 Volume 4, Chapter 4 of Cecilia This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Cecilia, Memoirs of Inheres by Francis Burney Volume 4, Chapter 4, An Expectation In this disposition of mind, Cecilia the next morning obeyed the summons of Mr. Delweyle and for the first time went to St. James's Square in a humour to look for evil instead of good and meanness instead of nobleness. She was shunned into an apartment where she found Mr. Delweyle alone, and was received by him as usual with the most stately solemnity. When she was seated, I have given you, Miss Beverly, said he, the trouble of calling in order to discuss with you the internal state of your affairs, a duty which at this juncture I hold to be incumbent upon my character. The delicacy due to your sex would certainly have induced me to wait upon you myself for this purpose, but for the reasons I have already hinted to you of fearing the people with whom you live might think it necessary to return my visit. Persons of low origin are commonly in those matters the most forward. Not however that I would prejudice you against them, though for myself it is a fit I remember that a general and indiscriminate acquaintance by levelling all ranks thus injury to the rights of society. Ah, thought Cecilia, how infallible is Mr. Mountain, and how inevitably in a family in which Mr. Delweyle is the head should I be cruelly held down as the disgrace of their alliance. I have applied continuity to Mrs. Delweyle to know if the communication which I had recommended to you and to which she had promised her attention had yet passed, but I am informed you have not spoken to her upon the subject. I had nothing, sir, to communicate, answered Cecilia, and I had hoped as Mrs. Delweyle had made no inquiries, she was satisfied she had nothing to hear. With respect to inquiries said Mr. Delweyle, I fear you are not sufficiently aware of the distance between a lady of Mrs. Delweyle's rank, both by birth and alliance, and such a young woman as Mrs. Harrell, whose ancestors, but a short time since, were mere safflock farmers. But I beg your pardon, I mean not any reflection upon us, I have always heard there were very worthy people, and a farmer is certainly a very respectable person. Your father, I think, no more than the Dean, your uncle, did nothing in that way himself. No, sir, said Cecilia, dryly, and much provoked by this contemptuous courtesy. I have always been told he was a very good sort of man. I knew none of the family myself, but the Dean. His connections with the Bishop of my relation puts him often in my way, though his naming me for one of his trustees I must own was rather extraordinary, but I mean not to hurt you. On the contrary, I should be much concerned to give you any uneasiness. Again, Mr. Morgten rose in the mind of Cecilia, and again she acknowledged the truth of his strictures, and though she much wondered in what an harangue so pompous was to end, her disgust so far conquered her curiosity that, without hearing it, she wished herself away. To return, said he, to my purpose, the present period of your life is such as to render advice particularly seasonable. I'm sorry, therefore, as I before said, you have not disclosed your situation to Mrs. Tellwile. A young lady, on the point of making an establishment, and with many engagements in her power, is extremely liable to be mistaken in her judgment, and therefore should solicit instruction from those who are able to acquaint her what connection would be most to her advantage. One thing, however, I'm happy to commend, the young man who was wounded in the duel I cannot recollect his name, is I here totally out of the question. What next, thought Cecilia? First till she gave him no interruption, for the heartiness of his manner was repulsive to reply. My design, therefore, is to speak to you of Sir Robert Flawyer. When I had last the pleasure of addressing you upon this subject, you may probably remember my voice was in his favour, but I then regarded him merely as the rival of an inconsiderable young man, to rescue you from whom he appeared an eligible person. The affair is now altered, the young man is thought of no more, and another rival comes forward, to whom Sir Robert is as inconsiderable as the first rival was to Sir Robert. Cecilia started at this information, livelier sensations stimulated her curiosity, and surmises in which she was most deeply interested, quickened her attention. This rival proceeded he, I should imagine no young lady would a moment hesitate in electing. He is everywhere the superior of Sir Robert except in fortune, and the deficiencies of that the splendour of your own may amply supply. The deepest crimson now tinged the cheeks of Cecilia. The prophecy of Mr. Moncton seemed immediately fulfilling, and she trembled with a rising conflict between her approbation of the offer and her dread of its consequences. I know not indeed, continued he, in what estimation you may have been accustomed to hold rank and connection, nor whether you are impressed with a proper sense of their superiority and value, for early prejudices are not easily rooted out, and those who have lived chiefly with moneyed people regard even birth itself as unimportant when compared with wealth. The colour which first glowed in the cheeks of Cecilia from expectation now rose yet higher from resentment. She thought herself already insulted by a prelude so ostentatious and humiliating to the proposals which were to follow, and she angrily determined with whatever pain to her heart to assert her own dignity by refusing them at once, too well satisfied by what she now saw of the present that Mr. Moncton had been just in his prediction of the future. Your rejection, therefore, continued he, of this honourable offer may perhaps have been merely the consequence of the principles in which you have been educated. Have you not refused the proposals of my lord, Ernolf, for his son? Lord Ernolf, never, nor have I ever seen either his lordship or his son but in public. That, replied Mr. Delweyl, is little to the purpose, where the connection is a proper one, a young lady of delicacy has only to assay to it. But though this rejection came not immediately from yourself, it had doubtless your concurrence. It had not, sir, even my knowledge. Your alliance then with Sir Robert Fleuer is probably nearer a conclusion than I had imagined. For otherwise, Mr. Harrell would not, without consulting you, have given the earl, so determinate an answer. No, sir, said Cecilia impatiently. My alliance with him was never more distant, nor do I mean it should ever approach more near. She was now little disposed for further conversation, her heroic design of refusing young Delweyl, by no means reconciled her to the discovery she now made that he had not meant to address her. And though she was provoked and fretted at this new proof that Mr. Harrell scrupled neither assertions nor actions to make her engagement with Sir Robert credited, her disappointment in finding that Mr. Delweyl, instead of pleading the cause for his son, was exerting his interest for another person, affected her so much more nearly that, notwithstanding, he still continued his parading her anger. She scarcely knew even the subject of his discourse, and seized the first opportunity of fascization to rise and take her leave. He asked if she would not call upon Mrs. Delweyl, but, desirous to be alone, she declined the invitation. He then charged her to proceed no further with Sir Robert till he had made some inquiries concerning Lord Arnolf, and graciously promising his protection and counsel suffered her to depart. Cecilia now perceived she might plan her rejections, or study her dignity at her leisure, for neither Mr. Delweyl nor his son seemed in any haste to put her fortitude to the proof. With regard, therefore, to their plots and intentions, Mr. Moncton she found was wrong, but, with respect to their conduct and sentiments, she had every reason to believe him right. And though her heart refused to rejoice in escaping a trial of its strength, her judgment was so well convinced that his painting was from the life, that she determined to conquer her partiality for young Delweyl, since she looked forward to nothing but modification in a connection with his family. With this intention, and every faculty of her mind absorbed in reflecting upon the reasons which gave rise to it, she returned to Porton Square. As her chair was carried into the hall, she observed with some alarm a look of consternation among the servants, and an appearance of confusion in the whole house. She was proceeding to her own room, intending to inquire of her maid if any evil had happened, when she was crossed upon the stairs by Mr. Harrow, who passed her with an air so wild and perturbed that he hardly seemed to know her. Frightened and amazed, she stopped short, a resolute which way to go, but hastily returning, he beckoned her to follow him. She obeyed, and he led her to the library. He then shut the door, and abruptly seizing her hand, called out, Mrs. Beverly, I am ruined, I am undone, I am blasted forever. I hope not, sir, said Cecilia, extremely terrified. I hope not. Where is Mrs. Harrow? Oh, I know not, I know not, you cried he in a frantic manner, but I have not seen her. I cannot see her. I hope I shall never see her more. Oh, fee, fee, said Cecilia, let me call her, I beg. You should consult with her in this dress, and seek comfort from her affection. From her affection, repeated he fiercely. From her hatred, you mean. Do you not know that she too is ruined? Oh, past redemption ruined. And yet that I should hesitate, that I should a moment hesitate to conclude the whole business at once. How dreadful, cried Cecilia, what horrible thing has happened. I have undone Priscilla, cried he. I have blasted my credit. I have destroyed—no, not yet quite destroyed myself. Oh, yet nor ever, cried Cecilia, whose agitation now almost equaled his own. Be not so desperate, I conjure you. Speak to me more intelligibly. What does all this mean? How has it come to pass? My debts, my creditors, one way only, striking his hand upon his forehead, is left to me. Do not say so, sir, said Cecilia. You shall find many ways. Pray have courage, pray speak calmly, and if you will but be more prudent, will but in future better regulate your affairs, I will myself undertake—she stopped, checked in the full career of her overflowing compassion by a sense of the worthlessness of its object, and by the remembrance of the injunctions of Mr. Moncton. What, will you undertake, cried he, eagerly? I know you are an angel. Tell me, what will you undertake? I will, said Cecilia, hesitating. I will speak to Mr. Moncton. I will consult. You may as well consult with every cursed creditor in the house, interrupted he. But do so, if you please. My disgrace must perforce reach him soon, and a short anticipation is not worth begging off. Are your creditors then actually in the house? Oh, yes, yes, and therefore it is high time I should be out of it. Did you not see them? Do they not line the hall? They threaten me with three executions before night, three executions unless I satisfy their immediate demands. To what do their demands amount? I know not, I dare not ask, to some thousand pounds perhaps. I have not, at this moment, forty guineas in the house. Nay then, cried Cecilia, retreating, I can indeed do nothing. If their demands are so high, I ought do nothing. She would then have quitted him, not more shocked at his situation than indignant at the willful extravagance which had occasioned it. Stay, cried he, and hear me, then luring his voice. Take out, he continued, your unfortunate friend. Go to the poor ruined Priscilla, prepare her for tidings of horror, and do not, though you renounce me, do not abandon her. Then, fiercely passing her, he was himself leaving the room, but Cecilia, alarmed by the fury of his manner, called out, What is it you mean? What tidings of horror? Where are you going? To hell, cried he, and rushed out of the apartment. Cecilia screamed aloud, and conjuring him to hear her, ran after him. He paid her no regard, but, flying faster than she had power to pursue, reached his own dressing room, shut himself into it with violence, and just as she arrived at the door, turned the key and bolted it. Her terror was now inexpressible. She believed him in the very act of suicide, and her refusal of assistance seemed the signal for the deed. Her whole fortune at that moment was valueless and unimportant to her, compared with the preservation of a fellow creature. She called out with all the vehement of agony to beg he would open the door, and eagerly promised by all that was sacred to do everything in her power to save him. At these words he opened it. His face was totally without color, and he grasped the razor in his hand. You have stalked me, said he, in a voice-scarce audible? At the very moment I had gathered courage for the blow. But if indeed you will assist me, I will shut this up. If not, I will steep it in my blood. I will, I will, cried Cecilia. I will do everything you desire, and quickly, immediately. Before my disgrace is known, and while all may yet be hushed up, yes, yes, all, any, everything you wish, swear then. Here Cecilia drew back. Her recollection returned as her terror abated, and her repugnant to entering into an engagement, for she knew not what, with a man whose actions she condemned, and whose principle she abhorred, made all her fright now give way to indignation, and after a short pause she angrily answered, No, sir, I will not swear. But yet all that is reasonable, all that is friendly, hear me swear then, interrupted he furiously, which at this moment I do by everything eternal, and by everything infernal, that I will not outlive the seizure of my property, and at the moment I am informed there is an execution in my house, I shall be the last of my existence. What cruelty, what compulsion, what impurity, cried Cecilia, give me, however, that horrible instrument, and prescribe to me what conditions you please. A noise was now heard below stairs, at which Cecilia, who had not dared call for help, lest she he should quicken his desperation, was secretly beginning to rejoice. When, starting at the sound, he exclaimed, I believe you are too late, the ruffians have already seized my house, then, endeavoring to force her out of the room, go, he cried, to my wife, I want to be alone. Oh, give me first, cried she, that weapon, and I will take what oath you please. No, no, go, leave me, cried he, almost breathless with emotion, I must not now be trifled with. I do not trifle, indeed I do not, cried Cecilia, holding by his arm, try, put me to the proof, swear, solemnly swear, to empty my house of these creditors this moment. I do swear, cried she, with energy, and have her prosper me, as I am sincere. I see, I see you are an angel, cried he rapturously, and as such I worship and adore you. Oh, you have restored me to life, and rescued me from perdition. Give me, then, that fatal instrument. That instrument, returned he, is nothing, since so many others are in my power, but you have now taken from me all desire of using them. Go, then, and stop those wretches from coming to me. Send immediately for the Jew, he will advance what money you please. My man knows where to find him. Consult with Mr. Arnott. Speak a word of comfort in Priscilla, but do nothing, nothing at all, till you have cleared my house of those cursed scoundrels. Cecilia, whose heart sunk within her at the solemn promise she had given, dimension of the Jew, and the arduous task she had undertaken, quitted him without reply, and was going to her own room to compose her hurried spirits, and consider what step she had to take. When hearing the noise in the hall grow louder, she stopped to listen, and, catching some words that greatly alarmed her, went half-way downstairs, when she was met by Davison, Mr. Harold's man, of whom she had inquired into the occasion of the disturbance. He answered that he must go immediately to his master, for the bailiffs were coming into the house. Let him not know it if you value his life, cried she, with new terror. Where is Mr. Arnott? Call him to me. Beg him to come this moment. I will wait for him here. The man flew to obey her, and Cecilia, finding she had time neither for deliberation nor regret, and dreading lest Mr. Harold, by hearing of the arrival of the bailiffs, should relapse into despair, determined to call to her aid all the courage, prudence, and judgment she possessed, and, since they act she was compelled, endeavored with her best ability to save his credit and retrieve his affairs. The moment Mr. Arnott came, she ordered Davison to hasten to his master and watch his emotions. Then, addressing Mr. Arnott, will you, sir, she said, go and tell those people that if they will instantly quake the house, everything shall be settled, and Mr. Harold will satisfy their demands. Ah, madam cried Mr. Arnott mournfully, and how? He has no means to pay them, and I have none without ruin to myself to help him. Sent them but away, said Cecilia, and I will myself be your security, that your promise shall not be disgraced. Alas, madam cried he, what are you doing? Well as I wish to Mr. Harold miserable as I am for my unfortunate sister, I yet cannot bear that such goodness, such beneficence, should be injured. Cecilia, however, persisted, and with evident reluctance he obeyed her. While she waited his return, Davison came for Mr. Harold, who had ordered him to run instantly for the Jew. Good heaven thought, Cecilia, that a man so wretchedly selfish and worldly should dare with all his guilt upon his head, to Russian license to an eternity. Mr. Arnott was more than half an hour with the people, and when at last he returned, his countenance immediately proclaimed the ill success of his errand. The creditors, he said, declared they had so frequently been deceived that they would not dismiss the bailiffs, or retire themselves without actual payment. Tell them then, sir, said Cecilia, to send me their accounts, and if it be possible, I will discharge them directly. Mr. Arnott's eyes were filled with tears at this declaration, and he protested, be the consequence to himself what it might, he would pay away every shilling he was worth rather than witness such injustice. No, cried Cecilia, exerting more spirit, that you might shock him less. I did not save Mr. Harold. Destroy so much better a man you have suffered by too much oppression already, that present evil is mine, and from me, at least, none I hope will ever spread to Mr. Arnott. Mr. Arnott could not bear this. He was struck with grief, with admiration, and with gratitude, and finding his tears now refused to be restrained, he went to execute her commission in silent ejection. The ejection, however, was increased, though his tears were dispersed when he returned. Oh, madam, he cried, all your efforts, generous as they are, will be of no avail. The bills, even now in the house, amount to more than 7,000 pounds. Cecilia amazed and confounded, startled and clasped her hand, calling out, what must I do? To what have I bound myself, and how can I answer to my conscience? To my successors, such a disposal, such an abuse of so large a part of my fortune. Mr. Arnott could make no answer, and they stood looking at each other in silent a resolution, till Davison brought intelligence that the Jew was already come, and waited to speak with her. And what can I say to him, cried she, more and more agitated? I understand nothing of usury, how am I to deal with him? Mr. Arnott then confessed, that he should himself have instantly been bailed for his brother, but that his fortune originally not large, was now so much impaired by the many debts from which from time to time he had paid for him, that as he hoped some day to have a family of his own, he dare not run a risk by which he might be utterly ruined, and the less as his sister had a violent bank been prevailed upon to give up her settlement. This account, which explained the late uneasiness of Mrs. Harrell, still increased the distress of Cecilia, and every moment she obtained for reflection, augmented her reluctance to parting with so large a sum of money for so worthless an object, and added strength to her resentment for the unjustifiable menaces which had extorted from her of such a promise. Yet not an instant would she listen to Mr. Arnott's offer fulfilling her engagement, and charge him, as he considered her own self-esteem worth her keeping, not to urge to her proposal so ungenerous and selfish. Davison now came again to hasten her, and said that the Jew was with his master, and they both impatiently expected her. Cecilia half-distracted with her uncertainty how to add, changed color at this message, and explained, Oh, Mr. Arnott, run IBC chew for Mr. Monkton. Bring him hither directly. If anybody can save me, it is him. But if I go back to Mr. Harrell, I know it will be all over. Certainly, said Mr. Arnott, I will run to him this moment. Yet no, stop, cried the trembling Cecilia. He can now do me no good. His counsel will arrive too late to serve me. It cannot call back the oath I have given. It cannot compulsory, as it was, make me break it, and not be miserable forever. This idea suffice to determine her, and the apprehension of self-approach should the threat of Mr. Harrell be put in execution, was more insupportable to her blameless and upright mind than any loss or diminution which her fortune could sustain. Slowly, however, with tardy and unwilling steps, her judgment repugnant, and her spirit repining, she obeyed the summons of Mr. Harrell, who, impatient for her delay, came forward to meet her. Miss Beverly, he cried, there is not a moment to be lost. This good man will bring you any sum of money upon a proper consideration that you will command. But if he is not immediately commissioned, and these cursed fellows are not got out of my house, the affair will be blown, and what will follow, added he, lowering his voice, I will not again frighten you by repeating, though I shall never recant. Cecilia turned from him in horror, and with a faltering voice and heavy heart, and treated Mr. Arnaud to settle for her with the Jew. Larges worth the sum, she was so near being of age, and her security was so good that the transaction was soon finished. Seventy-five hundred pounds was received of the Jew. Mr. Harrell gave Cecilia his bond for the payment, and creditors were satisfied. The bailiffs were dismissed, and the house was soon restored to its customary appearance as blended gating. Mrs. Harrell, who during this scene had shut herself up in her own room to weep and lament, now flew to Cecilia, and in a transport of joy and gratitude, thanked her upon her knees, for thus preserving her from utter ruin. The gentle Mr. Arnaud seemed uncertain whether most grieve or rejoice, and Mr. Harrell repeatedly protested she should have the sole guidance of his future conduct. This promise, the hope of his amendment, and the joy she had expanded somewhat revived the spirits of Cecilia, who however deeply affected by what had passed, hastened from them all to her own room. She had now parted with eight thousand and fifty pounds from Mr. Harrell, without any security when or how it was to be repaid, and that ardor of benevolence which taught her to value her riches merely as they enabled her to do good and generous actions, was here of no avail to console or reward her, for her gift was compelled, and its receiver was all but detested. How much better cried she would this have been bestowed upon the amiable Miss Belfield, or upon her noble-minded, though proud-spirited brother, and how much less a sum would have been made the virtuous and industrious hills easy and happy for life, but here to become the tool of the extravagance I abhor, to be made responsible for the luxury I condemn, to be liberal in opposition to my principles and lavish in defiance of my judgment? Oh, that my much-deceived uncle had better know to what dangerous hands he committed me, and that my weak and unhappy friend had met with a worthier protector of her virtue and safety. As soon, however, as she recovered from the first shock of her reflections, she turned her thoughts from herself to the formation of some plan that might at least render her donation of serious and lasting use. The signal service she had just done them gave her at present an ascendancy over the heralds, which she hoped, if immediately exerted, might prevent the return of so calamitous as seen by engaging them both to an immediate change of conduct. But unequal herself to contriving expedience for this purpose that might not easily be controverted, she determined to send the next morning a petition to Mr. Monkton to call upon her, reveal to him the whole transaction, and entreat him to suggest to her what, with most probability of success, she might offer to their consideration. While this was passing in her mind, on the evening of the day in which she had so dearly purchased the right of giving counsel, she housed someone to tea. She found Mr. Harrell and his lady engaged in earnest discourse. As soon as she appeared, the former said, My dear Miss Beverly, after the extraordinary kindness you have shown me this morning, you will not, I am sure, deny me one trifling favor, which I mean to ask this evening. No, said Mrs. Harrell, that I am sure she will not, when she knows that our future appearances in the world depends upon her granting it. I hope then, said Cecilia, I shall not wish to refuse it. It is nothing in the world, said Mr. Harrell, but to go with us tonight to the pantheon. Cecilia was struck with the utmost indignation of this proposal, that the man who is in the morning had an execution in his house, should languish in the evening for the amusement of a public place, that he, who but a few hours before was plunging and called into eternity, should, while the intended instrument of death was yet scarce cold from the grasp of his hand, deliberately caught a return of his distress by instantly recurring to the methods which had involved him in it, irritated and shocked her beyond even a wish of disguising her displeasure, and therefore, after an expressive silence, she gave a cold but absolute denial. I see, said Mr. Harrell, somewhat confused, that you do not understand the motives of our request. The unfortunate affair of this morning is very likely to spread presently all over the town, the only refutation that can be given to it is by our all appearing in public before anybody knows whether to believe it or not. Do, my dearest friend, cried his lady, oblige me by your compliance. Indeed, our whole reputation depends upon it. I made an engagement yesterday to go with Mrs. Mears, and if I disappoint her, everybody will be guessing the reason. At least, answered Cecilia, my going can answer no purpose to you. Pray, therefore, do not ask me. I am ill-disposed for such sort of amusement, and have by no means your opinion of its necessity. But if we do not all go, said Mr. Harrell, we do almost nothing. You are known to live with us, and your appearance at this critical time is important to our credit. If this misfortune gets wind, the consequences that every dirty tradesman in town to whom I owe a shilling will be forming the same cursed combination those scoundrels formed this morning, of coming in a body and waiting for their money, or else bringing an execution into my house. The only way to silence report is by putting a good face upon the matter at once, and showing ourselves through the world as if nothing had happened. Favour us, therefore, tonight with your company, which is really important to us, or ten to one, but in another fortnight I shall be just in the same scrape. Cecilia, however incensed at this intelligence that his debts were still so numerous, felt now so much alarmed at the mention of an execution as if she was an actual danger of ruin herself. Terrified, therefore, though not convinced, she yielded to their persuasion and consent to accompany them. They soon after separated to make some alteration to their dress, and then, calling in their way for Mrs. Mears, they proceeded to the pantheon. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Jean. Cecilia, met Marzo and Eris, by Fanny Berni. Volume four, chapter six, and Man of the Town, part one. At the door of the pantheon, they were joined by Mr. Arnaud and Sir Robert Fleur, whom Cecilia now saw with added aversion. They entered the great room during the second act of the concert, to which as no one of the party but herself had any desire to listen, no sort of attention was paid. The ladies entertaining themselves as if no orchestra was in the room, and the gentlemen, with an equal disregard to it, struggling for replaced by the fire about which they continued hovering till the music was over. Soon after they receded, Mr. Meadows, sauntering towards them, whispered something to Mrs. Meadows, who immediately rising, introduced him to Cecilia, after which, the place next to her being vacant, he cast himself upon it, and lolling as much at his ease as his situation would permit, began something like a conversation with her. Have you been long in town, ma'am? No, sir. This is not your first winter of being in town, it is. Then you have something new to see. Oh, charming, how I envy you. Are you pleased with the pantheon? Very much. I have seen no building at all equal to it. You have not been abroad. Traveling is the ruin of all happiness. There's no looking at a building here after seeing Italy. Does all happiness then depend upon the sight of buildings? Said Cecilia, when turning towards her companion, she perceived him yawning, with such evident inattention to her answer, but not choosing to interrupt her with his reverie, she turned her head another way. For some minutes he took no notice of this, and then, as of suddenly recollecting himself, he called out hastily. I beg your pardon, ma'am. You were saying something? No, sir. Nothing worse repeating. Oh, pray, don't punish me so severely as not to let me hear it. Cecilia, though nearly not to seem offended at his negligence, was then again beginning to answer when, looking at him as she spoke, she perceived that he was biting his nails with so absent an air that he appeared not to know he had asked any question. She therefore broke off and left him to his cogitation. Some time after, he addressed her again, saying, Don't you find this place extremely tiresome, ma'am? Yes, sir, said she, half laughing. It is indeed not very entertaining. Nothing is entertaining, answered he, for two minutes together. Things are so little different from one another that there is no making pleasure out of anything. We go the same dull round forever. Nothing new, no variety. All the same thing over again. Are you fond of public places, ma'am? Yes, sir, soberly, as Lady Grace says. Then I envy you extremely, for you have some amusement always in your own power, how desirable that is. And have not you the same resources? Oh, no! I am tired to death, tired of everything. I would give all universe for this position less difficult to please. Yet, after all, what is there to give pleasure, when one has seen one thing, one has seen everything? Oh, this heavy work, don't you find it so, ma'am? This speech was ended with so violent a fit of yawning that Cecilia would not trouble herself to answer it, but her silence as before passed wholly unnoticed, exciting neither question nor comment. A long pause now succeeded, which she broke at last, by saying, as he writhed himself about upon his seat, these forms would be much more grievable if they were back to them. This intolerable to be forced to sit like a schoolboy, the first study of life is ease. There is indeed no other study that pays the trouble of attainment, don't you think so, ma'am? But may not even that, said Cecilia, by so much study become labor. I am vastly happy you think so. Sir, I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I thought you said I really beg your pardon, but I was thinking of something else. He did very right, sir, said Cecilia, laughing, for what I said by no means merited any attention. Will you do me the favor to repeat it, write he, taking out his glass to examine some lady at a distance? Oh no, said Cecilia, that would be trying your patience too severely. These glasses show one nothing, but defects, said he. I am sorry they were ever invented. They are the ruin of all beauty, no complexion can stand them. I believe that solo will never be over. I hate a solo. It sinks, it depresses me intolerably. You will presently, sir, said Cecilia, looking at the bill of the concert, have a full peace, and that I hope will revive you. A full peace. Oh, insupportable. It stunts. It fatigues. It overpowers me beyond endurance. No taste in it, no delicacy, no ruin for the smallest feeling. Perhaps then you're only fond of singing. I should be, if I could ever hear it, but we are now so miserably often voices that I hardly ever attempt to listen to a song without fancying myself deaf from the feebleness of the performers. I hate everything that requires attention. Nothing gives pleasure that does not force its own way. You only then like loud voices and great powers. Oh, worse and worth. No, nothing is so disgusting to me. All my amazement is that these people think it worthwhile to give concerts at all. One is sick to death of music. Nay, cried Cecilia. If it gives no pleasure, at least it takes none away. For far from being any impediment to conversation, I think everybody talks more during the performance than between the acts. And what is there better you could substitute in its place? Cecilia, receiving no answer to this question, again looked round to see if she had been heard, when she observed her new acquaintance, with very thoughtful air, had turned from her to fix his eyes upon the statue of Britannia. Very soon after, he hastily arose, and seeming entirely to forget that he had spoke to her, very abruptly walked away. Mr. Gosford, who was advancing to Cecilia and had watched part of the scene, stopped him as he was retreating and said, Why Meadows, how's this? Are you caught at last? Oh, warned to death, warned to a thread. He cried he, stretching himself and yawning. I have been talking with a young lady to entertain her. Oh, such heavy work. I would not go through it again for millions. What, have you talked yourself out of breath? No, but the effort, the effort. Oh, it has unhinged me for a fortnight, entertaining a young lady. One had better be a galley slave at once. Well, but did she not pay your twills? She is surely a sweet creature. Nothing can pay one for such insufferable exertion, though she's well enough too, better than the common run, but shy, quite too shy, no drawing her out. I thought that was to your taste. You commonly hate much vulnerability. How have I heard you bemoan yourself when attacked by Ms. LaRolls? LaRolls? Oh, distraction. She talks me into a fever in two minutes. But so it is forever, nothing but extremes to be met with. Common girls are too forward. This lady is too reserved. Always some fault. Always some drawback. Nothing ever perfect. Nay, nay, cried Mr. Gosport. You do not know her. She is perfect enough in all conscience. Better not know her than answered he again yawning, for she cannot be pleasing. Nothing perfect is natural. I hate everything out of nature. He then strolled on and Mr. Gosport approached Cecilium. I have been wishing, cried he, to address you this half hour, but as you were engaged with Mr. Meadows, I did not dare advance. Oh, I see your malice, cried Cecilia. You were determined to add weight to the value of your company by making me fully sensible where the ballads would preponder it. Nay, if you do not admire Mr. Meadows, cried he, you must not even whisper it to the winds. Is he then so very admirable? Oh, he is now at the very height of fashionable favor. His dress is a model. His manners are imitated. His attention is courted and his notices envied. Are you not laughing? No, indeed. His privileges are much more extensive than I have mentioned. His decision fixes the exact limits between what is vulgar and what is elegant. His praise gives reputation and a word from him in public confers fashion. And by what wonderful powers has he acquired such influence? By nothing but a happy art in catching the raining foibles of the times and carrying them to an extreme yet more absurd than any one had done before him. Ceremony, he found, was already exploded for ease. He, therefore, exploded ease for indolence. Devotion to the fair sex had given way to a more equal and rational intercourse, which, to push still further, he presently exchanged for rudeness. Joviality, too, was already banished for philosophical indifference, and that, therefore, he discarded for veriness and disgust. And is it possible that qualities such as these should recommend him to favor and admiration? Very possible, for qualities such as these constitute the present taste of the times. A man of the ton, who would now be conspicuous in the gay world, must invariably be insipid, negligent, and selfish. Admirable requisites, cried Cecilia, and Mr. Meadows, I acknowledge, seems to have attained them all. He must never, continued Mr. Gosport, confess the least pleasure from anything, a total apathy being the chief ingredient of his character. He must, upon no account, sustain a conversation with any spirit, lest he should appear to his utter disgrace, interested in what is said. And when he is quite tired of his existence, from a total vacuity of ideas, he must affect the look of absence and pretend on the sudden to be wholly lost in thought. I would not wish, said Cecilia, laughing a more amiable companion. If he is asked his opinion of any lady, he continued, he must commonly answer by grimace, and if he is seated next to one, he must take the utmost pains to show by his listlessness yawning and inattention that he is sick of his situation. For what he holds of all things to be most gothic is gallantry to the women. To avoid this is, indeed, the principal solicitude of his life. If he sees a lady in distress for her carriage, he is to inquire of her what is the matter, and then with a shrug wish her well through her fatigues, wink at some bystander and walk away. If he is in a room where there is a crowd of company, and a scarcity of seats, he must early ensure one of the best in the place, be blind to all looks of fatigue and deaf to all hints of assistance, and seeming totally to forget himself lounge at his ease and appear unconscious spectator of what is going forward. If he is at a ball where there are more women than men, he must decline dancing at all, though it should happen to be his favorite amusement, and smiling as he passes the disengaged young ladies, wonder to see them sit still and perhaps ask them the reason. A most alluring character indeed, cried Cecilia, and pray how long have these been the accomplishments of a fine gentleman. I am but an indifferent chronology of the mode, he answered, but I know it has been long enough to raise just expectations that some new folly will be started soon, by which the present race of insensibleists may be driven out. Mr. Meadows is now at the head of this sect, as Miss LaRose is of the valuable and Miss Leeson of the supercilious, but this way comes another who, though in a different manner, labors with the same view and aspires of the same reward, which stipulates the ambition of this happy triplet, that of exciting wonder by peculiarity and envy by wonder. This description announced Captain Erisby, who, advancing from the fireplace, told Cecilia how much he rejoiced in seeing her, said he had been reduced to despair by so long missing that honor and that he had feared she made it a principle to avoid coming in public, having sought her in vain parture. He then smiled and strolled on to another party. In prayer of what sect, said Cecilia, is this gentleman? Of the sect of jargonists, answered Mr. Gosford, he has not an ambition beyond paying a passing compliment, nor a word to make use of that he has not picked up at public places. Yet this Darth of language, however you may despise it, is not merely owing to a narrow capacity. Floppery and conceit have their share in the limitation, for though his phrases are almost always ridiculous or misapplied, they are selected with much study and introduced with infinite pains. Poor man, cried Cecilia, is it possible it can cost him any trouble to render himself so completely absurd? Yes, but not more than it cost his neighbors to keep him in countenance. Miss Leeson, since she had presided over the sect of the supercilious, spends at least half her life in wishing the annihilation of the other half, for as she must only speak in her own clouterie, she is compelled to be frequently silent, and therefore having nothing to think of, she is commonly non-withself denial, ensired with want of amusement. Miss LaRolls, indeed is better off for in talking faster than she thinks, she has but followed the natural bend of her disposition. After this poor jargonist, he has, I must own, rather a hard task, from the continual restraint of speaking only out of his own lilliputian vocabulary, and denying himself the relief of ever uttering one word by the call of occasion, but what hardship is that compared with what is borne by Mr. Meadows, who, since he commenced insensibleist, has never once dare to be pleased, nor ventured for a moment to look in good humor. Surely then, said Cecilia, in a short time, the punishment of this effectation will bring its cure. No. For the trick grows into habit, and habit is a second nature. A secret idea of fame makes his forbearance of happiness supportable to him, for he has now the self-satisfaction of considering himself raised to that higher pinnacle of fashionable refinement, which is built upon apathy and scorn, and from which, proclaiming himself superior to all possibility of enjoyment, he views the whole world with contempt, holding neither beauty, virtue, wealth, nor power of important sufficient to kindle the smallest emotion. All that they could all round listen to you, cried Cecilia. They would soon, I think, sicken of their folly, if they heard it thus admirably exposed. No. They would but triumph that it had obtained them so much notice. But pray, do you see that gentleman, or don't you choose to know him, who has been bowing to you this half hour? Where, cried Cecilia, and looking around, perceived Mr. Maurice, who, upon her returning salutation, instantly approached her, though he had never ventured to show himself at Mr. Harrell's, since his unfortunate accident on the evening of the masquerade. Entirely casting aside the easy familiarity at which he had laterly arrived, he inquired after her health that the most fearful diffidence, and then bowing profoundly, was modestly retiring. When Mrs. Harrell perceiving him, smiled with so much good humor, that he gathered courage to return and address her, and found her to his infinite delight, as obliging and civil as ever. The concert was now over, the ladies arose, and the gentlemen joined them. Maurice, at sight of Mr. Harrell, was again shrinking, but Mr. Harrell immediately shaking hands with him, inquired what had kept him so long for Portman Square. Maurice then, finding to his great surprise that no one had thought more of the mischief but himself who had committed it, joyously discarded his timidity, and became as sprightly as before his mortification. Emotion was now made for going to the tearoom, and as they walked on, Cecilia in looking up to examine the building, saw in one of the galleries young Deville, and almost at the same time caught his eye. Scarcely now did a moment elapse before he joined her, the sight of him strongly reviving in her mind the painful contrariety of opinion with which she had lately thought of him, the sentiment so much in his favor, which but a few days before she had encouraged, in which it was only that mourning she had endeavored to crush made her meet him with a kind of melancholy that almost induced her to lament he was amiable and repined that she knew none like him. His appearance, meantime, was far different. He seemed enchanted at the sight of her. He flew eagerly to meet her, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure as he approached her, a pleasure neither moderate nor disguised, but lively, unrestrained, and expressive. Cecilia, whose plans since she had last seen him had twice varied, who first had looked forward to being united with him forever, and afterwards had determined to avoid with him even a common acquaintance, could not, while these thoughts were all recurring to her memory, receive much delight from observing his deity, or feel it all gratified by his unembarrassed manners, the openness of his attentions, and the frankness of his admiration, which his or two had charmed her as marks of the sincerity of his character now shocked her as proofs of the indifference of his heart, which feeling for her a mere common regard that affected neither his spirits nor his peace, he manifested without scruple, since it was not accompanied with even a wish beyond the present hour. She now too recollected that such had always been his conduct, one single and singular moment accepted when as he gave to her his letter from Mr. Belfield, he seemed struck as she was herself by the extraordinary coincidence of their ideas and proceedings, that emotion however she now regarded as casual and transitory, and seeing him so much happier than herself, she felt ashamed of her delusion and angry at her easy captivation. Reflections such as these, though they added fresh motives to her resolution of giving up all thoughts of his alliance were yet so humiliating that they robbed her of all power of receiving pleasure from what was passing and made her forget that the place she was in was even intended for a place of entertainment. Young Deville, after painting in lively colors the loss of his house had sustained by her quitting it and dwelling with equal force upon the regret of his mother and his own, asked in a low voice if she would do him so much on her as to introduce him to Mr. Harrell. As the son, he added, of a brother guardian, I think I have a kind of claim to his acquaintance. Cecilia could not refuse, though as the request was likely to occasion more frequent meeting, she persuaded herself she was unwilling to comply. The ceremony, therefore, passed and was again repeated with Mrs. Harrell, who, though she had several times seen him, had never been formally made known to him. End of Chapter 6, Part 1, Recording by Jonna Washington, D.C. Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Jonna. Cecilia. Memoirs of an heiress by Fanny Burney. Volume 4, Chapter 6, A Man of the Town, Part 2. The Harrells were both of them much pleased at this mark of civility in the young man whose family had prepared them rather to expect his scorn, and expressed their wishes that he would drink his tea in their party. He accepted their invitation with a lacquery and, turning to Cecilia, said, Hey, why not skillfully turn my introduction? But though you have done me this honour with Mr. and Mrs. Harrell, I must not yet, I presume, entreat you to extend it to a certain happy gentleman of this company, glancing his eyes towards Sir Robert Fleur. No, sir, answered she with quickness, yet nor ever. They were now at the door leading downstairs to the tea-room. Cecilia saw that Sir Robert, who had hitherto been engaged with some gentleman, seemed to be seeking her, and the remembrance of the quarrel which had followed her refusal of his assistance at the opera house obliged her to determine should he offer it again to accept it. But the same brutality which forced this intention contributed to render it repugnant to her, and she resolved, if possible, to avoid him, by hurrying downstairs before he reached her. She made, therefore, a sudden attempt to slip through the crowd, and as she was light and active, she easily succeeded. But though her hasty motion separated her from the rest of the party, Deville, who was earnestly looking at her, to discover her meaning in a disclaiming speech she made about Sir Robert, saw into her design, but suffered her not to go alone. He contrived in a moment to follow and join her, while she was stopping at the foot of the stairs for Mrs. Harrow. Why, what a little thief you are, cried he, to run away from us thus. What do you think Sir Robert will say? I saw him looking for you at the very instant of your flight. Then you saw at the same time, said Cecilia, the reason of it. Will you give me leave, cried he, laughing, to repeat this to my Lord Arnolf? You may repeat it, Sir, if you please, said Cecilia, peaked that he had not rather thought of himself than of Lord Arnolf, to the whole pantheon. And if I should, cried he, half of it at least would thank me, and to obtain the applause of so noble an assembly, what would it signify that Sir Robert should cut my throat? I believe, said Cecilia, deeply mortified by a railery that showed so little interest in her avowal of indifference, you are determined to make me as sick of that man's name as I am of his conversation. And is it possible, exclaimed the vill in a tone of surprise, that such can be your opinion, and yet situated as you are, the whole world at your command, and all mankind at your devotion, but I am answering you seriously, when you are only speaking by rule. What rule, Sir? That which young ladies, upon certain occasions, always prescribe themselves. Here, they were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the company. Though not before Cecilia had received some little consolation for her displeasure, by finding that young DaVille still supposed she was engaged, and flattering herself his language would be different where he informed of the contrary. Maurice now undertook to procure them a table for tea, which, as the room was very full, was not easily done, and while they were waiting his success, Miss LaRose, who from the stairs had perceived Cecilia, came running up to her and taking her hand cold out. Lord, my dear creature, who'd have thought of seeing you here? I was never so surprised in my life. I really thought you was gone into a convent. It's so extremely long since I've seen you, but of all things in the world, why was you not at Lady Nyla's last assembly? I thought of asking Mrs. Harrell fifty times why you did not come, but it always went out of my head. You've no notion how excessively I was disappointed. You are very obliging, said Cecilia, laughing, but I hope, since you so often forget it, the disappointment did not much less in your entertainment. Oh Lord, no! I was never so happy in my life. There was such a crowd, you could not have moved a finger. Everybody in the world was there. You've no idea how delightful it was. I thought verily I should have fainted with the heat. That was delightful indeed, and how long did you stay? Why we danced till three in the morning. We began with Cotolence, and finished with country dances. It was the most elegant thing you ever saw in your life. Everything quite in a style. I was so monstrously fatigued I could hardly get through the last dance. I really thought I should have dropped down dead, only conceived dancing five hours in such a monstrous crowd. I assure you, when I got home, my feet were all blisters. You have no idea how they smarted. And whence cometh, cried young Deville, that you partake so little of these delights. Because I fear, and answered Cecilia, I came too late into the school of fashion to be a ductile pupil. Do you know, continued Miss LaRose, Mr. Meadows has not spoke one word to me all the evening. Though I am sure he saw me, for I sat at the outside, unpurposed to speak to a person or two, that I knew would be strolling about. For if one sits on the inside, there is no speaking to a creature, you know, so I never do it at the opera, nor in the boxes at Renault, nor anywhere. It's the shockiest thing you can conceive to be made sit in the middle of those forms. One might as well be at home, for nobody can speak to one. But you don't seem to have had much better success, said Cecilia, in keeping at the outside. Oh, yes I have, for I got a little child with two or three people as they were passing. For, you know, when one sits there, they can't help saying something. Though I assure you all the men are so exceedingly odd, they don't care whether they speak to one or no. As to Mr. Meadows, he's really enough to provoke one to death. I suppose he's in one of his absentfits. However, I assure you, I think it's extreme impertinent of him, and so I shall tell Mr. Sawyer, for I know he'll make a point of telling him it over again. I'd rather think, said Cecilia, the best would be to return the compliment in kind, and when he next recollects you, appear to have forgotten him. Oh, Lord, that's a very good notion, so I will, I declare. But you can't conceive how glad I am the concert's over. For I assure you, though I sat as near the fire as possible, I was so extreme cold you've no idea, for Mr. Meadows never would let me have the least be patted. I declare I believe he does it on purpose to plague one, for he grows worse and worse every day. You can't think how I hate him. Not easily, I believe indeed, said Cecilia archly. Oh, do but look, resume the fair valuable, if there is not Mrs. Mears in her old red gown again. I begin to think she'll never have another. I wish she was to have an execution in her house, if it was only to get rid of it. I am so fatigued with the sight of it, you can't conceive. Mr. Maurice now brought intelligence, that he had secured one side of a table, which would very well accommodate the ladies, and that the other side was only occupied by one gentleman, who, as he was not drinking tea himself, would doubtless give up his place when the party appeared. Mrs. LaRose then ran back to her own set, and the rest followed Mr. Maurice. Mrs. Harrow, Mrs. Mears, and Cecilia took their places. The gentleman opposite to them proved to be Mr. Meadows. Maurice, therefore, was much deceived in his expectations, for, far from giving up his place, he had flung himself all along the form in such a lounging posture, while he rested one arm up on the table, that, not contented with merely keeping his own seat, he filled up a space meant for three. Mr. Harrow had already walked off to another party. Deville stood aloof for some minutes, expecting Sir Robert Flawyer would station himself behind Cecilia, but Sir Robert, who would scarce have thought such a condescension due to a princess, disdained any appearance of assiduity, even while he made it his care to publish his pretensions, and, therefore, finding no accommodation to please him, he stalked towards some gentleman in another part of the room. Deville then took the pulse he had neglected, and Mr. Arnaud, who had not had courage to make any effort in his own favor, modestly stood near him. Cecilia contrived to make room for Mr. Gosport next to herself, and Maurice was sufficiently happy in being allowed to call the waiters, superintend the provisions, and serve the whole party. The task of making tea fell upon Cecilia, who, being somewhat incommodated by the vicinity of her neighbors, Mrs. Mears called out to Mr. Meadows, do pray, sir, be so good as to make room for one of us at your side. Mr. Meadows, who was indolently picking his teeth, and examining them with a toothpick case glass, did not at first seem to hear her, and when she repeated her request, he only looked at her and said, Now really, Mr. Meadows, said she, when you see any ladies in such distress, I wonder how you can forbear helping them. In distress, are you, cried he with a weak and smile, pray, what's the matter? Don't you see, we are so crowded we can hardly sit. Can't you, cried he, upon my honor, it's very shameful that these people don't contrive some seats more convenient. Yes, said Mrs. Mears, but if you would be so kind as to let somebody else sit by you, we should not want any contrivance. Here Mr. Meadows was seized with a furious fit of yawning, which has much diverted Cecilia and Mr. Gosport as it offended Mrs. Mears, who with great displeasure added, Indeed, Mr. Meadows, it's very strange that you never hear what's said to you. I beg your pardon, said he, were you speaking to me? And again began picking his teeth. Maurice, eager to contrast his civility with the inattention of Mr. Meadows, now flew round to the other side of the table, and calling out, let me help you, Ms. Beverly, I can make tea better than anybody. He lent over the part of the form which Mr. Meadows had occupied with one of his feet in order to pour it out himself. But Mr. Meadows, by an unfortunate removal of his foot, bringing him forwarder than he was prepared to go, the teapot and its contents were overturned immediately opposite to Cecilia. Young de Vil, who saw the impending evil, from an impetuous impulse to prevent her suffering by it, hastely drew her back, and bending down before her secured her preservation by receiving himself the mischief with which she was threatened. Mrs. Meadows and Mrs. Harrell vacated their seats in a moment, and Mr. Gosport and Mr. Arnaud assisted in clearing the table, and removing Cecilia, who was very slightly hurt, and at once surprised, ashamed, and pleased at the manner in which she had been saved. Young de Vil, though a sufferer from his gallantry, the hot water having penetrated through his coat to his arm and shoulder, was at first insensible to his situation, from an apprehension that Cecilia had not wholly escaped, and his inquiries were so eager and so anxious, made with a look of such solicitude, and a voice of such alarm, that equally astonished and gratified, she secretly blessed the accident which had given birth to his uneasiness, however she grieved for his consequence to himself. But no sooner had was he satisfied of her safety than he felt himself obliged to retire, yet attributing to the inconvenience what was really the effect of pain, he hurried away with an appearance of sport, saying, There is something I must own, rather unnightly, in quitting the field with four-wet jacket, but the company, I hope, will only give me credit for flying away to Renault. So, like a brave general, after being beat, I'll exult and rejoice in a prudent retreat. He then hastened to his carriage, and poor Maurice, frightened and confounded at the disaster he had occasioned, sneaked after him with much less ceremony. While Mr. Meadows, wholly unconcerned by the distress and confusion around him, sat quietly picking his teeth and looking on, during the whole transaction, with an unmeaning stare, that made it doubtful whether he had even perceived it. Order being now soon restored, the ladies finished their tea and went upstairs, Cecilia, to whom the late accident had afforded much new and interesting matter for reflection, wished immediately to have returned home. But she was not the leader of the party, and therefore could not make the proposal. They then strolled through all the apartments, and having walked about till the fashionable time of retiring, they were joined by Sir Robert Fleuer, and proceeded to the little room near the entrance to the Great One, in order to wait for their carriages. Here Cecilia again met Miss LaRose, who came to make various remarks and infinite ridicule upon sunry, unfashionable, or uncostly articles in the dresses of the surrounding company, as well as to complain, with no little resentment, that Mr. Meadows was again standing before the fire. Captain Aresby also advanced to tell her he was quite about to, by having so long lost sight of her, to hope she would make a renounce of mortifying the world by discarding it, and to protest he had waited for his carriage till he was actually upon the point of being akable. In the midst of this jargon, to which the fullness of Cecilia's mind hardly permitted her to listen, there suddenly appeared at the door of the apartment Mr. Albany, who, with his usual austerity of countenance, stopped to look around upon the company. Do you see, cried Mr. Gospel to Cecilia, who approaches, your poor sycophants will again be taken to task, and I for one tremble at the coming storm. Oh Lord! cried Miss LaRose, I wish I was safe in my chair, that man always frightens me out of my senses. You have no notion what disagreeable things he says to one. I assure you I have no doubt, but he's crazy, and I'm always in the shockiest fright in the world for fear he should be taken with a fit while I'm near him. It is really a petrifying thing, said the captain, that one can go to no spectacle without the horror of being absurd by that person. If he comes this way, I shall certainly make a renounce and retire. Why so, said Sir Robert, what the devil do you mind him for? Oh, he is the greatest born nature, cried the captain, and I always do moan possible to avoid him, for he breaks out in such barbarous phrases that I find myself degutated with him in a moment. Oh, I assure you, said Miss LaRose, he attacks one sometimes in a manner you've no idea. One day he came up to me all of a sudden, and asked me what good I thought I did by dressing so much, only conceive how shocking. Oh, I have had the horror of questions of that sort from him, Sam Fing, said the captain, once he took the liberty to ask me what service I was off to the world, and another time he desired me to inform him whether I had ever made any poor person pray for me, and in short he has so frequently inconvenienced me by his impertences that he really bores me to a degree. That's just the thing that makes him hunt you down, said Sir Robert, if he were to ask me questions for a month together I should never trouble myself to move a muscle. The matter of his discourse, said Mr. Gosport, is not more singular than the manner, for without any seeming effort or consciousness he runs into blank verse perpetually. I have made much inquiry about him, but all I am able to learn is that he was certainly confined at one part of his life in a private madhouse, and though now, from now being mischievous, he is set at liberty, his looks, language, and whole behavior announce the former injury of his intellect. Oh Lord! cried Miss LaRose half screaming, what shocking notions you put in one's head! I declare I dare say I shan't get safe home for him, for I assure you I believe he's taken a spite to me, and all because one day, before I knew of his odd ways, I happened to follow laughing at his going about in that old coat. Do you know it put him quite in a passion, only come see how ill-natured. Oh, he hath distressed me, exclaimed the captain with a shrug, part two, and found so much fault with everything I have done, that I should really be glad to have the honor to cut for the moment he comes up to me, I know what I have to expect. But I must tell you, cried Miss LaRose, how monstrously he put me in a fright one evening when I was talking with Miss Moffat. Do you know, he came up to us and asked what we were saying, and because we could not think in a minute of something to answer him, he said he supposed we were only talking some scandal, and so we had better go home and employ ourselves in working for the poor, only think how horrid! And after that, he was so excessive and pertinent in his remarks, there was quite no bearing him. I assure you he cupped me up, so you've no notion. Here, Mr. Albany advanced, and everybody but Sir Robert moved out of the way, fixing his eyes upon Cecilia with an expression more in sorrow than in anger, after contemplating her some time in silence, he exclaimed, Ah, lovely but perishable flower! How long will that ingenious countenance, wearing, because wanting no disguise, look responsive of the whiteness of the region within? How long will that air of innocence irradiate your whole appearance, unspoiled by prosperity, unperverted by power, pure in the midst of surrounding depravity, unsullied in the tainted air of infectious perdition? The confusion of Cecilia at this public address, which drew upon her the eyes of an attention of all the company, was inexpressible. She arose from her seat, covered with blushes, and saying, I fancy the carriage must be ready, pressed forward to quit the room, followed by Sir Robert, who he answered, No, no, they'll call it when it comes up, or not will you go and see where it is? Cecilia stopped, but whispered Mrs. Harold to stand near her. And with her, cried Albany indignantly, with her wouldst thou go, art thou already disdainful of my precepts, and canst thou not one short moment spare from the tumultous folly which encircles thee? Many and many are the hours thou may spend with such as these. The world, alas, is full of them, weary not then so soon of an old man that would admonish thee. He cannot call upon thee long, for soon he will be called upon himself. The solemn exhortation extremely distressed her, and fearing to still further offend him by making another effort to escape, she answered in a low voice, I will not only hear, but thank you for your precepts, if you will forbear of to give them before so many witnesses. When, cried he sternly, these vain and superficial distinctions, do you not dance in public, what renders you more conspicuous? Do you not dress to be admired and walk to be observed? Why, then, this fantastical scruple unjustified by reason unsupported by analogy? Is folly only to be published? Is vanity alone to be exhibited? O slaves of senseless contradiction! O feeble followers of yet feebler prejudice! Daring to be wicked, yet fearing to be wise! Don't listen levity, yet shrinking from the name of virtue! The latter part of this speech, during which he turned with energy to the whole company, raised such a general alarm that all the ladies hastily quitted the room, and all the gentlemen endeavored to enter it, equally curious to see the man who made the oration, and the lady to whom it was addressed. Cecilia, therefore, found her situation unsupportable. I must go, she cried, whether there is a carriage or not. Premises her, let us go. Sir Robert then offered to take her hand, but she was extremely ready to give him, but while the crowd made their passage difficult, Albany, following and stopping her, said, What is it you fear, a miserable old man worn out by the sorrows of that experience from which he offers you counsel? What too is it you trust, a libertine wretch coveting nothing but your wealth, for the gift of which he will repay you by the perversion of your principles? What the devil do you mean by that? cried the Baronet. To show, answered he austerely, the inconsistency of false delicacy, to show how those who are too timid for truth can fearlessly listen to usness. For heaven's sake, sir, cried Cecilia, say no more to me now, call upon me in Portman Square when you please. Reprove me in whatever you think me blamable. I shall be grateful for your instructions and better perhaps by your care, but lessons and notice thus public can do me nothing but injury. How happy, cried he, were no other injury near thee, spotless were then the hour of thy danger, bright, fair and refulgent, thy passage to security. The good would receive thee with praise, the guilty would supplicate thy prayers, the poor would follow thee with blessings, and children would be taught by thy example. He then quitted her, everybody making way as he moved, and proceeded into the great room. Mrs. Harrell's carriage being announced at the same time, Cecilia lost not an instant and hastening away. Sir Robert, as he conducted her, disdainfully laughed at the adventure, which the general licensed aloud to Mr. Albany, prevented his resenting, and which therefore he scorned to appear moved at. Mrs. Harrell could talk of nothing else. Neither was Cecilia disposed to change the subject, for the remains of insanity which seemed to hang upon him were affecting without being alarming, and her desire to know more of him grew every instant stronger. This desire, however, outlived not the conversation to which it gave rise. When she returned to her own room, no vestige of it remained upon her mind, which a nearer concern and deeper interest wholly occupied. The behavior of young Deville had pained, pleased, and disturbed her. His activity to save her from mischief might proceed merely from gallantry or good nature. Upon that therefore she dwelt little, but his eagerness, his anxiety, his insensibility to himself, were more than good breeding could claim, and seemed to spring from a mode of less artificial. She now therefore believed that her partiality was returned, and this belief had power to shake all her resolves, and enfeeble all her objections. The arrogance of Mr. Deville lessened in her reflections, the admonitions of Mr. Moncton abated in her influence. With the first she considered that though connected she need not live, and for the second, though she acknowledged the excellent of his judgment, she concluded him wholly ignorant of her sentiments of Deville, which he imagined when once revealed would make every obstacle to the alliance seem trifling when put in competition with mutual esteem and affection. End of Chapter 6 Recording by Jeanne Washington D.C. Volume 4, Chapter 7 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Jeanne. Cecilia, Memoirs of an Eris, by Fanny Burney. Volume 4, Chapter 7, Averproof. The attention of Cecilia to her own affairs did not make her forgetful of those of the herals, and the morning after the busy day which was last recorded, as soon as she quitted the breakfast room, she began a note to Mr. Moncton, but was interrupted with information that he was already in the house. She went to him immediately, and had the satisfaction of finding him alone. But desirous as she was to relate to him the transactions of the preceding day, there was in his countenance a gravity so unusual that her impatience was involuntarily chipped, and she waited first to hear if he had himself anything to communicate. He kept her not long in suspense. Miss Beverly, he said, I bring you intelligence, which though I know you will be very sorry to hear, it is absolutely necessary, should be told you immediately. You may otherwise, from however laudable motives, be drawn into some action which you may repent for life. What now? cried Cecilia, much alarmed. All that I suspected, said he, and more than I hinted to you is true. Mr. Harrell is a ruined man. He is not worth a groat, and he is in debt beyond what he ever possessed. Cecilia made no answer. She knew but too fatally the desperate state of his affairs. Yet that his debts were more than he had ever possessed, she had not thought possible. My inquiries, continued he, have been among principles, and such as would not dare deceive me. I hastened therefore to you that this timely notice might enforce the injunctions I gave you when I had the pleasure of seeing you last, and prevent a misjudging generosity from leading you into any injury of your own fortune, for a man who has passed all relief from it, and who cannot be saved, even though you were to be destroyed for his sake. You are very good, said Cecilia, but your counsel is now too late. She then briefly acquainted him with what passed, and with how large a sum she had parted. He heard her with rage, amazement, and horror, and after invading against Mr. Harrell in the bitterest terms, he said, But why, before you signed your name to so base an imposition, could you not send for me? I wished I meant to have it done, cried she, but I thought the time passed when you could help me. How indeed could you have saved me? My word was given, given with an oath the most solemn, and the first I have ever taken in my life. An oath so forced, answered he, the most delicate conscience would have absolved you from performing. You have indeed been grossly opposed upon, and pardon me if I add unaccountably to blame. Was it not obvious that relief so circumstance must be temporary? If his ruin had been anything less than certain, what tradesmen would have been insolent? You have therefore deprived yourself of the power of doing good to a worthy object, merely to grant a longer day to extravagance and villainy. Yet how, cried Cecilia deeply touched by this reproof, how could I do otherwise? Could I see a man in the agonies of despair, hear him first darkly hint his own destruction, and afterwards behold him almost in the very act of suicide, the instrument of self-murder in his desperate hand, and yet, though he put his life in my power, though he told me I could preserve him, and told me he had no other reliance or resource, could I leave him to his stressful despotence, refusing my assisting hand to raise him from perdition, and to save what, after all, I am well able to spare, suffer a fellow creature who flung himself upon my mercy to offer up his last accounts with an action blacker than any which had preceded it? No, I cannot repent what I have done, though I lament indeed that the object was not more deserving. Your representation, said Mr. Moncton, like everything else that I have ever heard you utter, breathes nothing but benevolence and goodness, but your pity has been abused, and your understanding opposed upon. Mr. Harrell had no intention to destroy himself. The whole was an infamous trick, which, had not your generosity been too well known, would never have been played. I cannot think quite so ill of him, said Cecilia, nor for the world would I have risked my own future reproaches by trusting to such a suspicion, which, had approved wrong, and had Mr. Harrell upon my refusal committed the fatal deed, would have made his murder upon my own conscious rest forever. Surely the experiment would have been too hazardous, when the consequent had all my future peace in its power. It is impossible not to revere your scruples, said Mr. Moncton, even while I consider them as causeless, for causeless they undoubtedly were. The man who could act so atrocious apart, who could so scandalously pillage a young lady who was his guest and his ward, take advantage of her temper for the plunder of her fortune, and extort her compliance by the basis and most dishonorable arts, meant only to terrify her into compliance, for he can be nothing less than a downright and thorough scoundrel capable of every species of mean villainy. He then protested he would at least acquaint her other guardians with what had passed, whose business it would be to inquire if there was any chance of redress. Cecilia, however, had not much trouble in combating this proposal, for though her objections, which were merely those of punctilious honor and delicacy, weighed nothing with the man who regarded them as absurdities. Yet his own apprehensions of appearing too officious in her affairs forced him, after a little deliberation, to give up the design. Besides, said Cecilia, as I have his bond from what I have parted with, I have at least no right to complain, unless after he received his rents he refuses to pay me. His bonds, his rents, exclaimed Mr. Moncton. What is a man's bond who is not worth a guinea? And what are his rents when all he ever owned must be sold before they are due, and when he will not himself receive a penny from the sale, as he has neither land, house, nor possession of any sort that is not mortgaged? Nay, then, said Cecilia, if so, it is indeed all over. I am sorry, I am grieved, but it is past, and nothing therefore remains, but that I try to forget I ever was richer. This is very youthful philosophy, said Mr. Moncton, but it will not lessen your regret hereafter, when the value of money is better known to you. If I shall dearly buy my experience, said Cecilia, let me be the more attentive to making good use of it, and, since my loss seems irredeemable to myself, let me at least endeavor to secure its utility to Mr. Harrell. She then told him her wish to propose to the gentleman some scheme of reformation, while yesterday's events were yet recent in his mind. But Mr. Moncton, who had hardly patience to hear her exclaim, he is rich and deserves the full force of the disgrace he is courting. What is now most necessary is to guard you from his further machinations, for you may else be involved in ruin as deep as his own. He now knows the way to frighten you, and he will not fail to put it in practice. No, sir, answered Cecilia. He would vainly apply to me in future. I cannot repent that I ventured not yesterday to brave his menaces, but too little is the comfort I feel from what I have bestowed, to suffer any consideration to make me part with more. Your resolution, answered he, will be as feeble as your generosity will be potent. Depend nothing upon yourself, but instantly quit his house. You will else be made responsible for every debt that he contracts, and whatever may be his difficulties hereafter, he will know that to extricate himself from them, he has but to talk of dying, and to show you a sword or a pistol. If so, then, said Cecilia, looking down while she spoke, I suppose I must again go to Mr. de Ville's. This was by no means the purpose of Mr. Moncton, who saw not more danger to her fortune with one of her guardians, than to her person with the other. He ventured, therefore, to recommend to her a residence with Mr. Briggs, while knowing that his house would be a security against her seeing any man equal to himself, and hoping that under his roof, he might again be as unrivaled in her opinion and esteem as he formerly was in the country. But here the opposition of Cecilia was too earnest for any hope that it might be surmounted. For, added to her dislike of Mr. Briggs, her repugnance to such a habitation was strongly, though silently increased, by her silent inclination to return to St. James Square. I mention not Mr. Briggs as an eligible host, said Mr. Moncton, after listening to her objections, but merely as one more proper for you than Mr. de Ville, with whom you're fixing at present would but be ill thought of in the world. Ill thought of, sir? Why so? Because he has a son, for whose sake alone it would be universally concluded you changed your abode, and to give any pretense for such a report would by no means accord with the usual delicacy of your conduct. Cecilia was confounded by this speech, the truth of the charge she felt, and the probability of the censure she did not dare dispute. He then gave her a thousand exhortations to beware of the schemes and artifices of Mr. Harrell, which she first saw would be innumerable. He told her, too, that with respect to Sir Robert Fleurier, he thought she had better suffer the report to subside of itself, which in time it must necessarily do, then give to it so much consequence as to send a message to the baronet, from which he might pretend to infer that hitherto she had been wavering, or she would have sent to him sooner. But the real motive of this advice was, that as he found Sir Robert by no means to be dreaded, he hoped the report, if generally circulated and credited, might keep off other pretenders, and intimidate or deceive young Deville. The poor part for which Cecilia had wished this conference was, however, wholly unanswered. Mr. Moncton, enraged by the conduct of Mr. Harrell, refused to talk of his affairs, and could only mention him with desistation. But Cecilia, less severe in her judgment, and more tender in her heart, would not yet give up the hope of an amendment she so anxiously wished, and having now no other person to whom she could apply, determined to consult with Mr. Arnott, whose affection for his sister would give him a zeal in the affair that might somewhat supply the place of superior abilities. There was indeed no time to be lost in making the projected attempt, for no sooner was the immediate danger of suffering removed than the alarm wore away, and the penitence was forgotten. Everything went on as usual, no new regulations were made, no expenses abated, no pleasures forborn, not a thought of hereafter admitted, and ruin is her terrible, as had been the preceding storm, no trace of it was visible in the serenity of the present calm. An occasion of discussion with Mr. Arnott was speedily offered. Mr. Harrell said he had observed in the locus of his friends at the Pantheon, much surprised at the sight of him, and declared he should take yet another measure for removing all suspicion. This was to give a splendid entertainment at his own house to all his acquaintance, to which he meant to invite everybody of any consequence he had ever seen, and almost everybody he had ever heard of in his life. Levity so unfeeling, and a spirit of extravagance so irreclaimable, were hopeless prognostics, yet Cecilia would not desist from her design. She therefore took the earliest opportunity of speaking with Mr. Arnott upon the subject, when she openly expressed her uneasiness at the state of his brother's affairs, and warmly acknowledged her displeasure at his dissipated way of life. Mr. Arnott soon showed that example was all he wanted to declare the same sentiments. He owned he had long disapproved the conduct of Mr. Harrell, and trembled at the situation of his sister. They then considered what it was possible to propose that might retrieve their affairs, and concluded that entirely to quit London for some years was the only chance that remained of saving them from absolute destruction. Mr. Arnott, therefore, though fearfully and adverse to the talk, told his sister their mutual advice. She thanked him, said she was much obliged to him, and would certainly consider his proposal, and mention it to Mr. Harrell. Parties of pleasure, however, intervened, and the promise was neglected. Cecilia then again spoke herself. Mrs. Harrell, much softened by her late act of kindness, was no longer offended by her interference, but contented herself with confessing that she quite hated the country, but could only bear to live in it in summertime. And when Cecilia very earnestly expostulated on the weakness of such an objection to a step absolutely necessary for her future safety and happiness, she said she could do no worse than that of already ruined, and therefore that she thought it would be very hard to expect from her such a sacrifice beforehand. It was in vain, Cecilia remonstrated, Mrs. Harrell's love of pleasure was stronger than her understanding, and therefore, though she listened to her with patience, she concluded with the same answer she had begun. Cecilia then, though almost heartless, resolved upon talking with Mr. Harrell himself, and therefore taking an opportunity which he had not time to elude, she ingeniously told him her opinion of his danger, and of the manner in which it might be avoided. He paid unusual attention to her advice, but said she was much mistaken with respect to his affairs, which he believed he should now very speedily retrieve, as he had had the preceding night an uncommon run of luck, and flattered himself with being able very shortly to pay all his debts, and begin the world again upon a new score. This open confession of gaming was but a new shock to Cecilia, who scrupled not to represent to him the uncertainty of so hazard as a reliance, and the inevitable evils of so destructive a practice. She made not, however, the least impression upon his mind. He assured her he doubted not giving her shortly a good account of himself, in that living in the country was a resource of desperation which need not be anticipated. Cecilia, though grieved and provoked by their mutual folly and blindness, could proceed no further. Advice and admonition she spared not, but authority she had none to use. She regretted her ineffectual attempt to Mr. Ornot, who was yet more cruelly afflicted at it. But though they conversed upon the subject by every opportunity, they were equally unable to relate any success from their efforts or to devise any plan more likely to ensure it. Volume 4, Chapter 8 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Jean, Cecilia, Memoirs of an Errors by Fanny Burney. Volume 4, Chapter 8, A Mistake. Meantime, Young Deville failed not to honor Cecilia's introduction of him to Mr. Harrell by waiting upon that gentleman as soon as the ill effects of his accident at the Pantheon permitted him to leave his own house. Mr. Harrell, though just going out when he called, was desirous of being upon good terms with his family, and therefore took him upstairs to present him to his lady, and invited him to tea and cards the next evening. Cecilia, who was with Mrs. Harrell, did not see him without emotion, which was not much lessened by the task of thanking him for his assistance at the Pantheon, and inquiring how he had himself faired. No sign, however, of emotion appeared in return, either when he first addressed or afterwards answered her. The look of solicitude, with which she had been so much struck when they last parted, was no longer discernible, and the voice of sensibility, which had removed all her doubts, was no longer to be heard. His general ease and natural gaity were again unruffled, and though he had never seemed really indifferent to her, there was not the least appearance of any added partiality. Cecilia felt an involuntary mortification as she observed this change, yet upon reflection she still attributed his whole behaviour to his mistake with respect to her situation, and therefore was but the more gratified by the preference he occasionally betrayed. The invitation for the next evening was accepted, and Cecilia for once felt no repentance to joining the company. Young Delville again was an excellent spirit, but though his chief pleasure was evidently derived from conversing with her, she had the vexation to observe that he seemed to think her the undoubted property of the Baronet, always retreating when he approached, and as careful when next to her to yield his place if he advanced, as when he was distant to guard it from all others. But when Sir Robert was employed at cards, all scruples seizing, he neglected not to engross her almost wholly. He was eager to speak to her of the affairs of Mr. Belfield, which he told her wore now a better aspect. The letter indeed a recommendation which he had shown to her had failed, as the nobleman to whom it was written had already entered into an engagement for his son. But he had made an application elsewhere which he believed would be successful, and he had communicated his proceedings to Mr. Belfield, whose spirits he hoped would recover by this prospect of employment and advantage. It is, however, but too true, he added, that I have rather obtained his consent to the steps I am taking than his approbation of them, nor do I believe that I previously consulted him I should have had even that. Disappointed in his higher views, his spirit is broken, and he is heartless and hopeless, scarce condescending to accept relief from the bitter remembrance that he expected preferment. Time, however, will blunt this acute sensibility, and reflection will make him blush at this unreasonable delicacy. But we must patiently soothe him till he is more himself, or while we mean to serve, we shall only torment him. Sickness, sorrow, and poverty have all fallen heavily upon him, and they have all fallen once. We must not therefore wonder to find him intractable, when his mind is as much depressed as his body is innervated. Cecilia, to whom his candor and generosity always gave fresh delight, strengthened his opinions of by her concurrence, and confirmed his designs by the interest which she took in them. From this time, he found almost daily some occasion for calling in Portman Square. The application of Cecilia in favor of Mr. Belfill gave him a right to communicate to her all his proceedings concerning him. And he had some letter to show, some new scheme to propose, some refusal to lament, or some hope to rejoice over almost perpetually. Or even when these failed, Cecilia had a cold, which he came to inquire after, or Mrs. Harrell gave him an invitation which rendered any excuse unnecessary. But though his intimacy with Cecilia was increased, though his admiration of her was conspicuous, and his fondness for her society seemed to grow with the enjoyment of it, he yet never manifested any doubt of her engagement with the baronet, nor betrayed either intention nor desire to supplant him. Cecilia, however, repined not much at the mistake, since she thought it might be instrumental to procuring her a more impartial acquaintance with his character. Then she could rationally expect, if, as she hoped, the explanation of his error should make him seek her good opinion with more study and design. To satisfy herself not only concerning the brother but the sister, she again visited Miss Belfill, and had the pleasure of finding her in better spirits, in hearing that the noble friend of her brother, whom she had already mentioned, and whom Cecilia had before suspected to be Young Deville, had now pointed out to him a method of conduct by which his affairs might be decently retrieved, and himself credibly employed. Miss Belfill spoke of the plan with the highest satisfaction, yet she acknowledged that her mother was extremely discontented with it, and that her brother himself was rather led by shame than inclination to its adoption. Yet he was evidently easier in his mind, though far from happy, and already so much better that Mr. Ruple said he would very soon be able to leave his room. Such was the quiet and contented situation of Cecilia, when one evening which was destined for company at home while she was alone in the drawing-room, which Mrs. Harrell had just left to answer a note, so Robert Fleurer accidentally came upstairs before the other gentleman. Ha! cried he the moment he saw her, at last to buy the good fortune to meet with you alone. This indeed is a favor I thought I was always to be denied. He was then approaching her, but Cecilia, who shrunk involuntarily at the sight of him, was retreating hastily to quit the room, when suddenly recollecting that no better opportunity might ever offer for a final explanation with him, she resolutely stopped, and Sir Robert immediately following, took her hand, and pressing it to his lips as she endeavored to withdraw it, exclaimed, You are a most charming creature. When the door was opened and young Delville at the same moment was announced and appeared. Cecilia, collaring violently and extremely chagrined, hastily disengaged herself from his hold. Delville seemed uncertain whether he ought not to retire, which Sir Robert, perceiving, bowed to him with an air of mingled triumph and vexation, and said, Sir, You are most obedient. The doubt, however, in which everyone appeared of what was next to be done, was immediately removed by the return of Mrs. Harrell, and the arrival at almost the same moment of more company. The rest of the evening was spent on the part of Cecilia, most painfully. The explanation she had planned had ended in worse than nothing, for by suffering the baronet to detain her she had rather shown a disposition to oblige than any intention to discard him, and the situation in which she had been surprised by young Delville was the last to clear the suspicions she so little wished him to harbor. While on his part the accident seemed to occasion no other alteration than that of rendering him more than usually assiduous to give way to Sir Robert whenever he approached her. Nor was Sir Robert's lack in taking advantage of this attention. He was highly in spirits, talked to her with more than common freedom, and wore the whole evening an air of exulting satisfaction. Cecilia provoked by this presumption, hurt by the behavior of young Delville, and mortified by the whole affair, determined to leave this mistake no longer in the power of accident, but to apply immediately to Mr. Delville Sr. and desire him as her guardian to wait upon Sir Robert himself, and to acquaint him that his perseverance in pursuing her was both useless and offensive, and by this method she hoped at once to disentangle herself forever from the baronet, and to discover more fully the sentiments of young Delville, for the provocation she had just endured robbed her of all patience for waiting the advice of Mr. Moncton. The following morning, therefore, Cecilia went early to St. James Square, and after the usual ceremonies of messages and long waiting, she was shown into an apartment where she found Mr. Delville and his son. She rejoiced to see them together, and determined to make known to them both the perpetrator of her visit, and therefore after some apologies and a little hesitation, she told Mr. Delville that encouraged by his offers of serving her, she had taken the liberty to call upon him with a view to entreat his assistance. Young Delville immediately arising would have put at the room, but Cecilia, assuring him she rather desired what she had to say should be known than kept secret, begged that he would not disturb himself. Delville, pleased with this permission to hear her, and curious to know what would follow, very readily returned to his seat. I should by no means she continued have thought of proclaiming, even to the most intimate of my friends, the partiality which Sir Robert Floyer has been pleased to show me, had he left to me the choice of publishing or concealing it. But, on the contrary, his own behavior seems intended not merely to display it, but to insinuate that it meets with my approbation. Mr. Harrell also, urged by too much worth of friendship, has encouraged this belief, nor indeed do I know at present where the mistake stops, nor would it his report has not scrupled to affirm. But I think I ought no longer to neglect it, and therefore I have presumed to solicit your advice in what manner I may most effectually contradict it. The extreme surprise of young Delville at this speech was not more evident than pleasant to Celia, to whom it accounted for all that had perplexed her in his conduct, while it animated every expectation she wished to encourage. The behavior of Mr. Harrell, answered Mr. Delville, has by no means been such as to lead me to forget that his father was the son of a steward of Mr. Grant, who lived in the neighborhood of my friend and relation, the Duke of Derwent. Nor can I sufficiently congratulate myself that I have always declined acting with him. Delayed Dean, indeed, never committed so strange an impropriety as that of nominating Mr. Harrell and Mr. Briggs, co-agitors of Mr. Delville. The impropriety, however, though extremely offensive to me, has never obliterated from my mind the esteem I bore the Dean, nor can I possibly give the greater proof of it than the readiness I have always shown to offer my counsel and instruction to his niece. Mr. Harrell, therefore, ought certainly to have desired Sir Robert Flawyer to acquaint me with his proposals before he gave to him any answer. Undoubtedly, sir, said Cecilia, willing to shorten his parading harangue, but as he neglected that intention, will you thank me too important and should I entreat the favor of you to speak with Sir Robert yourself and explain to him the total inefficacy of his pursuit, since my determination against him is unalterable. Here the conference was interrupted by the entrance of a servant who said something to Mr. Delville, which occasioned his apologizing to Cecilia for leaving her for a few moments, and ostentatiously assuring her that no business, however important, should prevent his thinking of her affairs or detain him from returning to her as soon as possible. The astonishment of young Delville at the strength of her last expression kept him silent some time after his father left the room, and then, with accountants that still marked by his amazement, he said, Is it possible, Ms. Beverly, that I should twice have been thus aggressively deceived, or rather that the whole town and even the most intimate of your friends should so unaccountably have persisted in a mistake? For the town, answered Cecilia, I know not how it can have had any concern in so small a matter, but for my intimate friends, I have too few to make it probable they should ever have been so strangely misinformed. Pardon me, Crithy. It was from one who ought to know that I had myself the intelligence. I intrigue you then, said Cecilia, to acquaint me who it was. Mr. Harrell himself, who communicated it to a lady in my hearing and at a public place. Cecilia cast up her eyes and wonder and indignation at a proof so incontrovertible of his falsehood, but made not any answer. Even yet, continued he, I can scarcely feel undeceived. Your engagement seems so positive. Your connection so re-retrievable. So, so fixed, I mean. He hesitated, a little embarrassed, but then suddenly exclaimed. Yet whence, if to neither favorable, if indifferent alike to Sir Robert and to Bellefield, whence that animated apprehension for their safety at the opera house, whence that never to be forgotten. Oh, stop him, good God, will nobody stop him. Words of anxiety so tender, and sounds that still vibrate in my ear. Cecilia struck with amazement, and her turn at the strength of his own expressions blushed, and for a few minutes hesitated how to answer him. But then, to leave nothing that related to so disagreeable a report in any doubt, she resolved to tell him ingeniously the circumstances that had occasioned her alarm. And therefore, though with some pain to her modesty, she confessed her fears that she had herself provoked the affront, though her only view had been to discount that Sir Robert, without meaning to show any distinction to Mr. Bellefield. Dillville, who seemed charmed with the candor of this explanation, said when she had finished it, you are then at liberty. Ah, madame, how many may rue so dangerous a discovery. Could you think, said Cecilia, endeavouring to speak with her usual ease, that Sir Robert Flawyer would be found so resistible? Oh, no, cried he, far otherwise. A thousand times I have wondered at his happiness. A thousand times when I had looked at you and listened to you, I have thought it impossible. Yet my authority seemed indisputable, and how was I to discredit what was not uttered as a conjecture, but asserted as a fact? Asserted, too, by the guardian with whom you lived, and not hinted as a secret, but affirmed as a point settled. Yet surely, said Cecilia, you have heard me make use of expressions that could not but lead you to suppose there was some mistake, whatever might be the authority which had won your belief. No, answered he, I never supposed any mistake, though sometimes I thought you repented your engagement. I concluded indeed you had been unwarily drawn in, and I have even at times been tempted to acknowledge my suspicions to you. State your independence, and exhort you as a friend, exhort you to use it with spirit, and if you were shackled unwillingly, unconsciously or unworthily, to break the chains by which you were confined, and restore to yourself that freedom of choice upon the use of which all your happiness must ultimately depend. But I doubted if this were honorable to the baronet, and what indeed was my right to such a liberty. None that every man might not be proud of, I wish to do honor to myself under the officious pretense of serving the most amiable of women. Mr. Harrell said Cecilia has been so strangely bigoted to his friend that in his eagerness to manifest his regard for him, he seems to have forgotten every other consideration. He would not else have spread so widely a report that could so ill stand inquiry. If Sir Robert returned, he is himself deceived while he deceives others, who can forbid to pity him. For my own part, instead of repining that hitherto I have been mistaken, ought I not rather to bless an error that may have been my preservative from danger? Cecilia, distressed in what manner to support her part in the conversation, begin now to wish to return to Mr. Deville, and, not knowing what else to say, she expressed her surprise at his long absence. It is not indeed well timed, said young Deville, just now at the moment when, he stopped and presently exclaiming, Oh, dangerous interval! He arose from his seat and manifest disorder. Cecilia arose too, and hastily ringing the bell said, Mr. Deville I am sure is detained, and therefore I will order my chair and call another time. Do I frighten you away? said he, assuming an appearance more placid. No, answered she, but I would not hasten, Mr. Deville. A servant then came and said the chair was ready. She would immediately have followed him, but young Deville again speaking, she stopped the moment to hear him. I fear, said he, with much hesitation. I have strangely exposed myself, and that you cannot, but the extreme astonishment. He stopped again in the utmost confusion, and then adding, You will permit me to attend you to the chair. He handed her downstairs, and in quitting her, bowed without saying a word more. Cecilia, who was almost wholly indifferent to every part of the explanation, but that which had actually passed, was now in a state of felicity more delightful than any she had ever experienced. She had not a doubt remaining of her influence over the mind of young Deville, and the surprise which had made him rather betrayed than express his regard, was infinitely more flattering and satisfactory to her than any formal or direct declaration. She had now convinced him she was disengaged, and in return, though without seeming to intended, he had convinced her of the deep interest which he took into discovery. His perturbation, the words which escaped him, and his evident struggle to say no more, were proof just such as she wished to receive of his partial admiration. Since while they satisfied her heart, they also soothed her pride by showing a difference of success which assured her that her own secret was still sacred, and that no weakness or anadvertency on her part had robbed her of the power of mingling dignity with the frankness with which she meant to receive his addresses, and therefore that now employed her care was to keep off any indissoluble engagement till each should be better known to the other. For this reserve, however, she had less immediate occasion than she expected. She saw no more of young Deville that day, neither did he appear the next. The third she fully expected him, but still he came not, and while she wondered at any absence so uncommon, she received a note from Lord Arnolf to beg permission to wait upon her for two minutes at any time she would appoint. She readily sent word that she should be at home for the rest of the day, as she wished much of an opportunity of immediately finishing every affair but one, and setting her mind at liberty to think only of that which she desired should prosper. Lord Arnolf was with her in half an hour. She found him sensible and well-bred, extremely desirous to promote her alliance with his son, and apparently as much pleased with herself as with her fortune. He acquainted her that he had addressed himself to Mr. Harrell long since, but had been informed that she was actually engaged to Sir Robert Floyer. He should therefore have foreborn taking up any part of her time. Had he not, on the preceding day, while on a visit at Mr. Deville's, been assured that Mr. Harrell was mistaken, and that she had not yet declared for anybody. He hoped therefore that she would allow his son the honor of waiting upon her and permit him to talk with Mr. Briggs, who he understood was her acting guardian, upon such matters as ought to be speedily adjusted. Cecilia thanked him for the honor he intended her, and confirmed the truth of the account he had heard in St. James Square, but at the same time told him she must decline receiving any visits from his Lordship's son, and detreated him to take no measure towards the promotion of an affair which never could succeed. He seemed much concerned at her answer, and endeavored for some time to soften her, but found her so steady, though civil in her refusal, that he was obliged, however unwillingly, to give up his attempt. Cecilia, when he was gone, reflected with much vexation on the readiness of the Deville's to encourage his visit. She considered, however, that the intelligence he had heard might possibly be gathered in general conversation, but she blamed herself that she had not led to some inquiry what part of the family he had seen, and who was present when the information was given him. Meanwhile, she found that neither coldness, distance, nor aversion were sufficient to repress Sir Robert Fleur, who continued to persecute her with as much confidence of success as could have arisen from the utmost encouragement. She again, though with much difficulty, contrived to speak with Mr. Harrell upon the subject, and openly accused him of spreading a report abroad, as well as counternancing the expectation at home that had neither truth nor justice to support them. Mr. Harrell was his usual levity and carelessness, laughed at the charge, but denied any belief in her displeasure, and effected to think she was merely playing the while Sir Robert was not the less her decided choice. Provoked and wearied, Cecilia resolved no longer to depend upon anybody but herself for the management of her own affairs, and therefore to conclude the business without any possibility of further cavilling, she wrote the following note to Sir Robert herself. Ms. Beverly presents her compliments to Sir Robert Fleur, and as she has some reason to fear Mr. Harrell did not explicitly acquaint him with her answer to the commission with which he was entrusted, she thinks it necessary in order to obviate any possible misunderstanding to take this method of returning him thanks for the honor of his good opinion, but of begging at the same time that he would not lose a moment upon her account, as her thanks are all she can now or ever offer in return. Portman Square, May 11th, 1779 To this note, Cecilia received no answer, but she had the pleasure to observe that Sir Robert forebore his usual visit on the day she spent it, and, though he appeared again the day following, he never spoke to her and seemed sullen and out of humor. Yet still young Deville came not, and still as her surprise increased, her tranquility was diminished. She could form no excuse for his delay, nor conjecture any reason for his absence. Every motive seemed to favor his seeking, and not one his shunning her. The explanation which had so lately passed had informed him he had no rival to fear, and the manner in which she had heard it assured her the information was not indifferent to him. Why then so assiduous in his visits when he thought her engaged, and so slack in her attendance when he knew she was at liberty?