But here, upon my absolute refusal of him upon any terms, have I had a signification made me that wounds me to the heart. How can I tell it you? Yet I must. It is, my dear, that I must not for a month to come, or till license obtained, correspond with anybody out of the house.
My brother, upon my aunt’s report, (made, however, as I am informed, in the gentlest manner, and even giving remote hopes, which she had no commission from me to give), brought me, in authoritative terms, the prohibition.
Not to Miss Howe? said I.
No, not to Miss Howe, Madam, tauntingly: for have you not acknowledged, that Lovelace is a favourite there?
See, my dear Miss Howe—!
And do you think, Brother, this is the way—
Do you look to that.—But your letters will be stopped, I can tell you.—And away he flung.
My sister came to me soon after—Sister Clary, you are going on in a fine way, I understand. But as there are people who are supposed to harden you against your duty, I am to tell you, that it will be taken well if you avoid visits or visitings for a week or two till further order.
Can this be from those who have authority—
Ask them; ask them, child, with a twirl of her finger.—I have delivered my message. Your father will be obeyed. He is willing to hope you to be all obedience, and would prevent all incitements to refractoriness.
I know my duty, said I; and hope I shall not find impossible condition annexed to it.
A pert young creature, vain and conceited, she called me. I was the only judge, in my own wise opinion, of what was right and fit. She, for her part, had long seen into my specious ways: and now I should show everybody what I was at bottom.
Dear Bella! said I, hands and eyes lifted up—why all this?—Dear, dear Bella, why—
None of your dear, dear Bella’s to me.—I tell you, I see through your witchcrafts (that was her strange word). And away she flung; adding, as she went, and so will everybody else very quickly, I dare say.
Bless me, said I to myself, what a sister have I!—How have I deserved this?
Then I again regretted my grandfather’s too distinguishing goodness to me.
Feb. 25, in the Evening.
What my brother and sister have said against me I cannot tell:—but I am in heavy disgrace with my father.
I was sent for down to tea. I went with a very cheerful aspect: but had occasion soon to change it.
Such a solemnity in everybody’s countenance!—My mother’s eyes were fixed upon the teacups; and when she looked up, it was heavily, as if her eyelids had weights upon them; and then not to me. My father sat half-aside in his elbow-chair, that his head might be turned from me: his hands clasped, and waving, as it were, up and down; his fingers, poor dear gentleman! in motion, as if angry to the very ends of them. My sister was swelling. My brother looked at me with scorn, having measured me, as I may say, with his eyes as I entered, from head to foot. My aunt was there, and looked upon me as if with kindness restrained, bending coldly to my compliment to her as she sat; and then cast an eye first on my brother, then on my sister, as if to give the reason (so I am willing to construe it) of her unusual stiffness.—Bless me, my dear! that they should choose to intimidate rather than invite a mind, till now, not thought either unpersuadable or ungenerous!
I took my seat. Shall I make tea, Madam, to my mother?—I always used, you know, my dear, to make tea.
No! a very short sentence, in one very short word, was the expressive answer. And she was pleased to take the canister in her own hand.
My brother bid the footman, who attended, leave the room—I, he said, will pour out the water.
My heart was up in my mouth. I did not know what to do with myself. What is to follow? thought I.
Just after the second dish, out stepped my mother—A word with you, sister Hervey! taking her in her hand. Presently my sister dropped away. Then my brother. So I was left alone with my father.
He looked so very sternly, that my heart failed me as twice or thrice I would have addressed myself to him: nothing but solemn silence on all hands having passed before.
At last, I asked, if it were his pleasure that I should pour him out another dish?
He answered me with the same angry monosyllable, which I had received from my mother before; and then arose, and walked about the room. I arose too, with intent to throw myself at his feet; but was too much overawed by his sternness, even to make such an expression of my duty to him as my heart overflowed with.
At last, as he supported himself, because of his gout, on the back of a chair, I took a little more courage; and approaching him, besought him to acquaint me in what I had offended him?
He turned from me, and in a strong voice, Clarissa Harlowe, said he, know that I will be obeyed.
God forbid, Sir, that you should not!—I have never yet opposed your will—
Nor I your whimsies, Clarissa Harlowe, interrupted he.—Don’t let me run the fate of all who show indulgence to your sex; to be the more contradicted for mine to you.
My father,
