I always loved writing, and my unhappy situation gives me now enough of
it; and you, I fear, too much. I have had another very warm debate with
Mr. Lovelace. It brought on the subject which you advised me not to
decline, when it was handsomely offered. And I want to have either your
acquittal or blame for having suffered it to go off without effect.
The impatient wretch sent up to me several times, while I was writing my
last to you, to desire my company: yet his business nothing particular;
only to hear him talk. The man seems pleased with his own volubility;
and, whenever he has collected together abundance of smooth things, he
wants me to find an ear for them! Yet he need not; for I don't often
gratify him either with giving him the praise for his verboseness, or
shewing the pleasure in it that he would be fond of.
When I had finished the letter, and given it to Mr. Hickman's friend, I
was going up again, and had got up half a dozen stairs; when he besought
be to stop, and hear what he had to say.
Nothing, as I said, to any new purpose had he to offer; but
complainings; and those in a manner, and with an air, as I thought, that
bordered upon insolence. He could not live, he told me, unless he had
more of my company, and of my indulgence too, that I had yet given him.
Hereupon I stept down, and into the parlour, not a little out of humour
with him; and the more, as he has very quietly taken up his quarters
here, without talking of removing, as he had promised.
We began instantly our angry conference. He provoked me; and I repeated
several of the plainest things I had said in our former conversations;
and particularly told him, that I was every hour more and more
dissatisfied with myself, and with him: that he was not a man, who, in
my opinion, improved upon acquaintance: and that I should not be easy
till he had left me to myself.
He might be surprised at my warmth, perhaps: but really the man looked
so like a simpleton, hesitating, and having nothing to say for himself,
or that should excuse the peremptoriness of his demand upon me, (when he
knew I had been writing a letter which a gentleman waited for,) that I
flung from him, declaring, that I would be mistress of my own time, and
of my own actions, and not to be called to account for either.
He was very uneasy till he could again be admitted into my company, and
when I was obliged to see him, which was sooner than I liked, never did
the man put on a more humble and respectful demeanor.
He told me, that he had, upon this occasion, been entering into
himself, and had found a great deal of reason to blame himself for an
impertinency and inconsideration which, although he meant nothing by
it, must be very disagreeable to one of my delicacy. That having always
aimed at a manly sincerity and openness of heart, he had not till now
discovered, that both were very consistent with that true politeness,
which he feared he had too much disregarded, while he sought to avoid
the contrary extreme; knowing, that in me he had to deal with a lady,
who despised an hypocrite, and who was above all flattery. But from this
time forth, I should find such an alteration in his whole behaviour, as
might be expected from a man who knew himself to be honoured with the
presence and conversation of a person, who had the most delicate mind in
the world--that was his flourish.
I said, that he might perhaps expect congratulation upon the discovery
he had just now made, to wit, that true politeness and sincerity were
reconcilable: but that I, who had, by a perverse fate, been thrown into
his company, had abundant reason to regret that he had not sooner found
this out.--Since, I believed, very few men of birth and education were
strangers to it.
He knew not, neither, he said, that he had so badly behaved himself, as
to deserve so very severe a rebuke.
Perhaps not, I replied: but he might, if so, make another discovery from
what I had said; which might be to my own disadvantage: since, if he
had so much reason to be satisfied with himself, he would see what an
ungenerous person he spoke to, who, when he seemed to give himself airs
of humility, which, perhaps he thought beneath him to assume, had not
the civility to make him a compliment upon them; but was ready to take
him at his word.
He had long, with infinite pleasure, the pretended flattery-hater said,
admired my superior talents, and a wisdom in so young a lady, perfectly
suprising.
Let me, Madam, said he, stand ever so low in your opinion, I shall
believe all you say to be just; and that I have nothing to do but to
govern myself for the future by your example, and by the standard you
shall be pleased to give me.
I know better, Sir, replied I, than to value myself upon your volubility
of speech. As you pretend to pay so preferable a regard to sincerity,
you shall confine yourself to the strict rules of truth, when you speak
of me, to myself: and then, although you shall be so kind as to imagine
that you have reason to make me a compliment, you will have much more
to pride yourself in those arts which have made so extraordinary a young
creature so great a fool.
Really, my dear, the man deserves not politer treatment.--And then has
he not made a fool, an egregious fool of me?--I am afraid he himself
thinks he has.
I am surprised! I am amazed, Madam, returned he, at so strange a turn
upon me!--I am very unhappy, that nothing I can do or say will give
you a good opinion of me!--Would to heaven that I knew what I can do to
obtain the honour of your confidence!
I told him, that I desired his absence, of all things. I saw not,
I said, that my friends thought it worth their while to give me
disturbance: therefore, if he would set out for London, or Berkshire, or
whither he pleased, it would be most agreeable to me, and most reputable
too.
He would do so, he said, he intended to do so, the moment I was in a
place to my liking--in a place convenient for me.
This, Sir, will be so, said I, when you are not here to break in upon
me, and make the apartments inconvenient.
He did not think this place safe, he replied; and as I intended not to
stay here, he had not been so solicitous, as otherwise he should have
been, to enjoin privacy to his servants, nor to Mrs. Greme at her
leaving me; that there were two or three gentlemen at the neighbourhood,
he said, with whose servants his gossiping fellows had scraped
acquaintance: so that he could not think of leaving me here unguarded
and unattended.--But fix upon any place in England where I could be
out of danger, and he would go to the furthermost part of the king's
dominions, if by doing so he could make me easy.
I told him plainly that I should never be in humour with myself for
meeting him; nor with him, for seducing me away: that my regrets
increased, instead of diminished: that my reputation was wounded: that
nothing I could do would now retrieve it: and that he must not wonder,
if I every hour grew more and more uneasy both with myself and him: that
upon the whole, I was willing to take care of myself; and when he had
left me, I should best know what to resolve upon, and whither to go.
He wished, he said, he were at liberty, without giving me offence, or
being thought to intend to infringe the articles I had stipulated and
insisted upon, to make one humble proposal to me. But the sacred regard
he was determined to pay to all my injunctions (reluctantly as I had on
Monday last put it into his power to serve me) would not permit him to
make it, unless I would promise to excuse him, if I did not approve of
it.