house; there was a great deal of company, among whom was a gentleman named Gayland: he was a man of family—had a large estate—sung, danced, spoke French, dressed well—frequent successes among the women had rendered him extremely vain, and as he had too great an admiration for his own person to be possessed of any great share of it for that of any other, he enjoyed the pleasures of love, without being sensible of the pains. This darling of the fair it was, that Miss Betsy picked out to treat with the most peculiar marks of esteem, whenever she had a mind to give umbrage to poor Saving; much had that faithful lover suffered on the account of this fop; but the fair inflictor of his torments was punished for her insensibility and ingratitude, by a way her inexperience of the world, and the temper of mankind in general, had made her far from apprehending.
While the company were employed, some in dancing, and others in particular conversation, the beau found an opportunity to slip into Miss Betsy's hand a little billet, saying to her at the same time, 'You have got my heart, and this little bit of paper will convey to you the sentiments it is inspired with in your favour.' She, imagining it was either a sonnet or epistle, in praise of her beauty, received it with a smile, and put it in her pocket. After every body had taken leave, and she was retired to her chamber, she examined it, and found, to her great astonishment, the contents as follows—
'Dear Miss,
I must either be the most ungrateful, or most consumedly dull fellow upon earth, not to have returned the advances you have been so kind to make me, had the least opportunity offered for my doing so; but Lady Mellasin, her daughter, the fool Saving, or some impertinent creature or other, has always been in the way, so that there was not a possibility of giving you even the least earnest of love: but, my dear, I have found out a way to pay you the whole sum with interest; which is this—you must invent some excuse for going out alone, and let me know by a billet, directed for me at White's, the exact hour, and I will wait for you at the corner of the street in a hackney-coach, the window drawn up, and whirl you to a pretty snug place I know of, where we may pass a delicious hour or two without a soul to interrupt our pleasures. Let me find a line from you to-morrow, if you can any way contrive it, being impatient to convince you how much I am, my dear creature, yours, &c. &c.
J. Gayland.'
Impossible it is to express the mingled emotions of shame, surprize, and indignation, which filled the breast of Miss Betsy, on reading this bold invitation; she threw the letter on the ground, she stamped upon it, she spurned it, and would have treated the author in the same manner, had he been present; but the first transports of so just a resentment being over, a consciousness of having, by a too free behaviour towards him, emboldened him to take this liberty, involved her in the utmost confusion, and she was little less enraged with herself, than she had reason to be with him. She could have tore out her very eyes for having affected to look kindly upon a wretch who durst presume so far on her supposed affection; and though she spared those pretty twinklers that violence, she half drowned their lustre in a deluge of tears. Never was a night passed in more cruel anxieties than what she sustained; both from the affront she had received, and the reflection that it was chiefly the folly of her own conduct which had brought it on her; and what greatly added to her vexation, was the uncertainty how it would best become her to act on an occasion which appeared so extraordinary to her. She had no friend whom she thought it proper to consult; she was ashamed to relate the story to any of the discreet and serious part of her acquaintance; she feared their reproofs for having counterfeited a tenderness for a man, which she was now sensible she ought, if it had been real, rather to have concealed with the utmost care both from him and all the world; and as for Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, though their conduct inspired her not with any manner of awe, yet she thought she saw something in those ladies which did not promise much sincerity, and shewed as if they would rather turn her complaints into ridicule, than afford her that cordial and friendly advice she stood in need of.
These were the reasons which determined her to keep the whole thing a secret from every one. At first she was tempted to write to Gayland, and testify her disdain of his presumption in terms which should convince him how grossly his vanity had imposed upon him; but she afterwards considered that a letter from her was doing him too much honour, and though ever so reproachful, might draw another from him, either to excuse and beg pardon for the temerity of the former, or possibly to affront her a second time, by defending it, and repeating his request. She despised and hated him too much to engage in a correspondence with him of any kind, and therefore resolved, as it was certainly most prudent, not to let him have any thing under her hand, but when next she saw him to shew her resentment by such ways as occasion should permit.
He came not to Mr. Goodman's, however, for three days, possibly waiting that time for a letter from Miss Betsy; but on the fourth he appeared at Lady Mellasin's tea-table. There were, besides the family, several others present, so that he had not an opportunity of speaking in private to Miss Betsy; but the looks she gave him, so different from all he had ever seen her assume towards him, might have shewn any man, not blinded with his vanity, how much she was offended: but he imagining her ill-humour proceeded only from the want of means to send to him, came again the next day, and happening to find her alone in the parlour, 'What, my dear,' said he, taking her in a free manner by the hand, 'have you been so closely watched by your guardian and guardianesses here, that no kind moment offered for you to answer the devoirs of your humble servant?'—'The surest guardians of my fame and peace,' replied she, snatching her hand away, 'is the little share of understanding, I am mistress of, which I hope will always be sufficient to defend my honour in more dangerous attacks, than the rude impertinences of an idle coxcomb.'
These words, and the air with which they were spoke, one would think should have struck with confusion the person to whom they were directed: but Gayland was not so easily put out of countenance; and, looking her full in the face—'Ah, child!' cried he, 'sure you are not in your right senses today! "Understanding—impertinences—idle coxcomb!" Very pleasant, i'faith! but, upon my soul, if you think these airs become you, you are the most mistaken woman in the world!'—'It may be so,' cried she, ready to burst with inward spite at his insolence; 'but I should be yet more mistaken if I were capable of thinking a wretch like you worthy of any thing but contempt.' With these words she flung out of the room, and he pursued her with a horse-laugh, till she was out of hearing, and then went into the dining room, where he found Lady Mellasin, and several who had come to visit her.
Miss Betsy, who had gone directly to her own chamber, sent to excuse coming down to tea, pretending a violent headache, nor would be prevailed upon to join the company till she heard Gayland had taken his leave, which he did much sooner than usual, being probably a good deal disconcerted at the shock his vanity had received.
CHAPTER IV
Verifies the old proverb, that one affliction treads upon the heels of another
As Miss Betsy was prevented from discovering to any one the impudent attempt Gayland had made on her virtue, by the shame of having emboldened him to it by too unreserved a behaviour; so also the shame of the disappointment and rebuff he had received from her, kept him from saying any thing of what had passed between them; and this resolution on both sides rendered it very difficult for either of them to behave to the other, so as not to give some suspicion. Betsy could not always avoid seeing him when he came to Lady Mellasin's, for he would not all at once desist his visits for two reasons; first, because it might give occasion for an enquiry into the cause; and, secondly, because Miss Betsy would plume herself on the occasion, as having, by her scorn, triumphed over his audacity, and drove him from the field of battle. He therefore resolved to continue his visits for some time; and to pique her, as he imagined, directed all the fine things his common-place-book was well stored with, to Miss Flora, leaving the other wholly neglected.
But here he was little less deceived than he had been before in the sentiments of that young lady; the hatred his late behaviour had given her, and the utter detestation it had excited in her towards him, had for a time extinguished that vanity so almost inseparable from youth, especially when accompanied with beauty; and she rather rejoiced, than the contrary, to see him affect to