The Collected Works of Frances Burney (Illustrated Edition). Frances Burney
to be neglected.”
My shame and confusion were unspeakable. Who could have supposed or foreseen that this man knew Lord Orville? But falsehood is not more unjustifiable than unsafe.
Lord Orville — well he might — looked all amazement.
“The philosophic coldness of your Lordship,” continued this odious creature, “every man is not endowed with. I have used my utmost endeavours to entertain this lady, though I fear without success; and your lordship will not be a little flattered, if acquainted with the difficulty which attended my procuring the honour of only one dance.” Then, turning to me, who was sinking with shame, while Lord Orville stood motionless, and Mrs. Mirvan astonished — he suddenly seized my hand, saying, “Think, my Lord, what must be my reluctance to resign this fair hand to your Lordship!”
In the same instant, Lord Orville took it of him; I coloured violently, and made an effort to recover it. “You do me too much honour, Sir,” cried he, (with an air of gallantry, pressing it to his lips before he let it go;) “however, I shall be happy to profit by it, if this lady,” turning to Mrs. Mirvan, “will permit me to seek for her party.”
To compel him thus to dance, I could not endure; and eagerly called out, “By no means — not for the world! — I must beg —”
“Will you honour me, Madam, with your commands,” cried my tormentor; “may I seek the lady’s party?”
“No, Sir,” answered I, turning from him.
“What shall be done, my dear?” said Mrs. Mirvan.
“Nothing, Ma’am; — anything, I mean —”
“But do you dance, or not? you see his Lordship waits.”
“I hope not — I beg that — I would not for the world — I am sure I ought to — to —”
I could not speak; but that confident man, determining to discover whether or not I had deceived him, said to Lord Orville, who stood suspended, “My Lord, this affair, which at present seems perplexed, I will briefly explain:— this lady proposed to me another dance — nothing could have made me more happy — I only wished for your Lordship’s permission; which, if now granted, will, I am persuaded, set everything right.”
I glowed with indignation. “No, Sir — it is your absence, and that alone, can set everything right.”
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear,” cried Mrs. Mirvan, who could no longer contain her surprise, “what does all this mean? — were you pre-engaged? — had Lord Orville —”
“No, Madam,” cried I, “only — only I did not know that gentleman — and so-and so I thought — I intended — I—”
Overpowered by all that had passed, I had not strength to make my mortifying explanation; — my spirits quite failed me, and I burst into tears.
They all seemed shocked and amazed.
“What is the matter, my dearest love?” cried Mrs. Mirvan, with kindest concern.
“What have I done!” exclaimed my evil genius, and ran officiously for a glass of water.
However, a hint was sufficient for Lord Orville, who comprehended all I would have explained. He immediately led me to a seat, and said in a low voice, “Be not distressed, I beseech you: I shall ever think my name honoured by your making use of it.”
This politeness relieved me. A general murmur had alarmed Miss Mirvan, who flew instantly to me; while Lord Orville the moment Mrs. Mirvan had taken the water, led my tormentor away.
“For Heaven’s sake, dear Madam,” cried I, “let me go home; — indeed I cannot stay here any longer.”
“Let us all go,” cried my kind Maria.
“But the Captain, what will he say — I had better go home in a chair.”
Mrs. Mirvan consented, and I rose to depart. Lord Orville and that man both came to me. The first, with an attention I but ill-merited from him, led me to a chair; while the other followed, pestering me with apologies. I wished to have made mine to Lord Orville, but was too much ashamed.
It was about one o’clock. Mrs. Mirvan’s servants saw me home.
And now — what again shall ever tempt me to an assembly? I dread to hear what you will think of me, my most dear and honoured Sir: you will need your utmost partiality to receive me without displeasure.
This morning Lord Orville has sent to inquire after our health; and Sir Clement Willoughby, for that, I find, is the name of my persecutor, has called; but I would not go down stairs till he was gone.
And now, my dear Sir, I can somewhat account for the strange, provoking, and ridiculous conduct of this Sir Clement last night; for Miss Mirvan says he is the very man with whom she heard Lord Orville conversing at Mrs. Stanley’s, when I was spoken of in so mortifying a manner. He was pleased to say he was glad to hear I was a fool; and therefore, I suppose, he concluded he might talk as much nonsense as he pleased to me: however, I am very indifferent as to his opinion; — but for Lord Orville — if then he thought me an idiot, now, I am sure, he must suppose me both bold and presuming. Make use of his name! — what impertinence — he can never know how it happened — he can only imagine it was from an excess of vanity; — well, however, I shall leave this bad city tomorrow, and never again will I enter it.
The Captain intends to take us to-night to the Fantoccini. I cannot bear that Captain; I can give you no idea how gross he is. I heartily rejoice that he was not present at the disagreeable conclusion of yesterday’s adventure, for I am sure he would have contributed to my confusion; which might, perhaps, have diverted him, as he seldom or never smiles but at some other person’s expense.
And here I conclude my London letters — and without any regret; for I am too inexperienced and ignorant to conduct myself with propriety in this town, where everything is new to me, and many things are unaccountable and perplexing.
Adieu, my dear Sir; Heaven restore me safely to you! I wish I was to go immediately to Berry Hill; yet the wish is ungrateful to Mrs. Mirvan, and therefore I will repress it. I shall write an account of the Fantoccini from Howard Grove. We have not been to half the public places that are now open, though I dare say you will think we have been to all. But they are almost as innumerable as the persons who fill them.
LETTER 14
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
Queen Ann Street, April 13.
How much will you be surprised, my dearest Sir, at receiving another letter, from London, of your Evelina’s writing! But, believe me, it was not my fault, neither is it my happiness, that I am still here: our journey has been postponed by an accident equally unexpected and disagreeable.
We went last night to see the Fantoccini, where we had infinite entertainment from the performance of a little comedy in French and Italian, by puppets, so admirably managed, that they both astonished and diverted us all, except the Captain, who has a fixed and most prejudiced hatred of whatever is not English.
When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall elderly woman brushed quickly past us, calling out, “My God, what shall I do?”
“Why, what would you do?” cried the Captain.
“Ma foi, Monsieur,” answered she, “I have lost my company, and in this place I don’t know nobody.”
There was something foreign in her accent, though it was difficult to discover whether she was an English