“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 downstairs 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 upstairs 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 aloud myself, but that they are not proper to be seen by anybody in this house, yourself and Mrs. Selwyn excepted.”
Then again he presented me the paper, which I now was obliged to take, as I found declining it was vain. But I was sorry that this action should be seen, and the whispering remarked, though the purport of the conversation was left to conjecture.
As I held it in my hand, Sir Clement teased me to look at it immediately; and told me, the reason he could not produce the lines publicly was, that among the ladies who were mentioned, and supposed to be rejected, was Lady Louisa Larpent. I am much concerned at this circumstance, as I cannot doubt but that it will render me more disagreeable to her than ever, if she should hear of it.
I will now copy the verses, which Sir Clement would not let me rest till I had read.
See last advance, with bashful grace,
Downcast eye, and blushing cheek,
Timid air, and beauteous face,
Anville—whom the Graces seek.
Though ev’ry beauty is her own,
And though her mind each virtue fills,
Anville—to her power unknown,
Artless strikes—unconscious kills.
I am sure, my dear Sir, you will not wonder that a panegyric such as this should, in reading, give me the greatest confusion; and, unfortunately, before I had finished it, the ladies returned.
“What have you there, my dear?” said Mrs. Selwyn.
“Nothing, Ma’am,” said I, hastily folding, and putting it in my pocket.
“And has nothing,” cried she, “the power of rouge?”
I made no answer; a deep sigh, which escaped Lord Orville at that moment, reached my ears, and gave me sensations—which I dare not mention!
Lord Merton then
