Don’t pity me, my dear, said I. It will be imputed to you as a fault. You see who is by.
The insolent wench scornfully smiled: One young lady pitying another in things of this nature, looks promising in the youngest, I must needs say.
I bid her begone from my presence.
She would most gladly go, she said, were she not to stay about me by my mother’s order.
It soon appeared for what she stayed; for I offering to go upstairs to my apartment when my cousin went from me with the keys, she told me she was commanded (to her very great regret, she must own) to desire me not to go up at present.
Such a bold face, as she, I told her, should not hinder me.
She instantly rang the bell, and in came my brother, meeting me at the door.
Return, return, Miss—no going up yet.
I went in again, and throwing myself upon the window-seat, wept bitterly.
Shall I give you the particulars of a ridiculously-spiteful conversation that passed between my brother and me, in the time that he (with Betty) was in office to keep me in the parlour while my closet was searching!—But I think I will not. It can answer no good end.
I desired several times, while he stayed, to have leave to retire to my apartment; but was denied. The search, I suppose, was not over.
Bella was one of those employed in it. They could not have a more diligent searcher. How happy it was they were disappointed!
But when my sister could not find the cunning creature’s
papers, I was to stand another visit from Mr. Solmes—preceded now by my aunt Hervey, solely against her will, I could see that; accompanied by my uncle Antony, in order to keep her steady, I suppose.
But being a little heavy (for it is now past two in the morning) I will lie down in my clothes, to indulge the kind summons, if it will be indulged.
Three o’clock, Wednesday Morning.
I could not sleep—Only dozed away one half-hour.
My aunt Hervey accosted me thus:—O my dear child, what troubles do you give to your parents, and to everybody!—I wonder at you!
I am sorry for it, Madam.
Sorry for it, child!—Why then so very obstinate?—Come, sit down, my dear. I will sit next to you; taking my hand.
My uncle placed Mr. Solmes on the other side of me: himself over-against me, almost close to me. Was I not finely beset, my dear?
Your brother, child, said my aunt, is too passionate—his zeal for your welfare pushes him on a little too vehemently.
Very true, said my uncle: but no more of this. We would now be glad to see if milder means will do with you—though, indeed, they were tried before.
I asked my aunt, If it were necessary, that the gentleman should be present?
There is a reason that he should, said my aunt, as you will hear by-and-by.—But I must tell you, first, that, thinking you was a little too angrily treated by your brother, your mother desired me to try what gentler means would do upon a spirit so generous as we used to think yours.
Nothing can be done, Madam, I must presume to say, if this gentleman’s address be the end.
She looked upon my uncle, who bit his lip; and looked upon Mr. Solmes, who rubbed his cheek; and shaking her head, Good, dear creature, said she, be calm. Let me ask you, If something would have been done, had you been more gently used, than you seem to think you have been?
No, Madam, I cannot say it would, in this gentleman’s favour. You know, Madam, you know, Sir, to my uncle, I ever valued myself upon my sincerity: and once indeed had the happiness to be valued for it.
My uncle took Mr. Solmes aside. I heard him say, whispering, She must, she shall, still be yours.—We’ll see, who’ll conquer, parents or child, uncles or niece. I doubt not to be witness to all this being got over, and many a good-humoured jest made of this high frenzy!
I was heartily vexed.
Though we cannot find out, continued he, yet we guess, who puts her upon this obstinate behaviour. It is not natural to her, man. Nor would I concern myself so much about her, but that I know what I say to be true, and intend to do great things for her.
I will hourly pray for that happy time, whispered as audibly Mr. Solmes. I never will revive the remembrance of what is now so painful to me.
Well, but, Niece, I am to tell you, said my aunt, that the sending up of the keys, without making any conditions, has wrought for you what nothing else could have done. That, and the not finding anything that could give them umbrage, together with Mr. Solmes’s interposition—
O Madam, let me not owe an obligation to Mr. Solmes. I cannot repay it, except by my thanks; and those only on condition that he will decline his suit. To my thanks, Sir, (turning to him), if you have a heart capable of humanity, if you have any esteem for me for my own sake, I beseech you to entitle yourself!—I beseech you, do—!
O Madam, cried he, believe, believe, believe me, it is impossible. While you are single, I will hope. While that hope is encouraged by so many worthy friends, I must persevere. I must not slight them, Madam, because you slight me.
I answered him only with a look; but it was of high disdain; and turning from him—But what favour, dear Madam, (to my aunt), has the instance of duty you mention procured me?
Your mother and Mr. Solmes, replied my aunt, have prevailed, that your request to stay here till Monday next shall be granted, if you will promise to go cheerfully then.
Let me but choose my own visitors, and I will go to my uncle’s house with pleasure.
Well, Niece, said my aunt, we must wave this subject, I find.
