The Collected Works of Frances Burney (Illustrated Edition). Frances Burney
said Sir Clement, “to hope for the honour of your hand?”
I only bowed — for the dread of Mrs. Selwyn’s raillery made me not dare refuse him.
Soon after this we walked home: Sir Clement accompanied us; and the conversation that passed between Mrs. Selwyn and him was supported in so lively a manner, that I should have been much entertained, had my mind been more at ease: but, alas! I could think of nothing but the capricious, the unmeaning appearance which the alteration in my conduct must make in the eyes of the Lord Orville! And much as I wished to avoid him, greatly as I desire to save myself from having my weakness known to him — yet I cannot endure to incur his ill opinion — and, unacquainted as he is with the reasons by which I am actuated, how can he fail contemning a change to him so unaccountable?
As we entered the garden, he was the first object we saw. He advanced to meet us; and I could not help observing, that at sight of each other both he and Sir Clement changed colour.
We went into the parlour, where we found the same party we had left. Mrs. Selwyn presented Sir Clement to Mrs. Beaumont; Lady Louisa and Lord Merton he seemed well acquainted with already.
The conversation was upon the general subjects, of the weather, the company at the Wells, and the news of the day. But Sir Clement, drawing his chair next to mine, took every opportunity of addressing himself to me in particular.
I could not but remark the striking difference of his attention, and that of Lord Orville: the latter has such gentleness of manners, such delicacy of conduct, and an air so respectful, that, when he flatters most, he never distresses; and when he most confers honour, appears to receive it! The former obtrudes his attention, and forces mine; it is so pointed, that it always confuses me, and so public, that it attracts general notice. Indeed I have sometimes thought that he would rather wish, than dislike to have his partiality for me known, as he takes great care to prevent my being spoken to by any but himself.
When at length he went away, Lord Orville took his seat, and said, with a half smile, “Shall I call Sir Clement — or will you call me an usurper for taking this place? — You make me no answer? — Must I then suppose that Sir Clement —”
“It is little worth your Lordship’s while,” said I, “to suppose any thing upon so insignificant an occasion.”
“Pardon me,” cried he; —“to me nothing is insignificant in which you are concerned.”
To this I made no answer; neither did he say any thing more, till the ladies retired to dress: and then, when I would have followed them, he stopped me, saying, “One moment, I entreat you!”
I turned back, and he went on, “I greatly fear that I have been so unfortunate as to offend you; yet so repugnant to my very soul is the idea, that I know not how to suppose it possible I can unwittingly have done the thing in the world that, designedly, I would wish to avoid.”
“No, indeed, my Lord, you have not,” said I.
“You sigh!” cried he, taking my hand, “would to Heaven I were the sharer of your uneasiness, whencesoever it springs! with what earnestness would I not struggle to alleviate it! — Tell me, my dear Miss Anville — my new-adopted sister, my sweet and most amiable friend! — tell me, I beseech you, if I can afford you any assistance?”
“None, none, my Lord!” cried I, withdrawing my hand, and moving towards the door.
“Is it then impossible I can serve you? — Perhaps you wish to see Mr. Macartney again?”
“No, my Lord.” And I held the door open.
“I am not, I own, sorry for that. Yet, oh! Miss Anville, there is a question — there is a conjecture — I know not how to mention, because I dread the result! — But I see you are in haste; — perhaps in the evening I may have the honour of a longer conversation. — Yet one thing, will you have the goodness to allow me to ask? — Did you, this morning, when you went to the Wells — did you know whom you should meet there?”
“Who, my Lord?”
“I beg your pardon a thousand times for a curiosity so unlicensed; — but I will say no more at present.”
He bowed, expecting me to go; — and then, with quick steps, but a heavy heart, I came to my own room. His question, I am sure, meant Sir Clement Willoughby; and had I not imposed upon myself the severe task of avoiding, flying Lord Orville, with all my power, I would instantly have satisfied him of my ignorance of Sir Clement’s journey. And yet more did I long to say something of the assembly, since I found he depended upon my spending the evening at home.
I did not go down stairs again till the family was assembled to dinner. My dress, I saw, struck Lord Orville with astonishment; and I was myself so much ashamed of appearing whimsical and unsteady, that I could not look up.
“I understood,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “that Miss Anville did not go out this evening.”
“Her intention in the morning,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “was to stay at home; but there is a fascinating power in an assembly, which, upon second thoughts, is not to be resisted.”
“The assembly!” cried Lord Orville; “are you then going to the assembly?”
I made no answer; and we all took our places at table.
It was not without difficulty that I contrived to give up my usual seat; but I was determined to adhere to the promise in my yesterday’s letter, though I saw that Lord Orville seemed quite confounded at my visible endeavours to avoid him.
After dinner, we all went into the drawing-room together, as there were no gentlemen to detain his Lordship; and then, before I could place myself out of his way, he said, “You are then really going to the assembly? — May I ask if you shall dance?”
“I believe not — my Lord.”
“If I did not fear,” continued he, “that you would be tired of the same partner at two following assemblies, I would give up my letter-writing till tomorrow evening, and solicit the honour of your hand.”
“If I do dance,” said I, in great confusion, “I believe I am engaged.”
“Engaged!” cried he, with earnestness, “May I ask to whom?”
“To–Sir Clement Willoughby, my Lord.”
He said nothing, but looked very little pleased, and did not address himself to me any more all the afternoon. Oh, Sir! — thus situated, how comfortless were the feelings of your Evelina!
Early in the evening, with his accustomed assiduity, Sir Clement came to conduct us to the assembly. He soon contrived to seat himself next me, and, in a low voice, paid me so many compliments, that I knew not which way to look.
Lord Orville hardly spoke a word, and his countenance was grave and thoughtful; yet, whenever I raised my eyes, his, I perceived, were directed towards me, though instantly, upon meeting mine, he looked another way.
In a short time, Sir Clement, taking from his pocket a folded paper, said, almost in a whisper, “Here, loveliest of women, you will see a faint, an unsuccessful attempt to paint the object of all my adoration! yet, weak as are the lines for the purpose, I envy beyond expression the happy mortal who has dared make the effort.”
“I will look at them,” said I, “some other time.” For, conscious that I was observed by Lord Orville, I could not bear he should see me take a written paper, so privately offered, from Sir Clement. But Sir Clement is an impracticable man, and I never succeeded in any attempt to frustrate whatever he had planned.
“No,” said he, still in a whisper, “you must take them now, while Lady Louisa is away;” for she and Mrs. Selwyn were gone up stairs to finish their dress, “as she must by no means see them.”
“Indeed,” said I, “I have no intention to show them.”
“But the only way,” answered he, “to avoid suspicion, is to take them in her absence. I would have read them