Chapter vi.

Containing a dialogue between Sophia and Mrs Honour, which may a

little relieve those tender affections which the foregoing scene may

have raised in the mind of a good-natured reader.

Mrs Western having obtained that promise from her niece which we have

seen in the last chapter, withdrew; and presently after arrived Mrs

Honour. She was at work in a neighbouring apartment, and had been

summoned to the keyhole by some vociferation in the preceding

dialogue, where she had continued during the remaining part of it. At

her entry into the room, she found Sophia standing motionless, with

the tears trickling from her eyes. Upon which she immediately ordered

a proper quantity of tears into her own eyes, and then began, “O

Gemini, my dear lady, what is the matter?”--“Nothing,” cries Sophia.

“Nothing! O dear Madam!” answers Honour, “you must not tell me that,

when your ladyship is in this taking, and when there hath been such a

preamble between your ladyship and Madam Western.”--“Don't teaze me,”

cries Sophia; “I tell you nothing is the matter. Good heavens! why was

I born?”--“Nay, madam,” says Mrs Honour, “you shall never persuade me

that your la'ship can lament yourself so for nothing. To be sure I am

but a servant; but to be sure I have been always faithful to your

la'ship, and to be sure I would serve your la'ship with my life.”--“My

dear Honour,” says Sophia, “'tis not in thy power to be of any service

to me. I am irretrievably undone.”--“Heaven forbid!” answered the

waiting-woman; “but if I can't be of any service to you, pray tell me,

madam--it will be some comfort to me to know--pray, dear ma'am, tell

me what's the matter.”--“My father,” cries Sophia, “is going to marry

me to a man I both despise and hate.”--“O dear, ma'am,” answered the

other, “who is this wicked man? for to be sure he is very bad, or your

la'ship would not despise him.”--“His name is poison to my tongue,”

replied Sophia: “thou wilt know it too soon.” Indeed, to confess the

truth, she knew it already, and therefore was not very inquisitive as

to that point. She then proceeded thus: “I don't pretend to give your

la'ship advice, whereof your la'ship knows much better than I can

pretend to, being but a servant; but, i-fackins! no father in England

should marry me against my consent. And, to be sure, the 'squire is so

good, that if he did but know your la'ship despises and hates the

young man, to be sure he would not desire you to marry him. And if

your la'ship would but give me leave to tell my master so. To be sure,

it would be more properer to come from your own mouth; but as your

la'ship doth not care to foul your tongue with his nasty name--“--“You

are mistaken, Honour,” says Sophia; “my father was determined before

he ever thought fit to mention it to me.”--“More shame for him,” cries

Honour: “you are to go to bed to him, and not master: and thof a man

may be a very proper man, yet every woman mayn't think him handsome

alike. I am sure my master would never act in this manner of his own

head. I wish some people would trouble themselves only with what

belongs to them; they would not, I believe, like to be served so, if

it was their own case; for though I am a maid, I can easily believe as

how all men are not equally agreeable. And what signifies your la'ship

having so great a fortune, if you can't please yourself with the man

you think most handsomest? Well, I say nothing; but to be sure it is a

pity some folks had not been better born; nay, as for that matter, I

should not mind it myself; but then there is not so much money; and

what of that? your la'ship hath money enough for both; and where can

your la'ship bestow your fortune better? for to be sure every one must

allow that he is the most handsomest, charmingest, finest, tallest,

properest man in the world.”--“What do you mean by running on in this

manner to me?” cries Sophia, with a very grave countenance. “Have I

ever given any encouragement for these liberties?”--“Nay, ma'am, I ask

pardon; I meant no harm,” answered she; “but to be sure the poor

gentleman hath run in my head ever since I saw him this morning. To be

sure, if your la'ship had but seen him just now, you must have pitied

him. Poor gentleman! I wishes some misfortune hath not happened to

him; for he hath been walking about with his arms across, and looking

so melancholy, all this morning: I vow and protest it made me almost

cry to see him.”--“To see whom?” says Sophia. “Poor Mr Jones,”

answered Honour. “See him! why, where did you see him?” cries Sophia.

“By the canal, ma'am,” says Honour. “There he hath been walking all

this morning, and at last there he laid himself down: I believe he

lies there still. To be sure, if it had not been for my modesty, being

a maid, as I am, I should have gone and spoke to him. Do, ma'am, let

me go and see, only for a fancy, whether he is there still.”--“Pugh!”

says Sophia. “There! no, no: what should he do there? He is gone

before this time, to be sure. Besides, why--what--why should you go to

see? besides, I want you for something else. Go, fetch me my hat and

gloves. I shall walk with my aunt in the grove before dinner.” Honour

did immediately as she was bid, and Sophia put her hat on; when,

looking in the glass, she fancied the ribbon with which her hat was

tied did not become her, and so sent her maid back again for a ribbon

of a different colour; and then giving Mrs Honour repeated charges not

to leave her work on any account, as she said it was in violent haste,

and must be finished that very day, she muttered something more about

going to the grove, and then sallied out the contrary way, and walked,

as fast as her tender trembling limbs could carry her, directly

towards the canal.

Jones had been there as Mrs Honour had told her; he had indeed spent

two hours there that morning in melancholy contemplation on his

Sophia, and had gone out from the garden at one door the moment she

entered it at another. So that those unlucky minutes which had been

spent in changing the ribbons, had prevented the lovers from meeting

at this time;--a most unfortunate accident, from which my fair readers

will not fail to draw a very wholesome lesson. And here I strictly

forbid all male critics to intermeddle with a circumstance which I

have recounted only for the sake of the ladies, and upon which they

only are at liberty to comment.