The Greatest Regency Romance Novels. Maria EdgeworthЧитать онлайн книгу.
the gallants, 'if this assembly were like others; but we are only a select company of gay young fellows, who resolve to try how far nature may be exhilarated by regaling every sense at once: to prevent all quarrels, every man is to bring a lady with him, who is to be his partner in singing, dancing, playing, or whatever they two shall agree upon. We two,' continued he, 'pitched upon the two Miss Airishes; but one of them being gone another way, we thought of you; otherwise we could have found ladies who would have obliged us.'
'Very likely,' replied Miss Betsy; 'and I suppose it may not be too late to seek them.'—'But I had rather have you than all the world,' cried he whom Miss Betsy was most apprehensive of: 'you know I have always shewn a particular tendre for you; therefore, pr'ythee,' continued he, catching her in his arms, and eagerly kissing her, 'my dear girl, send some excuse to your brother, and let us have you with us.'
'Unhand me, my lord!' cried she, struggling to get loose; 'what you ask is impossible, for I neither can nor will go!' The resolution with which she spoke these words, and the anger which at the same time sparkled in her eyes, made them see it would be but lost labour to endeavour to persuade her; they looked one at another, and were confounded what to do; till Miss Airish, vexed to the very heart at Miss Betsy's behaviour, hit upon an expedient to solve the matter: 'Well,' said she, 'since Miss Betsy cannot go, I will introduce your lordship to a young lady, who, I am sure, will not refuse us; besides, I know she is at home, for I saw her looking out of her chamber-window as we came by: but we must go directly, that she may have time to dress.'
On this they both cried, with all their hearts; and one of them, taking her hand, skipped down stairs with her in the same wild way they came up: the other followed, only turning his head towards Miss Betsy, crying with a malicious sneer—
'How unregarded now that piece of beauty stands!'
Miss Betsy, though sufficiently piqued, was very glad to get rid of them; and the more so, that by their happening to call on her, instead of her meeting them at Miss Airish's apartment, she had the better opportunity of excusing herself from going where they desired.
CHAPTER XV
The terrible consequence which may possibly attend our placing too great a dependance on persons whose principles we are not well assured of, are here exemplified in a notable act of villainy and hypocrisy
Miss Betsy no sooner found herself alone, than she began to reflect very seriously on the preceding passage: she knew very little of these two young noblemen, yet thought she saw enough in their behaviour to make any woman, who had the least regard for her honour or reputation, fearful to trust herself with them in any place where both might be so much endangered; she was, therefore, very much amazed that Miss Airish should run so great a risque; and, to find that she did so, joined to some other things which she had of late observed in the conduct of both the sisters, contributed to diminish the love and esteem she once had for them.
She found, however, too many objects of satisfaction in the visits she made to those ladies to be willing to break acquaintance with them; and, as she doubted not but that she had highly disobliged the one, by not complying with her invitation, and that this would infallibly occasion a rupture with the other also, if not in time reconciled, she went the next morning to their apartment, in order to make her peace.
On her enquiring for that lady, the footman told her she was but just come home, and, he believed, was going to bed; but he would tell the chamber-maid she was there. 'No, no!' cried Miss Betsy; 'only give my compliments to your lady, and tell her I will wait on her this afternoon.' She was going away with these words, but Miss Airish, lying on the same floor, heard her voice, and called to her to come in.
Miss Betsy did as she was desired, and found her in a much better humour than she expected. 'O, my dear!' said she, 'what a night have you lost by not being with us! Such a promiscuous enjoyment of every thing that can afford delight or satisfaction!—Well, after all, there is nothing like playing the rake a little sometimes—it gives such a fill-up to the spirits.'
'Provided it be innocent, I am of your mind,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I suppose every thing was managed with decency among you.'—'O quite so!' cried the other; 'all harmless libertinism: it is true, there were private rooms; but, you know, one might chuse whether one would go into them or not.'—'I am not sure of that,' said Miss Betsy: 'I am glad, however, you were so well pleased with your entertainment; and equally so, that you were not hindered from enjoying it by my not being able to share with you in it.'
'I am obliged to you, my dear,' replied Miss Airish; 'I was a little vexed with you at first, indeed, but knew you could not help it: the lady we called upon went very readily with us; so, as it happened, there was no disappointment in the case.'
'It was only to be convinced of that,' said Miss Betsy, 'that I came hither thus early; but I will now take my leave—repose I am sure is necessary for you, after so many waking hours.' The other did not oppose her departure, being, in effect, desirous of taking that rest which her exhausted spirits wanted.
Never had Miss Betsy felt within herself a greater or more sincere satisfaction than she now did, for having so prudently avoided falling into inconveniences, the least of which, as she very rightly judged, would have been paying too dear a price for all the pleasures she could have received.
Sweet indeed are the reflections which flow from a consciousness of having done what virtue, and the duty owing to the character we bear in life, exact from us! but poor Miss Betsy was not to enjoy, for any long time, so happy a tranquillity; she was rouzed out of this serenity of mind by an adventure of a different kind from all she had ever yet experienced, and which, if she were not properly guarded against, it ought to be imputed rather to the unsuspecting goodness of her heart, than to her vanity, or that inadvertency which had occasioned her former mistakes.
She was sitting near the window, leaning her arms upon the slab, very deep in contemplation, when, hearing a coach stop at the door, she looked out, imagining it might be somebody to her, and saw Mrs. Modely come out: she wondered what business that woman should now come upon, after the letter she had sent her; and resolved to chide her for any impertinent message she should deliver.
Mrs. Modely, whose profession was known to the people of the house, always ran up without any other ceremony than asking if Miss Betsy was at home and alone: being now told she was so, she flew into the room, with a distraction in her countenance which very much surprized Miss Betsy; but before she had time to ask the meaning, the other, throwing herself down in a chair, increased her astonishment by these words.
'O, Madam!' cried she, 'I am come to tell you of the saddest accident—poor Sir Frederick Fineer!—O that he had never seen you!—O that I had never meddled between you!—I am undone, that is to be sure—ruined for ever!—I shall never get another lodger—nay, I believe I shall never recover the fright I am in!'
Here she burst into a violent fit of tears; and her sobs interrupting the passage of her words, gave Miss Betsy opportunity to enquire into the mystery of her behaviour. 'For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?' said that young lady; 'pr'ythee, cease these exclamations, and speak to be understood!'
'Ah, dear Miss Betsy!' resumed the other, 'I scarce know what I say or do; poor Sir Frederick has run himself quite through the body!'—'What! killed himself!' cried Miss Betsy hastily. 'He is not dead yet,' replied Mrs. Modely; 'but there he lies, the most dismal object that ever eyes beheld! the agonies of death in his face—the sword sticking in his breast; for the surgeon says, that the moment that is drawn out, his life comes with it.'
Perceiving Miss Betsy said nothing, and looked a little troubled, she went on in this manner. 'But this is not the worst I have to tell you, Madam,' continued she; 'his death is nothing, but it is his soul—his soul, Miss Betsy! hearing them say he could not live above three hours at most, I sent for a parson; and there the good man sits and talks, and argues with him; but, would you think it, he will not pray, nor be prayed for, nor confess his sins—nor say he is sorry for what he has done—nor do any thing that