Again therefore they set off, and hobbled along, nearly even with each other, for some time; yet frequently, to the inexpressible diversion of the company, they stumbled and tottered; and the confused hallooing of “Now, Coverley!” “Now, Merton!” run from side to side during the whole affair.
Not long after, a foot of one of the poor women slipt, and with great force she came again to the ground. Involuntarily, I sprung forward to assist her; but Lord Merton, to whom she did not belong, stopped me, calling out, “No foul play! No foul play!”
Mr. Coverley then, repeating the same words, went himself to help her, and insisted that the other should stop. A debate ensued; but the poor creature was too much hurt to move, and declared her utter inability to make another attempt. Mr. Coverley was quite brutal: he swore at her with unmanly rage, and seemed scarce able to refrain even from striking her.
Lord Merton then, in great rapture, said it was a hollow thing; but Mr. Coverley contended, that the fall was accidental, and time should be allowed for the woman to recover. However, all the company being against him, he was pronounced the loser.
We then went to the drawing-room, to tea. After which, the evening being remarkably warm, we all walked in the garden. Lord Merton was quite riotous, and Lady Louisa in high spirits; but Mr. Coverley endeavoured, in vain, to conceal his chagrin.
As Lord Orville was thoughtful, and walked by himself, I expected that, as usual, I should pass unnoticed, and be left to my own meditations: but this was not the case; for Lord Merton, entirely off his guard, giddy equally from wine and success, was very troublesome to me; and, regardless of the presence of Lady Louisa, which hitherto has restrained him even from common civility, he attached himself to me, during the walk, with a freedom of gallantry that put me extremely out of countenance. He paid me the most high-flown compliments; and frequently and forcibly seized my hand, though I repeatedly, and with undissembled anger, drew it back. Lord Orville, I saw, watched us with earnestness; and Lady Louisa’s smiles were converted into looks of disdain.
I could not bear to be thus situated; and complaining I was tired, I quickened my pace, with intention to return to the house; but Lord Merton, hastily following, caught my hand, and saying the day was his own, vowed he would not let me go.
“You must, my Lord,” cried I, extremely flurried.
“You are the most charming girl in the world,” said he, “and never looked better than at this moment.”
“My Lord,” cried Mrs. Selwyn, advancing to us, “you don’t consider, that the better Miss Anville looks the more striking is the contrast with your Lordship; therefore, for your own sake, I would advise you not to hold her.”
“Egad, my Lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “I don’t see what right you have to the best old, and the best young woman too, in the same day.”
“Best young woman!” repeated Mr. Lovel; “‘pon honour, Jack, you have made a most unfortunate speech; however, if Lady Louisa can pardon you — and her Ladyship is all goodness — I am sure nobody else can; for you have committed an outrageous solecism in good manners.”
“And pray, Sir,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “under what denomination may your own speech pass?”
Mr. Lovel, turning another way, affected not to hear her: and Mr. Coverley, bowing to Lady Louisa, said, “Her Ladyship is well acquainted with my devotion; — but, egad, I don’t know how it is — I had always an unlucky turn at an epigram, and never could resist a smart play upon words in my life.”
“Pray, my Lord,” cried I, “let go my hand! Pray, Mrs. Selwyn, speak for me.”
“My Lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “in detaining Miss Anville any longer you only lose time; for we are already as well convinced of your valour and your strength, as if you were to hold her an age.”
“My Lord,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “I must beg leave to interfere: I know not if Lady Louisa can pardon you; but as this young lady is at my house, I do not choose to have her made uneasy.”
“I pardon him!” cried Lady Louisa; “I declare I am monstrous glad to get rid of him.”
“Egad, my Lord,” cried Mr. Coverley, “while you are grasping at a shadow, you’ll lose a substance; you’d best make your peace while you can.”
“Pray, Mr. Coverley, be quiet,” said Lady Louisa, peevishly; “for I declare I won’t speak to him. Brother,” taking hold of Lord Orville’s arm, “will you walk in with me?”
“Would to Heaven,” cried I, frightened to see how much Lord Merton was in liquor, “that I too had a brother! — and then I should not be exposed to such treatment.”
Lord Orville, instantly quitting Lady Louisa, said, “Will Miss Anville allow me the honour of taking that title?” and then, without waiting for any answer, he disengaged me from Lord Merton; and, handing me to Lady Louisa, “Let me,” added he, “take equal care of both my sisters;” and then, desiring her, to take hold of one arm, and begging me to make use of the other, we reached the house in a moment. Lord Merton, disordered as he was, attempted not to stop us.
As soon as we entered the house, I withdrew my arm, and courtsied my thanks, for my heart was too full for speech. Lady Louisa, evidently hurt at her brother’s condescension, and piqued extremely by Lord Merton’s behaviour, silently drew away hers; and biting her lips, with a look of infinite vexation, walked sullenly up the hall.
Lord Orville asked her if she would not go into the parlour?
“No,” answered she, haughtily, “I leave you and your new sister together:” and then she walked up stairs.
I was quite confounded at the pride and rudeness of this speech. Lord Orville himself seemed thunderstruck: I turned from him, and went into the parlour: he followed me, saying, “Must I now apologize to Miss Anville for the liberty of my interference? — or ought I to apologize, that I did not, as I wished, interfere sooner?”
“O, my Lord,” cried I, with an emotion I could not repress, “it is from you alone I meet with any respect; — all others treat me with impertinence, or contempt!”
I am sorry I had not more command of myself, as he had reason just then to suppose I particularly meant his sister; which, I am sure, must very much hurt him.
“Good Heaven,” cried he, “that so much sweetness and merit can fail to excite the love and admiration so justly their due! I cannot — I dare not express to you half the indignation I feel at this moment!”
“I am sorry, my Lord,” said I, more calmly, “to have raised it; but yet — in a situation that calls for protection, to meet only with mortifications — indeed, but I am ill formed to bear them!”
“My dear Miss Anville,” cried he, warmly, “allow me to be your friend; think of me as if I were indeed your brother; and let me intreat you to accept my best services, if there is any thing in which I can be so happy as to show my regard — my respect for you!”
Before I had time to speak, the rest of the party entered the parlour; and, as I did not wish to see anything more of Lord Merton, at least before he had slept, I determined to leave it. Lord Orville, seeing my design, said, as I passed him, “Will you go?” “Had not I best, my Lord?” said I. “I am afraid,” said he, smiling, “since I must now speak as your brother, I am afraid you had; — you see you may trust me, since I can advise against my own interest.”
I then left the room, and have been writing ever since. And, methinks, I can never lament the rudeness of Lord Merton, as it has more than ever confirmed to me the esteem of Lord Orville.
LETTER 69
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION