“Why, Queeny--why, she's quite in a rage! What have you done to her?”
I still sulked on, vexed to be teased; but, though with a gaiety that
showed he had no suspicion of the cause, he grew more and more urgent,
trying every means to make me tell him what was the matter, till at
last, much provoked, I said--
“I must be strangely in want of a confidant, indeed, to take you for
one!”
“Why, what an insolent speech!” cried he, half serious and half
laughing, but casting up his eyes and hands with astonishment. He then
let me be quiet some time,--but in a few minutes renewed his inquiries,
with added eagerness, begging me to tell him if nobody else.
A likely matter! thought I; nor did I scruple to tell him, when forced
to answer, that no one had such little chance of success in such a
request.
“Why so?” cried he; “for I am the best person in the world to trust with
a secret, as I always forget it.”
He continued working at me till we joined Mrs. Thrale and the
attorney-general. And then Miss Thrale, stimulated by him, came to
inquire if I had really taken anything amiss of her. “No,” I assured
her.
“Is it of me, then?” cried Mr. Crutchley, as if sure I should say no;
but I made no other answer than to desire him to desist questioning
me....
He then grew quite violent, and at last went on with his questions till,
by being quite silent, he could no longer doubt who it was. He seemed
then wholly amazed, and entreated to know what he had done; but I tried
only to avoid him.
Soon after the attorney-general took his leave, during which ceremony
Mr. Crutchley, coming behind me, exclaimed,--
“Who'd think of this creature's having any venom in her.”
“Oh, yes,” answered I, “when she's provoked.”
“But have I provoked you?”
Again I got off. Taking Miss Thrale by the arm, we hurried away, leaving
him with Mrs. Thrale and Miss Owen.
He was presently, however, with us again; and when he came to my side
and found me really trying to talk of other matters with Miss Thrale,
and avoid him, he called out,
“Upon my life, this is too bad! Do tell me, Miss Burney, what is the
matter? If you won't, I protest I'll call Mrs. Thrale, and make her work
at you herself.”
“I assure you,” answered I, “that it will be to no purpose for I
must offend myself by telling it, and therefore I shall mention it to
nobody.”
“But what in the world have I done?”
“Nothing; you have done nothing.”
“What have I said, then? Only let me beg your pardon, only let me know
what it is, that I may beg your pardon.”
I then took up the teasing myself, and quite insisted upon his leaving
us, and joining Mrs. Thrale. He begged me to tell Miss Thrale, and let
her mediate, and entreated her to be his agent; which, in order to get
rid of him, she promised; and he then slackened his pace, though very
reluctantly, while we quickened ours. He was, however, which I very
little expected, too uneasy to stay long away; and when we had walked on
quite out of hearing of Mrs. Thrale and Miss Owen, he suddenly galloped
after us.
“How odd it is of you,” said Miss Thrale, “to come and intrude yourself
in this manner upon anybody that tries so to avoid you!”
“Have you done anything for me?” cried he. “I don't believe you have said
a word.”
“Not I, truly!” answered she; “if I can keep my own self, out of
scrapes, it's all I can pretend to.”
“Well, but do tell me, Miss Burney,--pray tell me! indeed, this is quite
too bad; I sha'n't have a wink of sleep all night! If I have offended
you, I am very sorry indeed; but I am sure I did not mean--”
“No, sir!” interrupted I, “I don't suppose you did mean to offend
me, nor do I know why you should. I expect from you neither good nor
ill,--civility I think myself entitled to, and that is all I have any
desire for.”
“Good heaven!” exclaimed he. “Tell me, however, but what it is, and if
I have said any thing unguardedly, I am extremely sorry, and I most
sincerely beg your pardon. If you would tell me, I am sure I could
explain it off, because I am sure it has been done undesignedly.”
“No, it does not admit of any explanation; so pray don't mention it any
more.”
“Only tell me what part of the day it was.”
Whether this unconsciousness was real, or only to draw me in so that he
might come to the point, and make his apology with greater ease, I know
not; but I assured him it was in vain he asked, and again desired him to
puzzle himself with no further recollections.
“Oh,” cried he, “but I shall think of every thing I have ever said to
you for this half year. I am sure, whatever it was, it must have been
unmeant and unguarded.”
“That, Sir, I never doubted; and probably you thought me hard enough to
hear any thing without minding it.”
“Good heaven, Miss Burney! why, there is nobody I would not sooner
offend,--nobody in the world! Queeny knows it. If Queeny would speak,
she could tell you so. Is it not true, Miss Thrale?”
“I shall say nothing about it; if I can keep my own neck out of the
collar, it's enough for me.”
“But won't it plead something for me that you are sure, and must be
sure, it was by blunder, and not design?... I beg you will think no
more of it. I--I believe I know what it is; and, indeed, I was far from
meaning to give you the smallest offence, and I most earnestly beg your
pardon. There is nothing I would not do to assure you how sorry I am.
But I hope it will be all over by the time the candles come. I shall
look to see, and I hope--I beg--you will have the same countenance
again.”