 | The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact |  |
LETTER LX.
Hartford.
Agreeably to your desire, every
art has been tried, every allurement held out,
every argument used, and every plan adopted
which Mrs. Wharton and I could devise to induce
Eliza to accompany me to Boston; but
all in vain. Sometimes she has been almost persuaded
to a compliance with our united request;
but soon has resolutely determined against
it. I have observed her sentiments to be suddenly
changed after being in company with
Major Sanford. This alarms us exceedingly.
Indeed the major seems to have insinuated
himself into her good opinion more than ever.
She is flattered into the belief that his attention
to her is purely the result of friendship
and benevolence.
I have not so favorable an opinion of the
man, as to suppose him capable of either. He
every day. Sometimes he but just inquires
after our health; and sometimes makes long
visits. The latter is his invariable practice,
when he finds Eliza alone. Mrs. Wharton
always avoids seeing him if she can. She
dreads, she says, his approaching the house.
I entered the parlor the other day, somewhat
suddenly, and found him sitting very
near Eliza, in a low conversation. They
both rose in apparent confusion, and he soon
retired.
When he was gone; I suspect, said I, that
the major was whispering a tale of love, Eliza?
Do you imagine, said she, that I would listen
to such a theme from a married man? I
hope not, said I; but his conduct towards
you indicates a revival of his former sentiments,
at least. I was not aware of that, said
she. As yet I have observed nothing in his
behavior to me, inconsistent with the purest
friendship.
We drank tea not long since at Mr. Smith's.
Late in the afternoon, Major Sanford made
his appearance to apologize, as he said, for
Mrs. Sanford, who was indisposed, and could not
enjoy the pleasure of the visit she had contemplated.
He was very gay, the whole evening;
and when the company separated, he
was the first to present his arm to Eliza, who
attended me, and we endeavored to keep
them company; but they evidently chose to
walk by themselves. Mr. Newhall observed,
that if Major Sanford were not married, he
should suspect he still intended a union with
Miss Wharton. I replied, that their former
intercourse having terminated in friendship,
rendered them more familiar with each other,
than with the generality of their acquaintance.
When we reached the house, Mr. Newhall
chose not to go in, and took his leave. I
waited at the door for Eliza and Major Sanford.
At some little distance I saw him press
her hand to his lips. It vexed me exceedingly;
and no sooner had they come up, than I
sullenly bade him good night, and walked directly
in. Eliza soon followed me. I sat down
by the fire in a thoughtful posture. She did
the same. In this situation we both remained
for some time, without speaking a word.
At length she said, you seem not to have enjoyed
your walk, Miss Granby; did you not
like your gallant? Yes, said I, very well; but
I am mortified that you were not better provided
for. I make no complaint, rejoined she;
I was very well entertained. That is what
displeases me, said I; I mean your visible
fondness for the society of such a man. Were
you averse to it, as you ought to be, there
would be no danger. But he has an alluring
you be pleased and entertained by his conversation?
to me it appears totally repugnant to
that resinement and delicacy for which you
have always been esteemed.
His assiduity, and obtrusion ought to alarm
you. You well know what his character has
been. Marriage has not changed his disposition.
It is only a cloak which conceals it.
Trust him not then, my dear Eliza! If you
do, depend upon it, you will find his professions
of friendship to be mere hypocricy, and
deceit! I fear that he is acting over again the
same unworthy arts, which formerly mislead
you. Beware of his wiles! Your friends are
anxious for you. They tremble at your prosessed
regard, and apparent intimacy with that
unprincipled man. My friends, said she, are
very jealous of me, lately. I know not
how I have forfeited their confidence, or incurred
their suspicion. By encouraging that
attention, I warmly replied, and receiving those
caresses from a married man, which are due
from him to none but his wife! He is a villian,
if he deceived her into marriage by insincere
professions of love. If he had then an affection
for her, and has already discarded it, he
is equally guilty! Can you expect sincerity
from the man, who withholds it from an amiable,
and deserving wife? no, Eliza; it is not
love, which induces him to entertain you with
disdain not his artifice; if you listen to his
flattery, you will, I fear, fall a victim to his
evil machinations! If he conducted like a man
of honor, he would merit your esteem; but
his behavior is quite the reverse! Yet vile as
he is, he would not dare to lisp his insolent
hopes of your regard, if you punished his presumption
with the indignation it deserves; if
you spurned from your presence the ungrateful
wretch, who would requite your condescension
by triumphing in your ruin!
She now burst into tears, and begged me to
drop the subject. Her mind, she said, was
racked by her own reflections. She could
bear but little. Kindness deceived, and censure
distressed her!
I assured her of my good intentions; that
as I saw her danger, I thought it a duty of the
friendship and affection I bore her, solemnly to
warn her against it before we parted. We
talked over the matter more calmly, till she
professed herself resolved in future to avoid
his company, and reject his insinuations.
The next day, as I walked out, I met Major
Sanford. He accosted me very civilly. I
barely bid him good morning, and passed on.
I made it in my way to call at his house,
and bid Mrs. Sanford adieu; not expecting
another opportunity equally favorable. When
air on the harpsicord. She rose, and
gave me a polite and graceful reception. I
told her, as I was soon to leave town, I called
to take my leave of her; a compliment, which
her attention to me required. Are you going
to leave us then, Miss Granby? said she. I
shall regret your departure exceedingly. I have
so few friends in this part of the country, that
it will give me sensible pain to part with one I
so highly value.
I told her in the course of conversation,
that I expected the pleasure of seeing her yesterday
at Mr. Smith's; and was very sorry
for the indisposition, which prevented her favoring
us with her company. Indeed, said
she, I did not know I was expected there!
Were you there pray? Yes, said I; and Major
Sanford excused your not coming, on the
account I have mentioned. Well, said she,
this is the first word I ever heard about it; he
told me that business led him abroad! Did he
gallant any lady? O, said I, he was with us
all together. We had no particular gallants.
Seeing her curiosity excited, I heartily repented
saying any thing of the matter, and
waved the subject. Little did I suspect him to
have been guilty of so base an artifice! It was
evidently contrived to faciliate an interview
with Eliza.
When I returned I related this affair to Mrs.
Wharton and her daughter. The old lady
and I expatiated largely on the vileness of this
conduct; and endeavored to expose it to Eliza's
view in its true colors. She pretended
not to justify it. Yet she looked as if she
wished it in her power.
I am now preparing for my journey to Boston;
which I must however deser another
week, for the sake of a more agreeable passage
in the stage. I regret leaving Eliza! I tremble
at her danger! She has not the resolution
to resist temptation, which she once possessed.
Her mind is surprisingly weakened! She appears
sensible of this; yet adds to it by yielding
to her own imbecility. You will receive
a letter from her with this; though I had
much difficulty to persuade her to write. She
has unfortunately become very averse to this,
her once favorite amusement.
As I shall soon have the pleasure of conversing
with you personally, I conclude without
any other addition to this scroll, than the
name of your obliged
| The coquette, or, The history of Eliza Wharton : a novel, founded on fact | |