have been writing ever since. And, methinks, I can never lament the rudeness of Lord Merton, as it has more than ever confirmed to me the esteem of Lord Orville.
LETTER 69
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
Sept. 30th.
Oh, Sir, what a strange incident have I to recite! what a field of conjecture to open!
Yesterday evening we all went to an assembly. Lord Orville presented tickets to the whole family; and did me the honour, to the no small surprise of all here, I believe, to dance with me. But every day abounds in fresh instances of his condescending politeness; and he now takes every opportunity of calling me his friend and his sister.
Lord Merton offered a ticket to Lady Louisa; but she was so much incensed against him, that she refused it with the utmost disdain: neither could he prevail upon her to dance with him; she sat still the whole evening, and deigned not to look at or speak to him. To me her behaviour is almost the same: for she is cold, distant, and haughty, and her eyes express the greatest contempt. But for Lord Orville, how miserable would my residence here make me!
We were joined in the ball-room by Mr. Coverley, Mr. Lovel, and Lord Merton, who looked as if he was doing penance, and sat all the evening next to Lady Louisa, vainly endeavouring to appease her anger.
Lord Orville began the minuets: he danced with a young lady who seemed to engage the general attention, as she had not been seen here before. She is pretty, and looks mild and good-humoured.
“Pray, Mr. Lovel,” said Lady Louisa, “who is that?”
“Miss Belmont,” answered he, “the young heiress: she came to the Wells yesterday.”
Struck with the name, I involuntarily repeated it; but nobody heard me.
“What is her family?” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“Have you not heard of her, Ma’am?” cried he; “she is only daughter and heiress of Sir John Belmont.”
Good Heaven, how did I start! the name struck my ear like a thunderbolt. Mrs. Selwyn, who immediately looked at me, said, “Be calm, my dear, and we will learn the truth of all this.”
Till then I had never imagined her to be acquainted with my story; but she has since told me, that she knew my unhappy mother, and was well informed of the whole affair.
She asked Mr. Lovel a multitude of questions; and I gathered from his answers, that this young lady was just come from abroad with Sir John Belmont, who was now in London; that she was under the care of his sister, Mrs. Paterson; and that she would inherit a considerable estate.
I cannot express the strange feelings with which I was agitated during this recital. What, my dearest Sir, can it possibly mean? Did you ever hear of any after-marriage? — or must I suppose, that, while the lawful child is rejected, another is adopted? — I know not what to think! I am bewildered with a contrariety of ideas!
When we came home, Mrs. Selwyn passed more than an hour in my room conversing upon this subject. She says, that I ought instantly to go to town, find out my father, and have the affair cleared up. She assures me I have too strong a resemblance to my dear, though unknown, mother, to allow of the least hesitation in my being owned, when once I am seen. For my part, I have no wish but to act by your direction.
I cannot give any account of the evening; so disturbed, so occupied am I by this subject, that I can think of no other. I have entreated Mrs. Selwyn to observe the strictest secrecy, and she has promised that she will. Indeed, she has too much sense to be idly communicative.
Lord Orville took notice of my being absent and silent; but I ventured not to intrust him with the cause. Fortunately, he was not of the party at the time Mr. Lovel made the discovery.
Mrs. Selwyn says, that if you approve my going to town, she will herself accompany me. I had a thousand times rather ask the protection of Mrs. Mirvan, but, after this offer that will not be possible.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. I am sure you will write immediately, and I shall be all impatience till your letter arrives.
LETTER 70
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
Oct. 1st.
Good God, my dear Sir, what a wonderful tale have I again to relate! even yet, I am not recovered from my extreme surprise.
Yesterday morning, as soon as I had finished my hasty letter, I was summoned to attend a walking party to the Hot Wells. It consisted only of Mrs. Selwyn and Lord Orville. The latter walked by my side all the way; and his conversation dissipated my uneasiness, and insensibly restored my serenity.
At the pump-room I saw Mr. Macartney; I courtsied to him twice ere he would speak to me. When he did, I began to apologize for having disappointed him; but I did not find it very easy to excuse myself, as Lord Orville’s eyes, with an expression of anxiety that distressed me, turned from him to me, and me to him, every word I spoke. Convinced, however, that I had really trifled with Mr. Macartney, I scrupled not to beg his pardon. He was then not merely appeased, but even grateful.
He requested me to see him tomorrow; but I had not the folly to be again guilty of an indiscretion; which had already caused me so much uneasiness; and therefore I told him frankly, that it was not in my power at present to see him but by accident; and, to prevent his being offended, I hinted to him the reason I could not receive him as I wished to do.
When I had satisfied both him and myself upon this subject, I turned to Lord Orville, and saw, with concern, the gravity of his countenance. I would have spoken to him, but knew not how; I believe, however, he read my thoughts; for, in a little time, with a sort of serious smile, he said, “Does not Mr. Macartney complain of his disappointment?”
“Not much, my Lord.”
“And how have you appeased him?” Finding I hesitated what to answer, “Am I not your brother?” continued he, “and must I not enquire into your affairs?”
“Certainly, my Lord,” said I, laughing. “I only wish it were better worth your Lordship’s while.”
“Let me, then, make immediate use of my privilege. When shall you see Mr. Macartney again?”
“Indeed, my Lord, I can’t tell.”
“But — do you know that I shall not suffer my sister to make a private appointment?”
“Pray, my Lord,” cried I earnestly, “use that word no more! Indeed you shock me extremely.”
“That would I not do for the world,” cried he, “yet you know not how warmly, how deeply I am interested, not only in all your concerns, but in all your actions.”
This speech — the most particular one Lord Orville had ever made to me, ended our conversation at that time; for I was too much struck by it to make any answer.
