The Collected Works of Frances Burney (Illustrated Edition). Frances Burney
of being acquainted with you.”
“I hope when you have, Ma’am,” cried he, undaunted, “you will honour me with your approbation: but, while I am yet unknown to you, it would be truly generous in you to countenance me; and I flatter myself, Madam, that you will not have cause to repent it.”
Mrs. Mirvan, with an embarrassed air, replied, “I do not at all mean, Sir, to doubt your being a gentleman — but —”
“But what, Madam? — that doubt removed, why a but?”
“Well, Sir,” said Mrs. Mirvan (with a good humoured smile), “I will even treat you with your own plainness, and try what effect that will have on you: I must therefore tell you, once for all —”
“O pardon me, Madam!” interrupted he, eagerly, “you must not proceed with those words once for all; no, if I have been too plain, and though a man, deserve a rebuke, remember, dear ladies that if you copy, you ought in justice to excuse me.”
We both stared at the man’s strange behaviour.
“Be nobler than your sex,” continued he, turning to me, “honour me with one dance, and give up the ingrate who has merited so ill your patience.”
Mrs. Mirvan looked with astonishment at us both.
“Who does he speak of, my dear? — you never mentioned —”
“O, Madam!” exclaimed he, “he was not worth mentioning — it is a pity he was ever though of; but let us forget his existence. One dance is all I solicit. Permit me, Madam, the honour of this young lady’s hand; it will be a favour I shall ever most gratefully acknowledge.”
“Sir,” answered she, “favours and strangers have with me no connection.”
“If you have hitherto,” said he, “confined your benevolence to your intimate friends, suffer me to be the first for whom your charity is enlarged.”
“Well, Sir, I know not what to say to you — but —”
He stopt her but with so many urgent entreaties that she at last told me, I must either go down one dance, or avoid his importunities by returning home. I hesitated which alternative to chose; but this impetuous man at length prevailed, and I was obliged to consent to dance with him.
And thus was my deviation from truth punished; and thus did this man’s determined boldness conquer.
During the dance, before we were too much engaged in it for conversation, he was extremely provoking about my partner, and tried every means in his power to make me own that I had deceived him; which, though I would not so far humble myself as to acknowledge, was indeed but too obvious.
Lord Orville, I fancy, did not dance at all. He seemed to have a large acquaintance, and joined several different parties: but you will easily suppose, I was not much pleased to see him, in a few minutes after I was gone, walk towards the place I had just left, and bow to and join Mrs. Mirvan!
How unlucky I thought myself, that I had not longer withstood this stranger’s importunities! The moment we had gone down the dance, I was hastening away from him; but he stopt me, and said, that I could by no means return to my party without giving offence, before we had done our duty of walking up the dance. As I know nothing at all of these rules and customs I was obliged to submit to his directions; but I fancy I looked rather uneasy, for he took notice of my inattention, saying, in his free way, “Whence that anxiety? — Why are those lovely eyes perpetually averted?”
“I wish you would say no more to me, Sir,” cried I peevishly; “you have already destroyed all my happiness for this evening.”
“Good Heaven! What is it I have done? — How have I merited this scorn?”
“You have tormented me to death; you have forced me from my friends, and intruded yourself upon me, against my will, for a partner.”
“Surely, my dear Madam, we ought to be better friends, since there seems to be something of sympathy in the frankness of our dispositions. — And yet, were you not an angel — how do you think I could brooke such contempt?”
“If I have offended you,” cried I, “you have but to leave me — and O how I wish you would!”
“My dear creature,” said he, half laughing, “why where could you be educated?”
“Where I most sincerely wish I now was!”
“How conscious you must be, all beautiful that you are, that those charming airs serve only to heighten the bloom of your complexion!”
“Your freedom, Sir, where you are more acquainted, may perhaps be less disagreeable; but to me —”
“You do me justice,” cried he, interrupting me, “yes, I do indeed improve upon acquaintance; you will hereafter be quite charmed with me.”
“Hereafter, Sir, I hope I shall never —”
“O hush! — hush! — have you forgot the situation in which I found you? — Have you forgot, that when deserted, I pursued you — when betrayed, I adored you? — but for me —”
“But for you, Sir, I might perhaps have been happy.”
“What then, am I to conclude that, but for me, your partner would have appeared? — poor fellow! — and did my presence awe him?”
“I wish his presence, Sir, could awe you!”
“His presence! — perhaps then you see him?”
“Perhaps, Sir, I do,” cried I, quite wearied of his raillery.
“Where? Where? — for Heaven’s sake show me the wretch!”
“Wretch, Sir!”
“O, a very savage! — a sneaking, shame-faced, despicable puppy!”
I know not what bewitched me — but my pride was hurt, and my spirits were tired, and — in short, I had the folly, looking at Lord Orville, to repeat, “Despicable, you think?”
His eyes instantly followed mine; “Why, is that the gentleman?”
I made no answer; I could not affirm, and I would not deny:— for I hoped to be relieved from his teasing by his mistake.
The very moment we had done what he called our duty, I eagerly desired to return to Mrs. Mirvan.
“To your partner, I presume, Madam?” said he, very gravely.
This quite confounded me. I dreaded lest this mischievous man ignorant of his rank, should address himself to Lord Orville, and say something which might expose my artifice. Fool! to involve myself in such difficulties! I now feared what I had before wished; and therefore, to avoid Lord Orville, I was obliged myself to propose going down another dance, though I was ready to sink with shame while I spoke.
“But your partner, Ma’am?” said he, affecting a very solemn air, “perhaps he may resent my detaining you: if you will give me leave to ask his consent —”
“Not for the universe.”
“Who is he, Madam?”
I wished myself a hundred miles off. He repeated his question, “What is his name?”
“Nothing — nobody — I don’t know —”
He assumed a most important solemnity: “How! — not know? — Give me leave, my dear Madam, to recommend this caution to you: Never dance in public with a stranger — with one whose name you are unacquainted with — who may be a mere adventurer — a man of no character, consider to what impertinence you may expose yourself.”
Was ever anything so ridiculous? I could not help laughing, in spite of my vexation.
At this instant, Mrs. Mirvan, followed by Lord Orville, walked up to us. You will easily believe it was not difficult for me to recover my gravity; but what was my consternation,