Here I was broke in upon by Mr. Lovelace; introducing the widow leading in a kinswoman of hers to attend me, if I approved of her, till my Hannah should come, or till I had provided myself with some other servant. The widow gave her many good qualities; but said, that she had one great defect; which was, that she could not write, nor read writing; that part of her education having been neglected when she was young; but for discretion, fidelity, obligingness, she was not to be outdone by anybody. So commented her likewise for her skill at the needle.
As for her defect, I can easily forgive that. She is very likely and genteel—too genteel indeed, I think, for a servant. But what I like least of all in her, she has a strange sly eye. I never saw such an eye; half-confident, I think. But indeed Mrs. Sinclair herself, (for that is the widow’s name), has an odd winking eye; and her respectfulness seems too much studied, methinks, for the London ease and freedom. But people can’t help their looks, you know; and after all she is extremely civil and obliging—and as for the young woman, (Dorcas is her name), she will not be long with me.
I accepted her: How could I do otherwise, (if I had had a mind to make objections, which, in my present situation, I had not), her aunt present, and the young woman also present; and Mr. Lovelace officious in his introducing them, to oblige me? But, upon their leaving me, I told him, (who seemed inclinable to begin a conversation with me), that I desired that this apartment might be considered as my retirement: that when I saw him it might be in the dining-room, (which is up a few stairs; for this back-house, being once two, the rooms do not all of them very conveniently communicate with each other), and that I might be as little broken in upon as possible, when I am here. He withdrew very respectfully to the door, but there stopped; and asked for my company then in the dining-room. If he were about setting out for other lodgings, I would go with him now, I told him; but, if he did not just then go, I would first finish my letter to Miss Howe.
I see he has no mind to leave me if he can help it. My brother’s scheme may give him a pretence to try to engage me to dispense with his promise. But if I now do I must acquit him of it entirely.
My approbation of his tender behaviour in the midst of my grief, has given him a right, as he seems to think, of addressing me with all the freedom of an approved lover. I see by this man, that when once a woman embarks with this sex, there is no receding. One concession is but the prelude to another with them. He has been ever since Sunday last continually complaining of the distance I keep him at; and thinks himself entitled now to call in question my value for him; strengthening his doubts by my former declared readiness to give him up to a reconciliation with my friends; and yet has himself fallen off from that obsequious tenderness, if I may couple the words, which drew from me the concessions he builds upon.
While we were talking at the door, my new servant came up with an invitation to us both to tea. I said he might accept of it, if he pleased: but I must pursue my writing; and not choosing either tea or supper, I desired him to make my excuses below, as to both; and inform them of my choice to be retired as much as possible; yet to promise for me my attendance on the widow and her nieces at breakfast in the morning.
He objected particularly in the eye of strangers as to avoiding supper.
You know, said I, and you can tell them, that I seldom eat suppers. My spirits are low. You must never urge me against a declared choice. Pray, Mr. Lovelace, inform them of all my particularities. If they are obliging, they will allow for them—I come not hither to make new acquaintance.
I have turned over the books I found in my closet; and am not a little pleased with them; and think the better of the people of the house for their sakes.
Stanhope’s Gospels; Sharp’s, Tillotson’s, and South’s Sermons; Nelson’s Feasts and Fasts; a Sacramental Piece of the Bishop of Man, and another of Dr. Gauden, Bishop of Exeter; and Inett’s Devotions, are among the devout books:—and among those of a lighter turn, the following not ill-chosen ones: A Telemachus, in French; another in English; Steel’s, Rowe’s, and Shakespeare’s Plays; that genteel Comedy of Mr. Cibber, The Careless Husband, and others of the same author; Dryden’s Miscellanies; the Tatlers, Spectators, and Guardians; Pope’s, and Swift’s, and Addison’s Works.
In the blank leaves of the Nelson and Bishop Gauden, is Mrs. Sinclair’s name; and in those of most of the others, either Sarah Martin, or Mary Horton, the names of the two nieces.
I am exceedingly out of humour with Mr. Lovelace: and have great reason to be so, as you will allow, when you have read the conversation I am going to give you an account of; for he would not let me rest till I gave him my company in the dining-room.
He began with letting me know, that he had been out to inquire after the character of the widow, which was the more necessary, he said, as he supposed that I would expect his frequent absence
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I did, I said; and that he would not think of taking up his lodging in the same house with me. But what, said I, is the result of your inquiry?
Why, indeed, the widow’s character was, in the main, what he liked well
