of him such as his knowledge of her disposition made
him expect, and she wholly removed his suspicions concerning her anxiety
about the quarrel, by explaining to him her apprehensions of having
occasioned it herself, from accepting the civility of Mr Belfield, at
the very moment she shewed her aversion to receiving that of Sir Robert.
Neither did her confidence rest here; she acquainted him with the
conversation she had just had with Mr Harrel, and begged his advice in
what manner she might secure herself from further importunity.
Mr Monckton had now a new subject for his discernment. Every thing had
confirmed to him the passion which Mr Arnott had conceived for Cecilia,
and he had therefore concluded the interest of the Harrels would be all
in his favour: other ideas now struck him; he found that Mr Arnott
was given up for Sir Robert, and he determined carefully to watch the
motions both of the Baronet and her young guardian, in order to discover
the nature of their plans and connection. Mean time, convinced by her
unaffected aversion to the proposals she had received, that she was at
present in no danger from the league he suspected, he merely advised her
to persevere in manifesting a calm repugnance to their solicitations,
which could not fail, before long, to dishearten them both.
“But Sir,” cried Cecilia, “I now fear this man as much as I dislike him,
for his late fierceness and brutality, though they have encreased my
disgust, make me dread to shew it. I am impatient, therefore, to have
done with him, and to see him no more. And for this purpose, I wish to
quit the house of Mr Harrel, where he has access at his pleasure.”
“You can wish nothing more judiciously,” cried he; “would you, then,
return into the country?”
“That is not yet in my power; I am obliged to reside with one of my
guardians. To-day I have seen Mrs Delvile, and--”
“Mrs Delvile?” interrupted Mr Monckton, in a voice of astonishment.
“Surely you do not think of removing into that family?”
“What can I do so well? Mrs Delvile is a charming woman, and her
conversation would afford me more entertainment and instruction in a
single day, than under this roof I should obtain in a twelvemonth.”
“Are you serious? Do you really think of making such a change?”
“I really wish it, but I know not yet if it is practicable: on Thursday,
however, I am to dine with her, and then, if it is in my power, I will
hint to her my desire.”
“And can Miss Beverley possibly wish,” cried Mr Monckton with
earnestness, “to reside in such a house? Is not Mr Delvile the most
ostentatious, haughty, and self-sufficient of men? Is not his wife the
proudest of women? And is not the whole family odious to all the world?”
“You amaze me!” cried Cecilia; “surely that cannot be their general
character? Mr Delvile, indeed, deserves all the censure he can meet for
his wearisome parade of superiority; but his lady by no means merits to
be included in the same reproach. I have spent this whole morning
with her, and though I waited upon her with a strong prejudice in
her disfavour, I observed in her no pride that exceeded the bounds of
propriety and native dignity.”
“Have you often been at the house? Do you know the son, too?”
“I have seen him three or four times.”
“And what do you think of him?”
“I hardly know enough of him to judge fairly.”
“But what does he seem to you? Do you not perceive in him already all
the arrogance, all the contemptuous insolence of his father?”
“O no! far from it indeed; his mind seems to be liberal and noble, open
to impressions of merit, and eager to honour and promote it.”
“You are much deceived; you have been reading your own mind, and thought
you had read his: I would advise you sedulously to avoid the whole
family; you will find all intercourse with them irksome and comfortless:
such as the father appears at once, the wife and the son will, in a few
more meetings, appear also. They are descended from the same stock, and
inherit the same self-complacency. Mr Delvile married his cousin, and
each of them instigates the other to believe that all birth and rank
would be at an end in the world, if their own superb family had not a
promise of support from their hopeful Mortimer. Should you precipitately
settle yourself in their house, you would very soon be totally weighed
down by their united insolence.”
Cecilia again and warmly attempted to defend them; but Mr Monckton was
so positive in his assertions, and so significant in his insinuations
to their discredit, that she was at length persuaded she had judged too
hastily, and, after thanking him for his counsel, promised not to take
any measures towards a removal without his advice.
This was all he desired; and now, enlivened by finding that his
influence with her was unimpaired, and that her heart was yet her own,
he ceased his exhortations, and turned the discourse to subjects more
gay and general, judiciously cautious neither by tedious admonitions
to disgust, nor by fretful solicitude to alarm her. He did not quit her
till the evening was far advanced, and then, in returning to his own
house, felt all his anxieties and disappointments recompensed by the
comfort this long and satisfactory conversation had afforded him.
While Cecilia, charmed with having spent the morning with her new
acquaintance, and the evening with her old friend, retired to rest
better pleased with the disposal of her time than she had yet been since
her journey from Suffolk.
CHAPTER viii
A TETE A TETE.
The two following days had neither event nor disturbance, except some
little vexation occasioned by the behaviour of Sir Robert Floyer,
who still appeared not to entertain any doubt of the success of his
addresses. This impertinent confidence she could only attribute to
the officious encouragement of Mr Harrel, and therefore she determined
rather to seek than to avoid an explanation with him. But she had, in
the mean time, the satisfaction of hearing from Mr Arnott, who, ever
eager to oblige her, was frequent in his enquiries, that Mr Belfield was
almost entirely recovered.
On Thursday, according to her appointment, she again went to St James'
Square, and being shewn into the drawing-room till dinner was ready,
found there only young Mr Delvile.
After some general conversation, he asked her how lately she had had any
news of Mr Belfield?
“This morning,” she answered, “when I had the pleasure of hearing he was
quite recovered. Have you seen him again, sir?”
“Yes madam, twice.”
“And did you think him almost well?”
“I thought,” answered he, with some hesitation, “and I think still, that
your enquiries ought to be his cure.”
“O,” cried Cecilia, “I hope he has far better medicines: but I am afraid
I have been misinformed, for I see you do not think him better.”
“You must not, however,” replied he, “blame those messengers whose
artifice has only had your satisfaction in view; nor should I be
so malignant as to blast their designs, if I did not fear that Mr
Belfield's actual safety may be endangered by your continual deception.”
“What deception, sir? I don't at all understand you. How is his safety
endangered?”
“Ah madam!” said he smiling, “what danger indeed is there that any man
would not risk to give birth to such solicitude! Mr Belfield however, I
believe is in none from which a command of yours cannot rescue him.”
“Then were I an hard-hearted damsel indeed not to issue it! but if my
commands are so medicinal, pray instruct me how to administer them.”
“You must order him to give up, for the present, his plan of going into
the country, where he can have no assistance, and where his wound must
be dressed only by a common servant, and to remain quietly in town till
his surgeon pronounces that he may travel without any hazard.”
“But is he, seriously, so mad as to intend leaving town without the
consent of his surgeon?”
“Nothing less than such an intention could have induced me to undeceive
you with respect to his recovery. But indeed I am no friend to those
artifices which purchase present relief by future misery: I venture,
therefore, to speak to you the simple truth, that by a timely exertion
of your influence you may prevent further evil.”
“I know not, Sir,” said Cecilia, with the utmost surprise, “why you
should suppose I have any such influence; nor can I imagine that any
deception has been practiced.”
“It is possible,” answered he, “I may have been too much alarmed; but in
such a case as this, no information ought to be depended upon but that
of his surgeon. You, madam, may probably know his opinion?”
“Me?--No, indeed? I never saw his surgeon; I know not even who he is.”
“I purpose calling upon him to-morrow morning; will Miss Beverley permit
me afterwards the honour of communicating to her what may pass?”
“I thank you, sir,” said she, colouring very high; “but my impatience is
by no means so great as to occasion my giving you that trouble.”
Delvile, perceiving her change of countenance, instantly, and with much
respect, entreated her pardon for the proposal; which, however, she had
no sooner granted, than he said very archly, “Why indeed you have not
much right to be angry, since it was your own frankness that excited
mine. And thus, you find, like most other culprits, I am ready to
cast the blame of the offence upon the offended. I feel, however, an
irresistible propensity to do service to Mr Belfield;--shall I sin quite
beyond forgiveness if I venture to tell you how I found him situated
this morning?”
“No, certainly,--if you wish it, I can have no objection.”
“I found him, then, surrounded by a set of gay young men, who, by way
of keeping up his spirits, made him laugh and talk without ceasing: he
assured me himself that he was perfectly well, and intended to gallop
out of town to-morrow morning; though, when I shook hands with him at
parting, I was both shocked and alarmed to feel by the burning heat of
the skin, that far from discarding his surgeon, he ought rather to call
in a physician.”
“I am very much concerned to hear this account,” said Cecilia; “but I do
not well understand what you mean should on my part follow it?”
“That,” answered he, bowing, with a look of mock gravity, “I pretend not
to settle! In stating the case I have satisfied my conscience, and if
in hearing it you can pardon the liberty I have taken, I shall as
much honour the openness of your character, as I admire that of your
countenance.”
Cecilia now, to her no little astonishment, found she had the same
mistake to clear up at present concerning Mr Belfield, that only three
days before she had explained with respect to the Baronet. But she
had no time to speak further upon the subject, as the entrance of Mrs
Delvile put an end to their discourse.
That lady received her with the most distinguishing kindness; apologised
for not sooner waiting upon her, and repeatedly declared that nothing
but indisposition should have prevented her returning the favour of her
first visit.
They were soon after summoned to dinner. Mr Delvile, to the infinite joy
of Cecilia, was out.
The day was spent greatly to her satisfaction. There was no interruption
from visitors, she was tormented by the discussion of no disagreeable
subjects, the duel was not mentioned, the antagonists were not hinted
at, she was teized with no self-sufficient encouragement, and wearied
with no mortifying affability; the conversation at once was lively
and rational, and though general, was rendered interesting, by a
reciprocation of good-will and pleasure in the conversers.
The favourable opinion she had conceived both of the mother and the
son this long visit served to confirm: in Mrs Delvile she found strong
sense, quick parts, and high breeding; in Mortimer, sincerity and
vivacity joined with softness and elegance; and in both there seemed
the most liberal admiration of talents, with an openness of heart that
disdained all disguise. Greatly pleased with their manners, and struck
with all that was apparent in their characters, she much regretted the
prejudice of Mr Monckton, which now, with the promise she had given him,
was all that opposed her making an immediate effort towards a change in
her abode.
She did not take her leave till eleven o'clock, when Mrs Delvile,
after repeatedly thanking her for her visit, said she would not so much
encroach upon her good nature as to request another till she had waited
upon her in return; but added, that she meant very speedily to pay that
debt, in order to enable herself, by friendly and frequent meetings,
to enter upon the confidential commission with which her guardian had
entrusted her.
Cecilia was pleased with the delicacy which gave rise to this
forbearance, yet having in fact nothing either to relate or conceal,
she was rather sorry than glad at the delay of an explanation, since she
found the whole family was in an error with respect to the situation of
her affairs.
BOOK THREE
CHAPTER i
AN APPLICATION.
Cecilia, upon her return home, heard with some surprise that Mr and Mrs
Harrel were by themselves in the drawing-room; and, while she was upon
the stairs, Mrs Harrel ran out, calling eagerly, “Is that my brother?”
Before she could make an answer, Mr Harrel, in the same impatient tone,
exclaimed, “Is it Mr Arnott?”
“No;” said Cecilia, “did you expect him so late?”
“Expect him? Yes,” answered Mr Harrel, “I have expected him the whole
evening, and cannot conceive what he has done with himself.”
“'Tis abominably provoking,” said Mrs Harrel, “that he should be out of
the way just now when he is wanted. However, I dare say to-morrow will
do as well.”
“I don't know that,” cried Mr Harrel. “Reeves is such a wretch that I am
sure he will give me all the trouble in his power.”
Here Mr Arnott entered; and Mrs Harrel called out “O brother, we have
been distressed for you cruelly; we have had a man here who has plagued
Mr Harrel to death, and we wanted you sadly to speak to him.”
“I should have been very glad,” said Mr Arnott, “to have been of any
use, and perhaps it is not yet too late; who is the man?”
“O,” cried Mr Harrel, carelessly, “only a fellow from that rascally
taylor who has been so troublesome to me lately. He has had the
impudence, because I did not pay him the moment he was pleased to want
his money, to put the bill into the hands of one Reeves, a griping
attorney, who has been here this evening, and thought proper to talk to
me pretty freely. I can tell the gentleman I shall not easily forget his
impertinence! however, I really wish mean time I could get rid of him.”
“How much is the bill, Sir?” said Mr Arnott.
“Why it's rather a round sum; but I don't know how it is, one's bills
mount up before one is aware: those fellows charge such confounded sums
for tape and buckram; I hardly know what I have had of him, and yet he
has run me up a bill of between three and four hundred pound.”
Here there was a general silence; till Mrs Harrel said “Brother, can't
you be so good as to lend us the money? Mr Harrel says he can pay it
again very soon.”
“O yes, very soon,” said Mr Harrel, “for I shall receive a great deal of
money in a little time; I only want to stop this fellow's mouth for the
present.”
“Suppose I go and talk with him?” said Mr Arnott.
“O, he's a brute, a stock!” cried Mr Harrel, “nothing but the money will
satisfy him: he will hear no reason; one might as well talk to a stone.”
Mr Arnott now looked extremely distressed; but upon his sister's warmly
pressing him not to lose any time, he gently said, “If this person will
but wait a week or two, I should be extremely glad, for really just
now I cannot take up so much money, without such particular loss and
inconvenience, that I hardly know how to do it:--but yet, if he will not
be appeased, he must certainly have it.”
“Appeased?” cried Mr Harrel, “you might as well appease the sea in a
storm! he is hard as iron.”
Mr Arnott then, forcing a smile, though evidently in much uneasiness,
said he would not fail to raise the money the next morning, and was
taking his leave, when Cecilia, shocked that such tenderness and
good-nature should be thus grossly imposed upon, hastily begged to speak
with Mrs Harrel, and taking her into another room, said, “I beseech you,
my dear friend, let not your worthy brother suffer by his generosity;
permit me in the present exigence to assist Mr Harrel: my having such a
sum advanced can be of no consequence; but I should grieve indeed that
your brother, who so nobly understands the use of money, should take it
up at any particular disadvantage.”
“You are vastly kind,” said Mrs Harrel, “and I will run and speak to
them about it: but which ever of you lends the money, Mr Harrel has
assured me he shall pay it very soon.”
She then returned with the proposition. Mr Arnott strongly opposed it,
but Mr Harrel seemed rather to prefer it, yet spoke so confidently of
his speedy payment, that he appeared to think it a matter of little
importance from which he accepted it. A generous contest ensued between
Mr Arnott and Cecilia, but as she was very earnest, she at length
prevailed, and settled to go herself the next morning into the city, in
order to have the money advanced by Mr Briggs, who had the management of
her fortune entirely to himself, her other guardians never interfering
in the executive part of her affairs.
This arranged, they all retired.
And then, with encreasing astonishment, Cecilia reflected upon the
ruinous levity of Mr Harrel, and the blind security of his wife; she saw
in their situation danger the most alarming, and in the behaviour of Mr
Harrel selfishness the most inexcusable; such glaring injustice to his
creditors, such utter insensibility to his friends, took from her all
wish of assisting him, though the indignant compassion with which she
saw the easy generosity of Mr Arnott so frequently abused, had now, for
his sake merely, induced her to relieve him.
She resolved, however, as soon as the present difficulty was surmounted,
to make another attempt to open the eyes of Mrs Harrel to the evils
which so apparently threatened her, and press her to exert all her
influence with her husband, by means both of example and advice, to
retrench his expences before it should be absolutely too late to save
him from ruin.
She determined also at the same time that she applied for the money
requisite for this debt, to take up enough for discharging her own bill
at the bookseller's, and putting in execution her plan of assisting the
Hills.