At the end of the first act, as the green curtain dropped to prepare for the dance, they imagined that the opera was done; and Mr. Branghton expressed great indignation that he had been tricked out of his money with so little trouble. “Now, if any Englishman was to do such an impudent thing as this,” said he, “why, he’d be pelted; — but here, one of these outlandish gentry may do just what he pleases, and come on, and squeak out a song or two, and then pocket your money without further ceremony.”
However, so determined he was to be dissatisfied, that, before the conclusion of the third act, he found still more fault with the opera for being too long; and wondered whether they thought their singing good enough to serve us for supper.
During the symphony of a song of Signor Millico’s, in the second act, young Mr. Branghton said, “It’s my belief that that fellow’s going to sing another song! — why, there’s nothing but singing! — I wonder when they’ll speak.”
This song, which was slow and pathetic, caught all my attention, and I leaned my head forward to avoid hearing their observations, that I might listen without interruption: but, upon turning round, when the song was over, I found that I was the object of general diversion to the whole party; for the Miss Branghtons were tittering, and the two gentlemen making signs and faces at me, implying their contempt of my affectation.
This discovery determined me to appear as inattentive as themselves; but I was very much provoked at being thus prevented enjoying the only pleasure, which, in such a party, was within my power.
“So Miss,” said Mr. Branghton, “you’re quite in the fashion, I see — so you like operas? Well, I’m not so polite; I can’t like nonsense, let it be never so much the taste.”
“But pray, Miss,” said the son, “what makes that fellow look so doleful while he is singing?”
“Probably because the character he performs is in distress.”
“Why, then, I think he might as well let alone singing till he’s in better cue: it’s out of all nature for a man to be piping when he’s in distress. For my part, I never sing but when I’m merry; yet I love a song as well as most people.”
When the curtain dropt they all rejoiced.
“How do you like it?”— and “How do you like it?” passed from one to another with looks of the utmost contempt. “As for me,” said Mr. Branghton, “they’ve caught me once; but if ever they do again, I’ll give ’em leave to sing me to Bedlam for my pains: for such a heap of stuff never did I hear: there isn’t one ounce of sense in the whole opera, nothing but one continued squeaking and squalling from beginning to end.”
“If I had been in the pit,” said Madame Duval, “I should have liked it vastly, for music is my passion; but sitting in such a place as this, is quite unbearable.”
Miss Branghton, looking at me, declared, that she was not genteel enough to admire it.
Miss Polly confessed, that, if they would but sing English, she would like it very well.
The brother wished he could raise a riot in the house, because then he might get his money again.
And, finally, they all agreed that it was monstrous dear.
During the last dance, I perceived standing near the gallery-door, Sir Clement Willoughby. I was extremely vexed, and would have given the world to have avoided being seen by him: my chief objection was, from the apprehension that he would hear Miss Branghton call me cousin. — I fear you will think this London journey has made me grow very proud; but indeed this family is so low-bred and vulgar, that I should be equally ashamed of such a connection in the country, or anywhere. And really I had already been so much chagrined that Sir Clement had been a witness of Madame Duval’s power over me, that I could not bear to be exposed to any further mortification.
As the seats cleared, by parties going away, Sir Clement approached nearer to us. The Miss Branghtons observed with surprise, what a fine gentleman was come into the gallery; and they gave me great reason to expect, that they would endeavour to attract his notice, by familiarity with me, whenever he should join us; and so I formed a sort of plan to prevent any conversation. I’m afraid you will think it wrong; and so I do myself now; — but, at the time, I only considered how I might avoid immediate humiliation.
As soon as he was within two seats of us, he spoke to me: “I am very happy, Miss Anville, to have found you, for the ladies below have each an humble attendant, and therefore I am come to offer my services here.”
“Why then,” cried I, (not without hesitating) “if you please — I will join them.”
“Will you allow me the honour of conducting you?” cried he eagerly; and, instantly taking my hand, he would have marched away with me: but I turned to Madame Duval, and said, “As our party is so large, Madame, if you will give me leave, I will go down to Mrs. Mirvan, that I may not crowd you in the coach.”
And then, without waiting for an answer, I suffered Sir Clement to hand me out of the gallery.
Madame Duval, I doubt not, will be very angry; and so I am with myself now, and therefore I cannot be surprised: but Mr. Branghton, I am sure, will easily comfort himself, in having escaped the additional coach-expense of carrying me to Queen Ann Street; as to his daughters, they had no time to speak; but I saw they were in utter amazement.
My intention was to join Mrs. Mirvan, and accompany her home. Sir Clement was in high spirits and good humour; and all the way he went, I was fool enough to rejoice in secret at the success of my plan; nor was it till I got down stairs, and amidst the servants, that any difficulty occurred to me of meeting with my friends.
I then asked Sir Clement, how I should contrive to acquaint Mrs. Mirvan that I had left Madame Duval?
“I fear it will be almost impossible to find her,” answered he; “but you can have no objection to permitting me to see you safe home.”
He then desired his servant, who was waiting, to order his chariot to draw up.
This quite startled me; I turned to him hastily, and said that I could not think of going away without Mrs. Mirvan.
“But how can we meet with her?” cried he; “you will not choose to go into the pit yourself; I cannot send a servant there; and it is impossible for me to go and leave you alone.”
The truth of this was indisputable, and totally silenced me. Yet, as soon as I could recollect myself, I determined not to go into his chariot, and told him I believed I had best return to my party up stairs.
He would not hear of this; and earnestly intreated me not to withdraw the trust I had reposed in him.
While he was speaking, I saw Lord Orville, with several ladies and gentlemen, coming from the pit passage: unfortunately he saw me too, and, leaving his company, advanced instantly towards me, and with an air and voice of surprise, said, “Good God, do I see Miss Anville!”
I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, and the awkwardness of my situation: however, I hastened to tell him, though in a hesitating manner, that I was waiting for Mrs. Mirvan; but what was my disappointment, when he acquainted me that she was already gone home!
I was inexpressibly distressed; to suffer Lord Orville to think me satisfied with the single protection of Sir Clement Willoughby, I could not bear; yet I was more than ever averse to returning to a party which I dreaded his seeing. I stood some moments in suspense, and could not help exclaiming, “Good Heaven, what can I do!”
“Why, my dear madam,” cried Sir Clement, “should you be thus uneasy? — you will reach Queen Ann Street almost as soon as Mrs. Mirvan, and I am sure you