“Vastly well! I see you are of Mr. Baretti's'mind, and think your
brother could keep your secret, and not your sister?”
“Well, but,” cried he presently, “how was it first known to you, you
were betrayed?”
“By a letter, sir, from another sister. I was very ill, and in the
country; and she wrote me word that my father had taken up a review, in
which the book was mentioned, and had put his finger upon its name, and
said--'Contrive to get that book for me.'”
“And when he got it,” cried the king, “he told me he was afraid of
looking at it! and never can I forget his face when he mentioned his
first opening it. But you have not kept your pen unemployed all this
time?”
“Indeed I have, sir.”
“But why?”
“I--I believe I have exhausted myself, sir.”
He laughed aloud at this, and went and told it to Mrs. Delany, civilly
treating a plain fact as a mere bon mot.
Then, turning to me again, he said, more seriously, “But you have not
determined against writing, any more?”
“N-o, sir”
“You have made no vow--no real resolution of that sort?”
“No, sir.”
“You only wait for inclination?”
“No, sir.”
A very civil little bow spoke him pleased with this answer, and he went
again to the middle of the room, where he chiefly stood, and, addressing
us in general, talked upon the different motives of writing, concluding
with,
“I believe there is no constraint to be put upon real genius; nothing
but inclination can set it to work. Miss Burney, however, knows best.”
And then, hastily returning to me, he cried, “What? what?”
“No, sir, I--I-believe not, certainly,” quoth I, very awkwardly, for I
seemed taking a violent compliment only as my due; but I knew not how to
put him off as I would another person.
He then made some inquiries concerning the pictures with which the
room is hung, and which are all Mrs. Delany's own painting and a little
discourse followed, upon some of the masters whose pictures she has
copied. This was all with her; for nobody ever answers him without being
immediately addressed by him.
He then came to me again, and said,
“Is your father about anything at present?”
“Yes, sir, he goes on, when he has time, with his history.”
“Does he write quick?”
“Yes, sir, when he writes from himself; but in his history he has so
many books to consult, that sometimes he spends three days in finding
authorities for a single passage.”
“Very true; that must be unavoidable.” He pursued these inquiries some
time, and then went again to his general station before the fire,
and Mrs. Delany inquired if he meant to hunt the next day. “Yes,” he
answered; and, a little pointedly, Mrs. Delany said,
“I would the hunted could but feel as much pleasure as the hunter.”
The king understood her, and with some quickness, called out, “Pray what
did you hunt?”