The reproach which Cecilia had received from young Delvile in the name
of his mother, determined her upon making this visit; for though, in
her present uncertainty, she wished only to see that family when
sought by themselves, she was yet desirous to avoid all appearance of
singularity, lest any suspicions should be raised of her sentiments.
Mrs Delvile received her with a cold civility that chilled and
afflicted her: she found her seriously offended by her long absence,
and now for the first time perceived that haughtiness of character
which hitherto she had thought only given to her by the calumny of
envy; for though her displeasure was undisguised, she deigned not to
make any reproaches, evidently shewing that her disappointment in the
loss of her society, was embittered by a proud regret for the kindness
she believed she had thrown away. But though she scrupulously forbore
the smallest complaint, she failed not from time to time to cast out
reflections upon fickleness and caprice the most satirical and
pointed.
Cecilia, who could not possibly avow the motives of her behaviour,
ventured not to offer any apology for her apparent negligence; but,
hitherto accustomed to the most distinguished kindness, a change to so
much bitterness shocked and overpowered her, and she sat almost wholly
silent, and hardly able to look up.
Lady Honoria Pemberton, a daughter of the Duke of Derwent, now came
into the room, and afforded her some relief by the sprightliness of
her conversation. This young lady, who was a relation of the Delviles,
and of a character the most airy and unthinking, ran on during her
whole visit in a vein of fashionable scandal, with a levity that the
censures of Mrs Delvile, though by no means spared, had no power to
[controul]: and, after having completely ransacked the topics of the
day, she turned suddenly to Cecilia, with whom during her residence in
St James’s-square she had made some acquaintance, and said, “So I
hear, Miss Beverley, that after half the town has given you to Sir
Robert Floyer, and the other half to my Lord Derford, you intend,
without regarding one side or the other, to disappoint them both, and
give yourself to Mr Marriot.”
“Me? no, indeed,” answered Cecilia, “your ladyship has been much
misinformed.”
“I hope so,” said Mrs Delvile, “for Mr Marriot, by all I ever heard of
him, seems to have but one recommendation, and that the last Miss
Beverley ought to value, a good estate.”
Cecilia, secretly delighted by a speech which she could not resist
flattering herself had reference to her son, now a little revived, and
endeavoured to bear some part in the conversation.
“Everybody one meets,” cried Lady Honoria, “disposes of Miss Beverley
to some new person; yet the common opinion is that Sir Robert Floyer
will be the man. But upon my word, for my own part, I cannot
conjecture how she will manage among them, for Mr Marriot declares
he’s determined he won’t be refused, and Sir Robert vows that he’ll
never give her up. So we none of us know how it will end; but I am
vastly glad she keeps them so long in suspence.”
“If there is any suspence,” said Cecilia, “I am at least sure it must
be wilful. But why should your ladyship rejoice in it?”
“O, because it helps to torment them, and keeps something going
forward. Besides, we are all looking in the news-papers every day, to
see when they’ll fight another duel for you.”
“Another?” cried Cecilia; “indeed they have never yet fought any for
me.”
“O, I beg your pardon,” answered her ladyship, “Sir Robert, you know,
fought one for you in the beginning of the winter, with that Irish
fortune-hunter who affronted you at the Opera.”
“Irish fortune-hunter?” repeated Cecilia, “how strangely has that
quarrel been misrepresented! In the first place, I never was affronted
at the Opera at all, and in the second, if your Ladyship means Mr
Belfield, I question if he ever was in Ireland in his life.”
“Well,” cried Lady Honoria, “he might come from Scotland, for aught I
know, but somewhere he certainly came from; and they tell me he is
wounded terribly, and Sir Robert has had all his things packed up this
month, that in case he should die, he may go abroad in a moment.”
“And pray where, Lady Honoria,” cried Mrs Delvile, “do you contrive to
pick up all this rattle?”
“O, I don’t know; everybody tells me something, so I put it all
together as well as I can. But I could acquaint you with a stranger
piece of news than any you have heard yet.”
“And what is that?”
“O, if I let you know it, you’ll tell your son.”
“No indeed,” said Mrs Delvile laughing, “I shall probably forget it
myself.”
She then made some further difficulty, and Cecilia, uncertain if she
was meant to be a party in the communication, strolled to a window;
where, however, as Lady Honoria did not lower her voice, she heard her
say “Why you must know I am told he keeps a mistress somewhere in
Oxford-Road. They say she’s mighty pretty; I should like vastly to see
her.”
The consternation of Cecilia at this intelligence would certainly have
betrayed all she so much wished to conceal, had not her fortunate
removal to the window guarded her from observation. She kept her post,
fearing to look round, but was much pleased when Mrs Delvile, with
great indignation answered “I am sorry, Lady Honoria, you can find any
amusement in listening to such idle scandal, which those who tell will
never respect you for hearing. In times less daring in slander, the
character of Mortimer would have proved to him a shield from all
injurious aspersions; yet who shall wonder he could not escape, and
who shall contemn the inventors of calumny, if Lady Honoria Pemberton
condescends to be entertained with it?”
“Dear Mrs Delvile,” cried Lady Honoria, giddily, “you take me too
seriously.”
“And dear Lady Honoria,” said Mrs Delvile, “I would it were possible
to make you take yourself seriously; for could you once see with
clearness and precision how much you lower your own dignity, while you
stoop to depreciate that of others, the very subjects that now make
your diversion, would then, far more properly, move your resentment.”
“Ay but, dear madam,” cried Lady Honoria, “if that were the case, I
should be quite perfect, and then you and I should never quarrel, and
I don’t know what we should do for conversation.”
And with these words, hastily shaking hands with her, she took leave.
“Such conversation,” said Mrs Delvile when she was gone, “as results
from the mixture of fruitless admonition with incorrigible levity,
would be indeed more honoured in the breach than the observance.
But levity is so much the fashionable characteristic of the present age,
that a gay young girl who, like Lady Honoria Pemberton, rules the friends
by whom she ought to be ruled, had little chance of escaping it.”
“She seems so open, however, to reproof,” said Cecilia, “that I should
hope in a short time she may also be open to conviction.”
“No,” answered Mrs Delvile, “I have no hope of her at all. I once took
much pains with her; but I soon found that the easiness with which she
hears of her faults, is only another effect of the levity with which
she commits them. But if the young are never tired of erring in
conduct, neither are the older in erring in judgment; the fallibility
of mine I have indeed very lately experienced.”
Cecilia, who strongly felt the poignancy of this sarcasm, and whose
constant and unaffected value of Mrs Delvile by no means deserved it,
was again silenced, and again most cruelly depressed: nor could she
secretly forbear repining that at the very moment she found herself
threatened with a necessity of foregoing the society of her new
favourite, Miss Belfield, the woman in the whole world whom she most
wished to have for her friend, from an unhappy mistake was ready to
relinquish her. Grieved to be thus fallen in her esteem, and shocked
that she could offer no justification, after a short and thoughtful
pause, she gravely arose to take leave.
Mrs Delvile then told her that if she had any business to transact
with Mr Delvile, she advised her to acquaint him with it soon, as the
whole family left town in a few days.
This was a new and severe blow to Cecilia, who sorrowfully repeated
“In a few days, madam?”
“Yes,” answered Mrs Delvile, “I hope you intend to be much concerned?”
“Ah madam!” cried Cecilia, who could no longer preserve her quietness,
“if you knew but half the respect I bear you, but half the sincerity
with which I value and revere you, all protestations would be useless,
for all accusations would be over!”
Mrs Delvile, at once surprised and softened by the warmth of this
declaration, instantly took her hand, and said “They shall now, and
for ever be over, if it pains you to hear them. I concluded that what
I said would be a matter of indifference to you, or all my displeasure
would immediately have been satisfied, when once I had intimated that
your absence had excited it.”
“That I have excited it at all,” answered Cecilia, “gives me indeed
the severest uneasiness; but believe me, madam, however unfortunately
appearances maybe against me, I have always had the highest sense of
the kindness with which you have honoured me, and never has there been
the smallest abatement in the veneration, gratitude, and affection I
have inviolably borne you.”
“You see, then,” said Mrs Delvile with a smile, that where reproof
takes any effect, it is not received: with that easiness you were just
now admiring: on the contrary, where a concession is made without
pain, it is also made without meaning, for it is not in human nature
to project any amendment without a secret repugnance. That here,
however, you should differ from Lady Honoria Pemberton, who can
wonder, when you are superior to all comparison with her in every
thing?”
“Will you then,” said Cecilia, “accept my apology, and forgive me?”
“I will do more,” said Mrs Delvile laughing, “I will forgive you
without an apology; for the truth is I have heard none! But
come,” continued she, perceiving Cecilia much abashed by this
comment, “I will enquire no more about the matter; I am glad to
receive my young friend again, and even half ashamed, deserving as she
is, to say how glad!”
She then embraced her affectionately, and owned she had been more
mortified by her fancied desertion than she had been willing to own
even to herself, repeatedly assuring her that for many years she had
not made any acquaintance she so much wished to cultivate, nor enjoyed
any society from which she had derived so much pleasure.
Cecilia, whose eyes glistened with modest joy, while her heart beat
quick with revived expectation, in listening to an effusion of praise
so infinitely grateful to her, found little difficulty in returning
her friendly professions, and, in a few minutes, was not merely
reconciled, but more firmly united with her than ever.
Mrs Delvile insisted upon keeping her to dinner, and Cecilia, but too
happy in her earnestness, readily agreed to send Mrs Harrel an excuse.
Neither of the Mr Delviles spent the day at home, and nothing,
therefore, disturbed or interrupted those glowing and delightful
sensations which spring from a cordial renewal of friendship and
kindness. The report, indeed, of Lady Honoria Pemberton gave her some
uneasiness, yet the flighty character of that lady, and Mrs Delvile’s
reply to it, soon made her drive it from her mind.
She returned home early in the evening, as other company was expected,
and she had not changed her dress since the morning; but she first
made a promise to see Mrs Delvile some part of every day during the
short time that she meant to remain in town.
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