 | The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact |  |
LETTER IX.
New-Haven.
I am not so happy to day in the recollection
of last evening's entertainment, as I
was in the enjoyment.
The explanation which I promised you from
Mrs. Richman yesterday, I could not obtain.
When I went down to dinner, some friends of
General Richman's had accidentally dropped
in, which precluded all particular conversation.
I retired soon to dress, and saw Mrs. Richman
no more, till I was informed that Major Sanford
waited for me. But I was surprised on going
into the parlour to find Mr. Boyer there. I
blushed and stammered; but I know not why;
for certain I am, that I neither love nor fear the
good man yet, whatever I may do some future
day. I would not be understood that I do not
respect and esteem him; for I do both. But
these are calm passions, which sooth rather than
agitate the mind. It was not the consciousness
of any impropriety of conduct; for I was far
from feeling any. The entertainment for
which I was prepared was such as virtue would
not disapprove, and my gallant was a man of
character.
But Mr. Boyer was much more disconcerted
than myself. Indeed he did not recover his
philosophy while I staid. I believe, by some
hints I have received since, that he had some
particular views, in which he was disappointed.
Our ball had every charm which could render
a ball delightful. My partner was all ease,
politeness, and attention; and your friend was
as much flattered and caressed as variety itself
could wish. We returned to General Richman's
about two. Major Sanford asked leave
to call and inquire after my health, this morning,
and I am now expecting him. I rose to
breakfast. The late hour of retiring to rest had
not depressed, but rather exhilerated my spirits.
My friends were waiting for me in the parlor.
They received me sociably, inquired after my
health, my last evening's entertainment, the
company, &c. When, after a little pause, Mrs.
Richman said, and how do you like Major
Sanford, Eliza? Very well indeed, madam:
I think him a finished gentleman. Will you,
who are a connoisieur, allow him that title?
No, my dear: in my opinion, he falls far below
it; since he is deficient in one of the great
essentials of the character, and that is, virtue.
I am surprised, said I: but how has he incurred
so severe a censure? By being a prosessed libertine;
by having but too successfully practised
the arts of seduction; by triumphing in the destruction
of innocence and the peace of families!
O, why was I not informed of this before?
But, perhaps these are old affairs; the effects
of juvenile folly; crimes of which he may have
repented, and which charity ought to obliterate.
No, my dear, they are recent facts; facts which
he dares not deny; facts for which he ought
to be banished from all virtuous society. I
should have intimated this to you before, but
your precipitate acceptance of his invitation deprived
me of an opportunity, until it was too
late to prevent your going with him; and we
thought it best to protract your enjoyment as
long as possible, not doubting but your virtue
and delicacy would, in future, guard you against
the like deception.
Must I then become an avowed prude at
once; and refuse him admission, if he call, in
compliance with the customary forms? By no
means. I am sensible, that even the false maxims
of the world must be complied with in a
degree. But a man of Major Sanford's art can
easily distinguish between a forbidding, and an
encouraging reception. The former may, in this
case, be given without any breach of the rules
of politeness. Astonished, and mortified, I knew
not what further to say. I had been so pleased
with the man, that I wished to plead in his
favor; but virtue and prudence forbade. I
therefore rose and retired. He is this moment,
I am told, below stairs. So that I must bid
you adieu, until the next post.
| The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact | |