6. CHAPTER VI.
In which Mrs. Miller pays a visit to Sophia
Access to the young lady was by no means difficult; for, as she
lived now on a perfect friendly footing with her aunt, she was at full
liberty to receive what visitants she pleased.
Sophia was dressing, when she was acquainted that there was a
gentlewoman below to wait on her. As she was neither afraid, nor
ashamed, to see any of her own sex, Mrs. Miller was immediately
admitted.
Curtsies and the usual ceremonials between women who are strangers
to each other, being past, Sophia said, "I have not the pleasure to
know you, madam." "No, madam," answered Mrs. Miller, "and I must beg
pardon for intruding upon you. But when you know what has induced me
to give you this trouble, I hope--" "Pray, what is your business,
madam?" said Sophia, with a little emotion. "Madam, we are not alone,"
replied Mrs. Miller, in a low voice. "Go out, Betty," said Sophia.
When Betty was departed, Mrs. Miller said, "I was desired, madam, by
a very unhappy young gentleman, to deliver you this letter." Sophia
changed colour when she saw the direction, well knowing the hand,
and after some hesitation, said- "I could not conceive, madam, from
your appearance, that your business had been of such a nature.-
Whomever you brought this letter from, I shall not open it. I should
be sorry to entertain an unjust suspicion of any one; but you are an
utter stranger to me."
"If you will have patience, madam," answered Mrs. Miller, "I will
acquaint you who I am, and how I came by that letter." "I have no
curiosity, madam, to know anything," cries Sophia; "but I must
insist on your delivering that letter back to the person who gave it
you."
Mrs. Miller then fell upon her knees, and in the most passionate
terms implored her compassion; to which Sophia answered: "Sure, madam,
it is surprizing you should be so very strongly interested in the
behalf of this person. I would not think, madam"- "No, madam," says
Mrs. Miller, "you shall not think anything but the truth. I will
tell you all, and you will not wonder that I am interested. He is
the best-natured creature that ever was born."-- She then began and
related the story of Mr. Anderson.-- After this she cried, "This
madam, this is his goodness; but I have much more tender obligations
to him. He hath preserved my child."-- Here, after shedding some
tears, she related everything concerning that fact, suppressing only
those circumstances which would have most reflected on her daughter,
and concluded with saying, "Now, madam, you shall judge whether I
can ever do enough for so kind, so good, so generous a young man;
and sure he is the best and worthiest of all human beings."
The alterations in the countenance of Sophia had hitherto been
chiefly to her disadvantage, and had inclined her complexion to too
great paleness; but she now waxed redder, if possible, than vermilion,
and cried, "I know not what to say; certainly what arises from
gratitude cannot be blamed-- But what service can my reading this
letter do your friend, since I am resolved never--" Mrs. Miller fell
again to her entreaties, and begged to be forgiven, but she could not,
she said, carry it back. "Well, madam," says Sophia, "I cannot help
it, if you will force it upon me.- Certainly you may leave it, whether
I will or no." What Sophia meant, or whether she meant anything, I
will not presume to determine; but Mrs. Miller actually understood
this as a hint, and presently laying the letter down on the table,
took her leave, having first begged permission to wait again on
Sophia; which request had neither assent nor denial.
The letter lay upon the table no longer than till Mrs. Miller was
out of sight; for then Sophia opened and read it.
This letter did very little service to his cause; for it consisted
of little more than confessions of his own unworthiness, and bitter
lamentations of despair, together with the most solemn protestations
of his unalterable fidelity to Sophia, of which, he said, he hoped
to convince her, if he had ever more the honour of being admitted to
her presence; and that he could account for the letter to Lady
Bellaston in such a manner, that, though it would not entitle him to
her forgiveness, he hoped at least to obtain it from her mercy. And
concluded with vowing that nothing was ever less in his thoughts
than to marry Lady Bellaston.
Though Sophia read the letter twice over with great attention, his
meaning still remained a riddle to her; nor could her invention
suggest to her any means to excuse Jones. She certainly remained
very angry with him, though indeed Lady Bellaston took up so much of
her resentment, that her gentle mind had but little left to bestow
on any other person.
That lady was most unluckily to dine this very day with her aunt
Western, and in the afternoon they were all three, by appointment,
to go together to the opera, and thence to Lady Thomas Hatchet's drum.
Sophia would have gladly been excused from all, but would not
disoblige her aunt; and as to the arts of counterfeiting illness,
she was so entirely a stranger to them, that it never once entered
into her head. When she was drest, therefore, down she went,
resolved to encounter all the horrors of the day, and a most
disagreeable one it proved; for Lady Bellaston took every
opportunity very civilly and slily to insult her; to all which her
dejection of spirits disabled her from making any return; and, indeed,
to confess the truth, she was at the very best but an indifferent
mistress of repartee.
Another misfortune which befel poor Sophia, was the company of
Lord Fellamar, whom she met at the opera, and who attended her to
the drum. And though both places were too publick to admit of any
particularities, and she was farther relieved by the musick at the one
place, and by the cards at the other, she could not, however, enjoy
herself in his company; for there is something of delicacy in women,
which will not suffer them to be even easy in the presence of a man
whom they know to have pretensions to them, which they are disinclined
to favour.
Having in this chapter twice mentioned a drum, a word which our
posterity, it is hoped, will not understand in the sense it is here
applied, we shall, notwithstanding our present haste, stop a moment to
describe the entertainment here meant, and the rather as we can in a
moment describe it.
A drum, then, is an assembly of well-dressed persons of both
sexes, most of whom play at cards, and the rest do nothing at all;
while the mistress of the house performs the part of the landlady at
an inn, and like the landlady of an inn prides herself in the number
of her guests, though she doth not always, like her, get anything by
it.
No wonder then, as so much spirits must be required to support any
vivacity in these scenes of dulness, that we hear persons of fashion
eternally complaining of the want of them; a complaint confined
entirely to upper life. How insupportable must we imagine this round
of impertinence to have been to Sophia at this time; how difficult
must she have found it to force the appearance of gaiety into her
looks, when her mind dictated nothing but the tenderest sorrow, and
when every thought was charged with tormenting ideas!
Night, however, at last restored her to her pillow, where we will
leave her to soothe her melancholy at least, though incapable, we
fear, of rest, and shall pursue our history, which, something whispers
us, is now arrived at the eve of some great event.