“No matter, Sir, no matter,” cried I; “if I can but find my friends — I will never speak to — never see you again!”
“Good God! — good Heaven! My dearest life, what is it I have done? — what is it I have said? —”
“You best know, Sir, what and why: but don’t hold me here — let me be gone; and do you!”
“Not till you forgive me! — I cannot part with you in anger.”
“For shame, for shame, Sir!” cried I, indignantly, “do you suppose I am to be thus compelled? — do you take advantage of the absence of my friends to affront me?”
“No, Madam,” cried he, rising: “I would sooner forfeit my life than act so mean a part. But you have flung me into amazement unspeakable, and you will not condescend to listen to my request of giving me some explanation.”
“The manner, Sir,” said I, “in which you spoke that request, made, and will make, me scorn to answer it.”
“Scorn! — I will own to you, I expected not such displeasure from Miss Anville.”
“Perhaps, Sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily have merited it.”
“My dearest life, surely it must be known to you, that the man does not breathe who adores you so passionately, so fervently, so tenderly as I do! — Why, then, will you delight in perplexing me? — in keeping me in suspense? — in torturing me with doubt?”
“I, Sir, delight in perplexing you! — you are much mistaken. — Your suspense, your doubts, your perplexities — are of your own creating; and believe me, Sir, they may offend, but they can never delight me:— but as you have yourself raised, you must yourself satisfy them.”
“Good God! — that such haughtiness and such sweetness can inhabit the same mansion!”
I made no answer; but quickening my pace I walked on silently and sullenly, till this most impetuous of men, snatching my hand, which he grasped with violence, besought me to forgive him with such earnestness of supplication, that, merely to escape his importunities, I was forced to speak, and in some measure to grant the pardon he requested; though it was accorded with a very ill grace: but, indeed, I knew not how to resist the humility of his intreaties: yet never shall I recollect the occasion he gave me of displeasure, without feeling it renewed.
We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd; and, my own safety being then insured, I grew extremely uneasy for the Miss Branghtons, whose danger, however imprudently incurred by their own folly, I too well knew how to tremble for. To this consideration all my pride of heart yielded, and I determined to seek my party with the utmost speed; though not without a sigh did I recollect the fruitless attempt I had made after the opera, of concealing from this man my unfortunate connections, which I was now obliged to make known.
I hastened, therefore, to the room, with a view of sending young Branghton to the aid of his sisters. In a very short time I perceived Madame Duval, and the rest, looking at one of the paintings.
I must own to you honestly, my dear Sir, that an involuntary repugnance seized me at presenting such a set to Sir Clement — he who had been used to see me in parties so different! — My pace slackened as I approached them — but they presently perceived me.
“Ah, Mademoiselle!” cried M. Du Bois, “Que je suis charme de vous voir!”
“Pray, Miss,” cried Mr. Brown, “where’s Miss Polly?”
“Why, Miss, you’ve been a long while gone,” said Mr. Branghton; “we thought you’d been lost. But what have you done with your cousins?”
I hesitated — for Sir Clement regarded me with a look of wonder.
“Pardi,” cried Madame Duval, “I shan’t let you leave me again in a hurry. Why, here we’ve been in such a fright! — and all the while, I suppose, you’ve been thinking nothing about the matter.”
“Well,” said young Branghton,” as long as Miss is come back, I don’t mind; for as to Bid and Poll, they can take care of themselves. But the best joke is, Mr. Smith is gone all about a looking for you.”
These speeches were made almost in a breath: but when, at last, they waited for an answer, I told them, that, in walking up one of the long alleys, we had been frightened and separated.
“The long alleys!” repeated Mr. Branghton, “and pray, what had you to do in the long alleys? why, to be sure, you must all of you have had a mind to be affronted!”
This speech was not more impertinent to me, than surprising to Sir Clement, who regarded all the party with evident astonishment. However, I told young Branghton, no time ought to be lost, for that his sisters might require his immediate protection.
“But how will they get it?” cried this brutal brother: “if they’ve a mind to behave in such a manner as that, they ought to protect themselves; and so they may for me.”
“Well,” said the simple Mr. Brown, “whether you go or not, I think I may as well see after Miss Polly.”
The father then interfering, insisted that his son should accompany him; and away they went.
It was now that Madame Duval first perceived Sir Clement; to whom, turning with a look of great displeasure, she angrily said, “Ma foi, so you are comed here, of all the people in the world! — I wonder, child, you would let such a — such a person as that keep company with you.”
“I am very sorry, Madam,” said Sir Clement, in a tone of surprise, “if I had been so unfortunate as to offend you; but I believe you will not regret the honour I now have of attending Miss Anville, when you hear that I have been so happy as to do her some service.”
Just as Madame Duval, with her usual Ma foi, was beginning to reply, the attention of Sir Clement was wholly drawn from her, by the appearance of Mr. Smith, who, coming suddenly behind me, and freely putting his hands of my shoulders, cried, “O ho, my little runaway, have I found you at last? I have been scampering all over the gardens for you, for I was determined to find you, if you were above ground. — But how could you be so cruel as to leave us?”
I turned round to him, and looked with a degree of contempt that I hoped would have quieted him: but he had not the sense to understand me; and, attempting to take my hand, he added, “Such a demure-looking lady as you are, who’d have thought of your leading one such a dance? — Come, now, don’t be so coy; only think what a trouble I have had in running after you!”
“The trouble, Sir,” said I, “was of your own choice — not mine.” And I walked round to the other side of Madame Duval.
Perhaps I was too proud; — but I could not endure that Sir Clement, whose eyes followed him with looks of the most surprised curiosity, should witness his unwelcome familiarity.
Upon my removal he came up to me, and, in a low voice, said, “You are not, then, with the Mirvans?”
“No, Sir.”
“And pray — may I ask you — have you left them long?”
“No,
