University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
MORE OF LOVE'S PERPLEXITIES.

Heartwell was engaged to a party that evening,
where he was sure of meeting Julia. He wrote

an apology and threw it into the fire. About a
quarter of an hour after he wrote another, and
lighted his candle with it. About ten minutes
after, he wrote a third, which he sealed with a
wafer instead of perfumed wax. It would not do,
and he tore it to pieces in a great passion. At
length, mustering his wrongs in battle array, the
flirtation at the ball; the denial of himself and
the admission of Sopus; his infernal long visit; his
confounded familiar nod; and his intolerable air of
success; he pronounced himself an injured, insulted
man, and sent off his apology. Before the servant
had got a hundred yards, he regretted this
precipitation; but his fate was sealed, and by
perfumed wax. It was too late.

Julia said to herself as she was dressing for the
party, “I wonder if he will be there.” Young
ladies never mention the name of a certain person,
except in their sleep. As she rode to the party,
she revolved in her mind how she should behave
towards Heartwell. Should she be dignified or
familiar; pettish or amiable; natural or artificial;
mystical or all simplicity. At last she settled
it in her mind, that as Heartwell was not quite
sufficiently punished, she would play off Sopus
against him for that night only, and then forgive
Heartwell. Heartwell was not there, but
no doubt he would come; accordingly Julia
smiled and flirted with our hero, every now and
then eyeing the door as it opened. She looked

over a port folio with our hero, and their heads
almost touched. She suffered him to snatch a
nosegay, intending this to be the last stab she
would inflict on poor Heartwell. But yet he came
not; and as it grew later and later, Julia said to
herself, “He will not come to-night.” From that
moment she treated Sopus with a pettishness
which he could not fathom, although he had finished
his education abroad. She insisted upon
having back her nosegay; and when he offered to
hand her to the carriage, absolutely forced herself
upon the Right Honourable Billy Fullalove,
who thereupon fell ten times more deeply in love
with the whole sex, than ever he was before. “A
woman,” quoth Sopus, in the bitterness of his
wrath, “a woman is like a riddle and no riddle.
She—”. Here he was elbowed out of the house
by an inundation of fashionable people, who
seem in as grea a hurry to get home as they are
to go abroad. As Julia rode home she resolved
more resolutely than ever not to forgive Heartwell
for not coming to the party, to afford her the
satisfaction of making him miserable.

All this while the disconsolate Heartwell sat by
the evening fire, looking intently at it, till his eyes
smarted. He figured to himself the fair Julia,
gliding through the intricacies of the crowd, hanging
on the arm of that infernal Sopus, laughing,
chatting, and flirting with the intolerable puppy.
“Had she only given me a decent rival,” and he

deceived himself just as he did the night before.
“Now,” thought he, “she is dancing with Sopus.
But how well she dances; how gracefully elegant,
how much like a lady; and then her foot, her dear,
pretty little, lady like foot, playing at bo-peep with
Sopus' infernal French pumps. D—n Sopus!”
But the little foot mollified Heartwell exceedingly,
and he was very near forgiving Julia, when he
again conjured up Julia's beautiful little satin
shoes, as it were, exchanging civilities with the
infernal French pumps of Sopus. This idea got
the better of the other, and again he relapsed into
wrath unappeasable.

“Ah, Julia! if you only knew—” “What?”
cried a voice close at his elbow. “My dear
Lord Count of the Mouldering Bridge, whence
came you? and how did you get in so quietly?”

“Quietly! I almost knocked down the street
door, and fell over three chairs and a table in finding
my way to you. What is the reason you were
not at Mrs. Saddleback's party to-night? I came
to see if you were ill.”

“I'm tired of parties, sick of fancy balls, and—”

“And meditate retiring from the world, to play
hermit, and moralize on the inconstancy of woman.
Hey, my Lord Duke Humphrey?”

“Is it a supper and ball?” asked Heartwell, who
being exceedingly anxious on a certain point, began
as far off as possible. “Is it a ball and supper?”

“To be sure, fat Bennett half asleep, and the
fricasseed Guinea hen as hot as ætna.”

“Was it a large party?”

“As usual. Your good folks here seem to
think the more the merrier, and crowd us together
like the scales of a fish.”

“Any new faces?”

“Some few; nothing worth a song.”

“Any old ones?”

“Why yes; by the bye, there was that fine girl,
Miss, Miss Cowgate; no, Hellgate; no, Newgate;
no, what a plague—I'll swear there is a gate in it.”

“Wingate?” said Heartwell, his voice sinking
into a whisper, and his heart beating louder than
his tongue.

“Aye, Wingate; that's the name. Upon my
soul, Heartwell, she is a fine girl. But 'tis a pity
she is going to throw herself away on that half
bred roué, Sopefat, or Soapsuds—what's his confounded
name?”

“Sopus?” answered Heartwell, in a voice still
weaker than before, and a heart sunk away nobody
knows where. “Is it all settled?”

“Is it all settled,” cried the gay count, mimicing
him. “Yes, it is all settled as they say. She
was very particular with him to-night, and either
is fond of the blockhead, or wanted to make somebody
she was fond of jealous, I don't know which.
But come, return with me, we shall be in time for
the Guinea hen, and you may laugh a little at

Soapsuds, who walks on air, and snuffs gas. Will
you go?”

“I'll be — if I do,” cried Heartwell, in a
great passion.

“O well, don't take fire. Good night. I shall
go back and make interest to be asked to the
wedding,” and away went the count as merry as
an old fashioned May morning in the month of
June.

Poor Heartwell! he was getting worse and
worse every moment. As the hours crept slowly
and wearily on, he continued present in fancy
at the ball, and saw Julia and Sopus flirting together.
He saw them exchanging looks, and
talking with their eyes—he saw him hand her into
supper, sit by her side, crowded so close they
almost grew together—he saw them touch their
glasses, nay their very hands—he saw him help
her to the fricasseed Guinea hen—and oh! horror,
he saw her eat of it with an appetite most horrible!
He could see no more; but he swore that night
he would act the part of a friend to the family,
and apprise the mother that Sopus was a spendthrift,
a roué, a ruined man, and a great blockhead.
“It is nothing to me, now,” said he, “but
'tis a pity so fine a girl should be thrown away.”

The next morning he again knocked at the
door of Julia Wingate. He asked for the mother
and was admitted. The good lady with whom
Heartwell was a great favourite, asked him where

he had been so long, and was going to ring for
Julia, but he stopt her.

“Madam,” said he, “Madam, I have no business
with Miss Wingate—I mean, I come as an old
friend of the family—you know my grandfather
and yours were once in business together—I come
as an old friend—my mother and you were very
intimate—as an old friend of the family, of whose
hospitality I have so often partaken, in whose society
I have enjoyed so many happy, happy hours
—to talk to you about Miss Wingate—that is to
say—to—to—warn—that is to say—to caution—
to ask you madam—if if—ha—ha—hem—hum”—
and Heartwell ran high and dry ashore.

“You ask so many questions that I hardly
know how to answer them; but if you will put
one at a time I will promise to satisfy you if I only
comprehend,” said the lady, smiling.

“Why then madam—I would ask—that is
to say—I would inquire as a very old friend of
the family—whether—whether—whether—Miss
Wingate means to honour Mr. Sopus with her
hand; because if she does—as an old—a very
old friend of the family I feel bound”—

“Julia,” interrupted Mrs. Wingate, “Julia, will
you answer for yourself, and tell this very old gentleman
whether you are going to marry Mr. Sopus?”
and the old lady glided out just as the young
one glided into the room. They both looked at
first like two great fools; after a little while Julia

could not for the soul of her help smiling; Heartwell
smiled too, and asked her as soon as he could
find breath to utter it, “Whether she really meant
to marry Mr. Sopus, because if she did, his duty
as an old friend—a very old friend—”

“Pray how old are you Mr. Heartwell,” asked
Julia, laughing.

No man was ever afraid of a woman laughing.
Heartwell answered warmly—

“Old enough to admire your beauty—cherish
your virtues—and wise enough to know that the
possession will make me happy beyond all happiness.
Julia I adore you.”

The young lady's face neck and bosom was of
the hue of fire. She said not a word, for ladies
should say nothing when looks can so well answer
the purpose. There was a tear in her eye as she
at length said, “What a fool I have been!”

“And so have I; I thought you were going to
marry Mr. Sopus. Why did you pay him such
attentions?”

“Why did you neglect me so?”

“I thought my attentions had become disagreeable.”

“And I thought you hated me.”

“Oh! Julia!”

“Oh! Heartwell!” replied Julia, as she—I'll
not swear but she permitted him to fold his arms
about her slender waist, and kiss her warm lips.
Nay, it is my firm belief that she did. But I trust

I am too discreet a person to disclose matters which
are always communicated to us writers under the
seal of secrecy, but which, with shame and sorrow
I speak it, they take the first opportunity of blabbing
to the whole world.

“O, Heartwell!” exclaimed Julia, in a glow.

“Dearest Julia, when—”

“Mr. Sopus,” cried a servant.

“The Devil take Mr. Sopus,” thought Heartwell.

Julia did not swear, but she wished him in
Guinea, as Heartwell hastily took his leave, not
as well pleased as he should have been.

Our hero was received by Julia with monosyllables;
entertained with monosyllables; and dismissed
with the shortest monosyllable in the English
language. O! how Julia hated him for
having made Heartwell miserable. Having the
field all to himself, Sopus determined to sieze the
opportunity.

“Adorable Miss Wingate, will you be mine?”

“NO!” said Julia, and quitted the room with
the step of a queen.

Sopus was at a loss for a comparison that would
do justice to the occasion. “A woman,” quoth
he, “is like—”

“Your glove, sir,” said a servant, who had followed
him. “You dropt it in the parlour.”

“Faith, I wish she was like my glove,” quoth

Sopus, drawing it on. “But I'll insult Heartwell
the first good opportunity.” He never found a
good opportunity.