of Lord Orville agree with his pen — I shall then think, that of all mankind, the only virtuous individual resides at Berry Hill.
LETTER 63
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 16th.
Oh, Sir, Lord Orville is still himself! still what, from the moment I beheld, I believed him to be — all that is amiable in man! and your happy Evelina, restored at once to spirits and tranquillity, is no longer sunk in her own opinion, nor discontented with the world; — no longer, with dejected eyes, sees the prospect of passing her future days in sadness, doubt, and suspicion! — with revived courage she now looks forward, and expects to meet with goodness, even among mankind:— though still she feels, as strongly as ever, the folly of hoping, in any second instance, to meet with perfection.
Your conjecture was certainly right; Lord Orville, when he wrote that letter, could not be in his senses. Oh that intemperance should have power to degrade so low, a man so noble!
This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to Clifton Hill, where, beautifully situated, is the house of Mrs. Beaumont. Most uncomfortable were my feelings during our walk, which was very slow; for the agitation of my mind made me more than usually sensible how weak I still continue. As we entered the house, I summoned all my resolution to my aid, determined rather to die than give Lord Orville reason to attribute my weakness to a wrong cause. I was happily relieved from my perturbation, when I saw Mrs. Beaumont was alone. We sat with her for, I believe, an hour without interruption; and then we saw a phaeton drive up to the gate, and a lady and gentleman alight from it.
They entered the parlour with the ease of people who were at home. The gentleman, I soon saw, was Lord Merton: he came shuffling into the room with his boots on, and his whip in his hand; and having made something like a bow to Mrs. Beaumont, he turned towards me. His surprise was very evident; but he took no manner of notice of me. He waited, I believe, to discover, first, what chance had brought me to that house, where he did not look much rejoiced at meeting me. He seated himself very quietly at the window, without speaking to any body.
Mean time the lady, who seemed very young, hobbling rather than walking into the room, made a passing courtsy to Mrs. Beaumont, saying, “How are you, Ma’am?” and then, without noticing any body else, with an air of languor she flung herself upon a sofa, protesting, in a most affected voice, and speaking so softly she could hardly be heard, that she was fatigued to death. “Really, Ma’am, the roads are so monstrous dusty — you can’t imagine how troublesome the dust is to one’s eyes! — and the sun, too, is monstrous disagreeable! — I dare say I shall be so tanned: I shan’t be fit to be seen this age. Indeed, my Lord, I won’t go out with you any more, for you don’t care where you take one.”
“Upon my honour,” said Lord Merton, “I took you the pleasantest ride in England, the fault was in the sun, not me.”
“Your Lordship is in the right,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “to transfer the fault to the sun, because it has so many excellencies to counterbalance partial inconveniences that a little blame will not injure that in our estimation.”
Lord Merton looked by no means delighted at this attack; which I believe she would not so readily have made, but to revenge his neglect of us.
“Did you meet your brother, Lady Louisa?” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“No, Ma’am. Is he rode out this morning?”
I then found, what I had before suspected, that this lady was Lord Orville’s sister: how strange, that such near relations should be so different to each other! There is, indeed, some resemblance in their features; but, in their manners, not the least.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Beaumont, “and I believe he wished to see you.”
“My Lord drove so monstrous fast,” said Lady Louisa, “that perhaps we passed him. He frightened me out of my senses; I declare my head is quite giddy. Do you know, Ma’am, we have done nothing but quarrel all the morning? — You can’t think how I’ve scolded; have not I, my Lord?” and she smiled expressively at Lord Merton.
“You have been, as you always are,” said he, twisting his whip with his fingers, “all sweetness.”
“O fie, my Lord,” cried she, “I know you don’t think so; I know you think me very ill-natured; — don’t you, my Lord?”
“No, upon my honour; — how can your Ladyship ask such a question? Pray how goes time? my watch stands.”
“It is almost three,” answered Mrs. Beaumont.
“Lord, Ma’am, you frighten me!” cried Lady Louisa; and then, turning to Lord Merton, “why now, you wicked creature you, did you not tell me it was but one?”
Mrs. Selwyn then rose to take leave; but Mrs. Beaumont asked if she would look at the shrubbery. “I should like it much,” answered she, “but that I fear to fatigue Miss Anville.”
Lady Louisa, then, raising her head from her hand, on which it had leant, turned round to look at me; and having fully satisfied her curiosity, without any regard to the confusion it gave me, turned about, and, again leaning on her hand, took no further notice of me.
I declared myself very able to walk, and begged that I might accompany them. “What say you, Lady Louisa,” cried Mrs. Beaumont, “to a stroll in the garden?”
“Me, Ma’am! — I declare I can’t stir a step; the heat is so excessive, it would kill me. I’m half dead with it already; besides, I shall have no time to dress. Will any body be here today, Ma’am?”
“I believe not, unless Lord Merton will favour us with his company.”
“With great pleasure, Madam.”
“Well, I declare you don’t deserve to be asked,” cried Lady Louisa, “you wicked creature you! — I must tell you one thing, Ma’am — you can’t think how abominable he was! do you know we met Mr. Lovel in his new phaeton, and my Lord was so cruel as to drive against it? — we really flew. I declare I could not breathe. Upon my word, my Lord, I’ll never trust myself with you again — I won’t indeed.”
We then went into the garden, leaving them to discuss the point at their leisure.
Do you remember a pretty but affected young lady I mentioned to have seen, in Lord Orville’s party, at the Pantheon? How little did I then imagine her to be his sister! yet Lady Louisa Larpent is the very person. I can now account for the piqued manner of her speaking to Lord Merton that evening, and I can now account for the air of displeasure with which Lord Orville marked the undue attention of his future brother-in-law to me.
We had not walked long, ere, at a distance, I perceived Lord Orville, who seemed just dismounted from his horse, enter the garden. All my perturbation returned at the sight of him! — yet I endeavoured to repress every feeling but resentment. As he approached us, he bowed to the whole party; but I turned away my head to avoid taking any share in his civility. Addressing himself immediately to Mrs. Beaumont, he was beginning to enquire after his sister: but, upon seeing my face, he suddenly exclaimed, “Miss Anville! —” and then he advanced, and made his compliments to me — not with an air of vanity or impertinence, nor yet with a look of consciousness or shame; — but with a countenance
