I tried to adjust my countenance, before I went down, to an easier air
than I had a heart, and was received with the highest tokens of respect
by the widow and her two nieces: agreeable young women enough in their
persons; but they seemed to put on an air of reserve; while Mr. Lovelace
was easy and free to all, as if he were of long acquaintance with them:
gracefully enough, I cannot but say; an advantage which travelled
gentlemen have over other people.
The widow, in the conversation we had after breakfast, gave us an account
of the military merit of the Colonel her husband, and, upon this
occasion, put her handkerchief to her eyes twice or thrice. I hope for
the sake of her sincerity, she wetted it, because she would be thought to
have done so; but I saw not that she did. She wished that I might never
know the loss of a husband so dear to me, as her beloved Colonel was to
her: and she again put the handkerchief to her eyes.
It must, no doubt, be a most affecting thing to be separated from a good
husband, and to be left in difficult circumstances besides, and that not
by his fault, and exposed to the insults of the base and ungrateful, as
she represented her case to be at his death. This moved me a good deal
in her favour.
You know, my dear, that I have an open and free heart; and naturally have
as open and free a countenance; at least my complimenters have told me
so. At once, where I like, I mingle minds without reserve, encouraging
reciprocal freedoms, and am forward to dissipate diffidences. But with
these two nieces of the widow I never can be intimate--I don't know why.
Only that circumstances, and what passed in conversation, encouraged not
the notion, or I should have been apt to think, that the young ladies and
Mr. Lovelace were of longer acquaintance than of yesterday. For he, by
stealth as it were, cast glances sometimes at them, when they returned;
and, on my ocular notice, their eyes fell, as I may say, under my eye, as
if they could not stand its examination.
The widow directed all her talk to me, as to Mrs. Lovelace; and I, with a
very ill grace bore it. And once she expressed more forwardly than I
thanked her for, her wonder that any vow, any consideration, however
weighty, could have force enough with so charming a couple, as she called
him and me, to make us keep separate beds.
Their eyes, upon this hint, had the advantage of mine. Yet was I not
conscious of guilt. How know I then, upon recollection, that my censures
upon theirs are not too rash? There are, no doubt, many truly modest
persons (putting myself out of the question) who, by blushes at an
injurious charge, have been suspected, by those who cannot distinguish
between the confusion which guilt will be attended with, and the noble
consciousness that overspreads the face of a fine spirit, to be thought
but capable of an imputed evil.
The great Roman, as we read, who took his surname from one part in three
(the fourth not then discovered) of the world he had triumphed over,
being charged with a great crime to his soldiery, chose rather to suffer
exile (the punishment due to it, had he been found guilty) than to have
it said, that Scipio was questioned in public, on so scandalous a charge.
And think you, my dear, that Scipio did not blush with indignation, when
the charge was first communicated to him?
Mr. Lovelace, when the widow expressed her forward wonder, looked sly and
leering, as if to observe how I took it: and said, they might take notice
that his regard for my will and pleasure (calling me his dear creature)
had greater force upon him than the oath by which he had bound himself.
Rebuking both him and the widow, I said, it was strange to me to hear an
oath or vow so lightly treated, as to have it thought but of second
consideration, whatever were the first.
The observation was just, Miss Martin said; for that nothing could excuse
the breaking of a solemn vow, be the occasion of making it what it would.
I asked her after the nearest church; for I have been too long a stranger
to the sacred worship. They named St. James's, St. Anne's, and another
in Bloomsbury; and the two nieces said they oftenest went to St. James's
church, because of the good company, as well as for the excellent
preaching.
Mr. Lovelace said, the Royal Chapel was the place he oftenest went to,
when he was in town. Poor man! little did I expect to hear he went to
any place of devotion. I asked, if the presence of the visible king of,
comparatively, but a small territory, did not take off, too generally,
the requisite attention to the service of the invisible King and Maker
of a thousand worlds?
He believed this might be so with such as came for curiosity, when the
royal family were present. But otherwise, he had seen as many contrite
faces at the Royal Chapel, as any where else: and why not? Since the
people about court have as deep scores to wipe off, as any people
whatsoever.
He spoke this with so much levity, that I could not help saying, that
nobody questioned but he knew how to choose his company.
Your servant, my dear, bowing, were his words; and turning to them, you
will observe upon numberless occasions, ladies, as we are further
acquainted, that my beloved never spares me upon these topics. But I
admire her as much in her reproofs, as I am fond of her approbation.
Miss Horton said, there was a time for every thing. She could not but
say, that she thought innocent mirth was mighty becoming in young people.
Very true, joined in Miss Martin. And Shakespeare says well, that youth
is the spring of life, the bloom of gaudy years [with a theatrical air,
she spoke it:] and for her part, she could not but admire in my spouse
that charming vivacity which so well suited his time of life.
Mr. Lovelace bowed. The man is fond of praise. More fond of it, I
doubt, than of deserving it. Yet this sort of praise he does deserve.
He has, you know, an easy free manner, and no bad voice: and this praise
so expanded his gay heart, that he sung the following lines from
Congreve, as he told us they were:
Youth does a thousand pleasures bring,
Which from decrepid age will fly;
Sweets that wanton in the bosom of the spring,
In winter's cold embraces die.
And this for a compliment, as he said, to the two nieces. Nor was it
thrown away upon them. They encored it; and his compliance fixed them
in my memory.
We had some talk about meals, and the widow very civilly offered to
conform to any rules I would set her. I told her how easily I was
pleased, and how much I chose to dine by myself, and that from a plate
sent me from any single dish. But I will not trouble you, my dear, with
such particulars.
They thought me very singular; and with reason: but as I liked them not
so very well as to forego my own choice in compliment to them, I was the
less concerned for what they thought.--And still the less, as Mr. Lovelace
had put me very much out of humour with him.
They, however, cautioned me against melancholy. I said, I should be a
very unhappy creature if I could not bear my own company.
Mr. Lovelace said, that he must let the ladies into my story, and then
they would know how to allow for my ways. But, my dear, as you love me,
said the confident wretch, give as little way to melancholy as possible.
Nothing but the sweetness of your temper, and your high notions of a duty
that never can be deserved where you place it, can make you so uneasy as
you are.--Be not angry, my dear love, for saying so, [seeing me frown, I
suppose:] and snatched my hand and kissed it.--I left him with them; and
retired to my closet and my pen.
Just as I have written thus far, I am interrupted by a message from him,
that he is setting out on a journey, and desires to take my commands.--So
here I will leave off, to give him a meeting in the dining-room.