Then, perceiving Mr Monckton, he bowed to him with great respect, and enquired, with no little solemnity, how he had left Lady Margaret, hoped she was perfectly recovered from her late indisposition, and asked sundry questions with regard to her plan for the winter.
This discourse was ill constructed for rendering his presence desirable to Mr Monckton; he answered him very drily, and again pressed their departure.
“O,” cried Morrice, “there’s no occasion for such haste; the rehearsal does not begin till one.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” said Mr Monckton; “it is to begin at twelve o’clock.”
“O ay, very true,” returned Morrice; “I had forgot the dances, and I suppose they are to be rehearsed first. Pray, Miss Beverley, did you ever see any dances rehearsed?”
“No, sir.”
“You will be excessively entertained, then, I assure you. It’s the most comical thing in the world to see those signores and signoras cutting capers in a morning. And the figuranti will divert you beyond measure; you never saw such a shabby set in your life: but the most amusing thing is to look in their faces, for all the time they are jumping and skipping about the stage as if they could not stand still for joy, they look as sedate and as dismal as if they were so many undertaker’s men.”
“Not a word against dancing!” cried Sir Robert, “it’s the only thing carries one to the Opera; and I am sure it’s the only thing one minds at it.”
The two ladies were then handed to Mrs Harrel’s vis-a-vis; and the gentlemen, joined without further ceremony by Mr Morrice, followed them to the Haymarket.
The rehearsal was not begun, and Mrs Harrel and Cecilia secured themselves a box upon the stage, from which the gentlemen of their party took care not to be very distant.
They were soon perceived by Mr Gosport, who instantly entered into conversation with Cecilia. Miss Larolles, who with some other ladies came soon after into the next box, looked out to courtsie and nod, with her usual readiness, at Mrs Harrel, but took not any notice of Cecilia, though she made the first advances.
“What’s the matter now?” cried Mr Gosport; “have you affronted your little prattling friend?”
“Not with my own knowledge,” answered Cecilia; “perhaps she does not recollect me.”
Just then Miss Larolles, tapping at the door, came in from the next box to speak to Mrs Harrel; with whom she stood chatting and laughing some minutes, without seeming to perceive that Cecilia was of her party.
“Why, what have you done to the poor girl?” whispered Mr Gosport; “did you talk more than herself when you saw her last?”
“Would that have been possible?” cried Cecilia; “however, I still fancy she does not know me.”
She then stood up, which making Miss Larolles involuntarily turn towards her, she again courtsied; a civility which that young lady scarce deigned to return, before, bridling with an air of resentment, she hastily looked another way, and then, nodding good-humouredly at Mrs Harrel, hurried back to her party.
Cecilia, much amazed, said to Mr Gosport, “See now how great was our presumption in supposing this young lady’s loquacity always at our devotion!”
“Ah, madam!” cried he, laughing, “there is no permanency, no consistency in the world! no, not even in the tongue of a VOLUBLE! and if that fails, upon what may we depend?”
“But seriously,” said Cecilia, “I am sorry I have offended her, and the more because I so little know how, that I can offer her no apology.”
“Will you appoint me your envoy? Shall I demand the cause of these hostilities?”
She thanked him, and he followed Miss Larolles; who was now addressing herself with great earnestness to Mr Meadows, the gentleman with whom she was conversing when Cecilia first saw her in Portman Square. He stopt a moment to let her finish her speech, which, with no little spirit, she did in these words, “I never knew anything like it in my life; but I shan’t put up with such airs, I assure her!”
Mr Meadows made not any other return to her harangue, but stretching himself with a languid smile, and yawning: Mr Gosport, therefore, seizing the moment of cessation, said, “Miss Larolles, I hear a strange report about you.”
“Do you?” returned she, with quickness, “pray what is it? something monstrous impertinent, I dare say —— however, I assure you it i’n’t true.”
“Your assurance,” cried he, “carries conviction indisputable, for the report was that you had left off talking.”
“O, was that all?” cried she, disappointed, “I thought it had been something about Mr Sawyer, for I declare I have been plagued so about him, I am quite sick of his name.”
“And for my part, I never heard it! so fear nothing from me upon his account.”
“Lord, Mr Gosport, how can you say so? I am sure you must know about the Festino that night, for it was all over the town in a moment.”
“What festino?”
“Well, only conceive, how provoking! — why, I know nothing else was talked of for a month!”
“You are most formidably stout this morning! it is not two minutes since I saw you fling the gauntlet at Miss Beverley, and yet you are already prepared for another antagonist.”
“O as to Miss Beverley, I must really beg you not to mention her; she has behaved so impertinently, that I don’t intend ever to speak to her again.”
“Why, what has she done?”
“O she’s been so rude you’ve no notion. I’ll tell you how it was. You must know I met her at Mrs Barrel’s the day she came to town, and the very next morning I waited on her myself, for I would not send a ticket, because I really wished to be civil to her; well, the day after, she never came near me, though I called upon her again; however, I did not take any notice of that; but when the third day came, and I found she had not even sent me a ticket, I thought it monstrous ill bred indeed; and now there has passed more than a week, and yet she has never called: so I suppose she don’t like me; so I shall drop her acquaintance.”
Mr Gosport, satisfied now with the subject of her complaint, returned to Cecilia, and informed her of the heavy charge which was brought against her.
“I am glad, at least, to know my crime,” said she, “for otherwise I should certainly have sinned on in ignorance, as I must confess I never thought of returning her visits: but even if I had, I should not have supposed I had yet lost much time.”
“I beg your pardon there,” said Mrs Harrel; “a first visit ought to be returned always by the third day.”
“Then have I an unanswerable excuse,” said Cecilia, “for I remember that on the third day I saw her at your house.”
“O that’s nothing at all to the purpose; you should have waited upon her, or sent her a ticket, just the same as if you had not seen her.”
The overture was now begun, and Cecilia declined any further conversation. This was the first Opera she had ever heard, yet she was not wholly a stranger to Italian compositions, having assiduously studied music from a natural love of the art, attended all the best concerts her neighbourhood afforded, and regularly received from London the works of the best masters. But the little skill she had thus gained, served rather to increase than to lessen the surprize with which she heard the present performance — a surprize of which the discovery of her own ignorance made not the least part. Unconscious from the little she had acquired how much was to be learnt, she was astonished to find the inadequate power of written music to convey any idea of vocal abilities: with just knowledge enough, therefore, to understand something of the difficulties, and feel