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diff --git a/old/51922-0.txt b/old/51922-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4c742ea..0000000 --- a/old/51922-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9634 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny's First Novel - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51922] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - -By Frank Frankfort Moore. - -Author of “The Jessamy Bride,” “A Nest of Linnets,” “I Forbid the -'Banns,” Etc. - -London: Hutchinson & Co. Paternoster Row, E. C. - -1913 - - -[Illustration: 0001] - - -[Illustration: 0009] - - - - - -FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - - - - -CHAPTER I - -|INDEED, I am not quite assured in my mind that the influence of Mr. -Garrick upon such a family as ours is healthy,” said Mrs. Burney, when -the breakfast cups had been removed and the maid had left the room -in the little house in St. Martin's Street, off Leicester Fields. Dr. -Burney, the music-master, had not to hurry away this day: his first -lesson did not begin until noon; it was to be given at the mansion of -Mr. Thrale, the brewer, at Streatham, and the carriage was not to -call for him for another hour. He was glancing at the _Advertiser_ in -unaccustomed indolence, but when his wife had spoken he glanced up from -the paper and an expression of amused surprise was upon his face. His -daughter Fanny glanced up from the work-basket which her mother had -placed ready for her the moment that the breakfast-table had been -cleared, and the expression upon little Miss Burney's face was one that -had something of fright in it. She was too short-sighted to see the wink -which her brother James, lieutenant in His Majesty's navy, gave her, for -their stepmother had her back turned to him. But Mrs. Burney, without -seeing him, knew that, as he himself would phrase it, he had tipped -Fanny a wink. She turned quickly round upon him, and if she had -previously any doubt on this point, it was at once dispelled by the -solemnity of his face. - -Dr. Burney gave a laugh. - -“The influence of Mr. Garrick is like that of the air we breathe,” said -he. “It is not to be resisted by the age we live in, leaving family -matters out of the question altogether: the Burney family must inhale -as much of the spirit of Mr. Garrick as the rest of the town-they cannot -help themselves, _ces pauvres Burneys!_ they cannot live without Mr. -Garrick.” - -Mrs. Burney shook her head solemnly; so did Lieutenant James Burney, for -he had all his life been under the influence of Mr. Garrick, when the -atmosphere brought by Mr. Garrick was one of comedy. - -“My meaning is that Mr. Garrick is not content to allow simple people -such as ourselves to live as simple people,” said Mrs. Burney. “I -protest that I have felt it: the moment he enters our house we seem to -be in a new world-whatsoever world it is his whim to carry us to.” - -“That is the truth, my dear-he can do what he pleases with us and with -all the thousands who have flocked to his playhouse since his Goodman's -Fields days--he has made a fortune as a courier; transporting people -to another world for an hour or two every night--a world that is less -humdrum than this in which four beats go to every bar and every crotchet -goes to a beat! Dear soul! he has made our hearts beat at times beyond -all computation of time and space.” - -“You will herring-bone the edges neatly, Fanny: I noticed some lack of -neatness in the last of the napery that left your hand, my dear,” said -Mrs. Burney, bending over her stepdaughter at her work-basket; and, -indeed, it seemed that the caution was not unnecessary, for Fanny's eyes -were gleaming and she was handling her work with as great indifference -(for the moment) as though she esteemed plain sewing something of -drudgery rather than a delight. And now, having administered her timely -caution, the good lady turned to her husband, saying: - -“To my mind what you have claimed for Mr. Garrick but adds emphasis to -my contention that his visits have a disturbing influence upon a homely -family, taking them out of themselves, so to speak, and transporting -them far beyond the useful work of their daily life. I have noticed with -pain for some time past that Fanny's heart has not been in her work: -her cross-stitch has been wellnigh slovenly, and her herring-boning has -really been indifferent--I say it with sorrow; but dear Fanny is too -good a girl to take offence at my strictures, which she knows are honest -and meant for her good.” - -“Madam,” said Lieutenant Burney, “I pray you to give me leave to bear -you out; but at the same time to make excuses for Fan. I must do so in -justice to her, for the blame rests with me so far as the herring-boning -is concerned. I confess, with tears in my eyes, that 'twas I who -provided her with the last models for her herring-boning; and 'twas -surely some demon in my breast that prompted me to substitute the -skeleton of one of the South Sea fishes which I hooked when becalmed -with Captain Cook within sight of Otaheite, for the true herring whose -backbone is a model of regularity to be followed by all workers with the -needle, when deprived of the flesh, which is the staple fare of hundreds -of honest families and, while nourishing them amply, prevents their -thoughts from carrying them beyond the region pervaded by the smell of -their cooking.” - -“That were a wide enough area upon occasions for the most ambitious of -thinkers,” said Dr. Burney, controlling his features, seeing that his -wife took the ward-room humour of his son with dreadful seriousness. -He made a sign to James to go no further--but James had gone round the -world once, and he was not to be checked in a humbler excursion. - -“Yes, madam, 'tis my duty to confess that Fanny's model was the -flying-fish, and not the simple Channel herring, hence the failure to -achieve the beautiful regularity of design which exists in the backbone -of the latter from the figurehead to the stern, larboard sloping in one -direction and starboard in the other. If anyone be culpable 'tis myself, -not Fanny; but I throw myself on your mercy, and only implore that the -herring-boning of my sister will not result in a whaling for me.” - -Mrs. Burney looked seriously from her brother to Fanny, and getting no -cue from either, began: - -“'Tis indeed honourable for you to endeavour by your confession to -excuse the fault of your sister, James-----” - -“The traditions of the service, madam----” began the lieutenant, laying -his hand on his heart; but he got no further, for Fanny could restrain -herself no longer; she burst into a laugh and dropped her work, and her -father rose, holding up his hand. - -“The jest has gone far enough, James,” he said. “We sleep in beds in -this house and do not swing in hammocks. Keep your deep-sea jests until -you are out of soundings, if it please you.” - -“I ask your pardon, sir,” said James; “but i' faith there's many a -true word said in jest; and it seems to me that there's a moral in the -parable of the young woman who took the flying-fish of the South Seas -for her model rather than the herring of the three-fathom coast-line of -the Channel; and that moral touches close upon the complaint made by our -good mother against Mr. Garrick.” - -“Let it be so,” said Mrs. Burney, who was a clever enough woman to -perceive that it would be unwise to make a grievance of the impudence -of a young naval gentleman. “Let it be so; let it be that we are -simple, homely, wholesome herrings, we are none the better for such a -flying-fish as Mr. Garrick coming among us, giving us, it may be, the -notion that our poor fins are wings, and so urging us to make fools of -ourselves by emulating the eagle. The moral of your fable is that we -should keep to our own element--is not that so, sir?” - -“I' faith, madam, I am not sure but that 'tis so, and I haul down my -colours to you, and feel no dishonour in the act,” cried James. “Lord, -where should we all be to-day if it were not for the good women who -hold fast to the old traditions of the distaff and needle? They are the -women who do more for the happiness of men than all who pass their time -dipping quills in ink-horns or daubing paint upon good canvas that might -with luck be hung from a stunsail boom and add another knot to the log -of a frigate of seventy-two! Is there anyone who dines at the table of -Sir Joshua Reynolds round the corner that does not wish with all his -heart that his sister would sell her palette and buy a wine-glass or two -with the proceeds? Why, when we went to dinner at Sir Joshua's yesterday -there were not enough glasses to go round the table.” - -“There never are--that is well known,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“Nay, nay; let us take to ourselves the reproof of Dr. Johnson to Mr. -Boswell when he complained, loud enough almost for Sir Joshua himself to -hear him, about the scarcity of service. 'Sir,' said Dr. Johnson, 'some -who have the privilege of sitting at this table, and you are one of -them, sir, will be wiser if they keep their ears open and their mouths -shut than they would if they had the means of drinking all that you are -longing to drink.'” - -“Mr. Boswell, in spite of the reproof, contrived to lurch from the table -with more wine than wisdom 'tween decks,” remarked James. - -“He must have found a wine-glass,” said Miss Susy Burney, who had been -quite silent but quite attentive to every word that had been spoken -since breakfast-time. - -“And so the honour of Mrs. Reynolds's housekeeping is saved,” said Dr. -Burney. - -“Nay, sir, is not Mr. Boswell a Scotsman?” cried the irrepressible -James. - -“That is his lifelong sorrow, since he fancies it to be an insuperable -barrier between his idol, Dr. Johnson, and himself,” replied his father. -“But how does his Scotsmanship bear upon the wine-glass question?” - -“Ah, sir, without being versed in the subtleties of theology I make bold -to think that Father Adam did not suffer hunger until knives and forks -were invented,” said James. “Your drouthy Scot will drink straight from -the bottle if no beaker be at hand. Oh, why was not Mr. Garrick at Sir -Joshua's to rouse our spirits by his imitation of Mr. Boswell seeking -for a wine-glass--and after?” - -“Mr. Boswell is too trivial a subject for Davy: I have seen him take off -Dr. Johnson mixing a bowl of punch until I was like to die of laughter. -I protest that when he came to the squeezing of the imaginary lemon, -while he cried out in the Doctor's broadest Lichfield, 'Who's for -poonch?' I could smell the acid juice,” said Dr. Burney, and he laughed -at the recollection of Garrick's fooling. - -The naval man gave a resounding nautical smack to his thigh. - -“That is what 'tis to be a sailor,” he cried. “I have had no chance of -seeing Mr. Garrick at his best. I should dearly like to hear him take -off Mr. Boswell when three sheets in the wind. Why was he not with us -yesterday?” - -“Mr. Garrick himself has had a drinking bout on. He has been at the -Wells for the past fortnight,” said his father. - -“_Ecce signum!_” came a doleful voice from the door, and a little man -slowly put round the jamb a face bearing such an expression of -piteous nausea as caused everyone in the room--not even excepting Mrs. -Burney--to roar with laughter--uncontrollable laughter. - -Then the expression on the little man's face changed to one of surprised -indignation. He crept into the room and looked at every person therein -with a different expression on his face for each--a variation of his -original expression of disgust and disappointment mingled with doleful -reproof. It seemed as if it was not a single person who had entered the -room, but half a dozen persons--a whole doleful and disappointed family -coming upon an unsympathetic crew convulsed with hilarity. - -And then he shook his head sadly. - -“And these are the people who have just heard that I have been taking -the nauseous waters of Tunbridge Wells for a whole fortnight,” and there -was a break in his voice. “Oh, Friendship, art thou but a name? Oh, -Sympathy, art thou but a mask? Is the world of sentiment nothing more -than a world of shadows? Have all the sweet springs of compassion dried -up, leaving us nothing but the cataracts of chalybeate to nauseate the -palate?” - -He looked round once more, and putting the tips of his fingers together, -glanced sadly up to the ceiling, then sighed and turned as if to leave -the room. - -“Nay, sir,” cried Dr. Burney, “I do not believe that the chalybeate -cataracts still flow: 'tis my firm belief, from the expression of your -face, that you have swallowed the whole spring--the Wells of Tunbridge -must have been dried up by you before you left--your face betrays you. -I vow that so chalybeate an expression could not be attained by lesser -means.” - -“Sir, you do me honour, and you have a larger faith in me than my own -physician,” said the little man, brightening up somewhat. “Would you -believe that he had the effrontery to accuse me of shirking the hourly -pailful that he prescribed for me?” - -“He had not seen you as we have, Mr. Garrick,” said Dr. Burney. - -“He accused me of spending my days making matches and making mischief -in the Assembly Rooms and only taking the waters by sips--me, sir, that -have so vivid a memory of Mr. Pope's immortal lines: - - A little sipping is a dangerous tiling, - - Drink deep or taste not the chalybeate spring!” - -“You were traduced, my friend--but tell us of the matches and the -mischief and we shall be the more firmly convinced of your integrity.” - -“Nay, sir; I give you my word that 'twas but the simplest of -matches--not by any means of the sort that yonder desperado fresh -from the South Seas applies to the touch-hole of one of his horrible -ten-pounders when the enemy's frigate has to be sunk--nay, a simple -little match with no more powder for it to burn than may be found on -the wig of a gentleman of fifty-two and on the face of a lady of -forty-five--the one a gay bachelor, t'other a ripe widow--' made for one -another,' said I; and where was the mischief in that? And if I ventured -to broach the subject of the appropriateness of the union of the twain, -and to boast under the inspiring influence of the chalybeate spring that -I could bring it about, is there anyone that will hint that I was not -acting out of pure good nature and a desire to make two worthy folk -happy--as happy as marriage can make any two-----” - -“Give us their names, sir, and let us judge on that basis,” said Dr. -Bumey. - -“I have no desire to withhold them, my dear Doctor; for I want you to -back me up, and I am sure that--oh, Lord! here comes the man himself. -For the love of heaven, back me up, Doctor, and all will be well.” - -“Nay, I will not be dragged by the hair of the head into any of your -plots, my friend,” cried Burney. “Nay, not I. I have some reputation to -maintain, good friend Garrick; you must play alone the part of Puck that -you have chosen for yourself this many a year. Think not that you will -induce me to study the character under you, and so thus-----” - -The manservant threw open the door of the room, announcing: - -“Mr. Kendal to wait upon you, sir.” - -But by the time a small and rather rotund gentleman had been ushered -into the room, Mr. Garrick was apparently engaged in an animated -conversation with Miss Burney on the subject of the table-cover at which -she was working. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -|THE visitor walked with the short strut of the man who at least does -not underrate his own importance in the world. But he suggested just -at the moment the man who is extremely nervous lest he may not appear -perfectly selfpossessed. There was an air of bustle about him as he -strutted into the room, saying: - -“Dr. Burney, I am your servant, sir. I have done myself the honour to -visit you on a rather important piece of business.” - -“Sir, you have conferred honour upon me,” said Dr. Burney. - -Then the gentleman seemed to become aware for the first time that there -were other people in the room; but it was with an air of reluctance that -he felt called on to greet the others. - -“Mrs. Burney, I think,” he said, bowing to that lady, “and her estimable -family, I doubt not. Have I not had the privilege of meeting Mrs. Burney -at the house of--of my friend--my esteemed friend, Mrs. Barlowe? And -this gentleman of the Fleet--ha, to be sure I have heard that there was -a Lieutenant Burney of the Navy! And--gracious heavens! Mr. Garrick!” - -Mr. Garrick had revealed himself from the recesses of Miss Burney's -work-basket. He, at any rate, was sufficiently self-possessed to pretend -to be vastly surprised. He raised both his hands, crying: - -“Is it possible that this is Mr. Kendal? But surely I left you at the -Wells no later than--now was it not the night before last? You were the -cynosure of the Assembly Rooms, sir, if I may make bold to say so. But -I could not look for you to pay attention to a poor actor when you were -receiving the attentions of the young, and, may I add without offence, -the fair? But no, sir; you will not find that I am the one to tell tales -out of school, though I doubt not you have received the congratulations -of----” - -“There you go, sir, just the same as the rest of them!” cried the -visitor. “Congratulations! felicitations! smiles of deep meaning -from the ladies, digs in the ribs with suggestive winks from the -gentlemen--people whose names I could not recall--whom I'll swear I had -never spoken to in my life--that is why I left the Wells as hastily as -if a tipstaff had been after me--that is why I am here this morning, -after posting every inch of the way, to consult Dr. Burney as to my -position.” - -“I protest, sir, that I do not quite take you,” said Mr. Garrick, with -the most puzzled expression on his face that ever man wore. “Surely, -sir, your position as a man of honour is the most enviable one possible -to imagine! Mrs. Nash----” - -“There you blurt out the name, Mr. Garrick, and that is what I had no -intention of doing, even when laying my case before Dr. Burney, who is -a man of the world, and whom I trust to advise me what course I should -pursue.” - -“I ask your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Garrick humbly; “but if the course -you mean to pursue has aught to do with the pursuit of so charming a -lady, and a widow to boot----” - -“How in the name of all that's reasonable did that gossip get about?” - cried the visitor. “I give you my word that I have not been pursuing the -lady--I met her at the Wells for the first time a fortnight ago--pursuit -indeed!” - -“Nay, sir, I did not suggest that the pursuit was on your part,” said -Garrick in a tone of irresistible flattery. “But 'tis well known that as -an object of pursuit of the fair ones, the name of Mr. Kendal has been -for ten years past acknowledged without a peer.” - -The gentleman held up a deprecating hand, but the smile that was on his -face more than neutralized his suggestion. - -“Nay, Mr. Garrick, I am but a simple country gentleman,” he cried. “To -be sure, I have been singled out more than once for favours that might -have turned the head of an ordinary mortal--one of them had a fortune -and was the toast of the district; another----” - -“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, the Miss Burneys and myself will take -our leave of you: we have household matters in our hands,” said Mrs. -Burney, making a sign to Fanny and her sister, and going toward the -door. - -“Have I said too much, madam? If so, I pray of you to keep my secret,” - cried the visitor. “The truth is that I have confidence in the advice of -Dr. Burney as a man of the world.” - -“I fear that to be a man of the world is to be of the flesh and the -devil as well,” said Dr. Burney. - -“Augmented qualifications for giving advice on an affair of the Wells,” - said Garrick slyly to the naval lieutenant. - -“You will not forget, Doctor, that Mr. Thrale's carriage is appointed to -call for you within the hour,” said Mrs. Burney over her shoulder as she -left the room. - -Fanny and her sister were able to restrain themselves for the few -minutes necessary to fly up the narrow stairs, but the droll glance that -Mr. Garrick had given them as they followed their mother, wellnigh made -them disgrace themselves by bursting out within the hearing of their -father's visitor. But when they reached the parlour at the head of the -stairs and had thrown themselves in a paroxysm of laughter on the sofa, -Mrs. Burney reproved them with some gravity. - -“This is an instance, if one were needed, of the unsettling influence of -Mr. Garrick,” she said. “He has plainly been making a fool of that -conceited gentleman, and it seems quite likely that he will persuade your -father to back him up.” - -“I do not think that Mr. Garrick could improve greatly upon Nature's -handiwork in regard to that poor Mr. Kendal,” said Fanny. “But what -would life be without Mr. Garrick?” - -“It would be more real, I trust,” said her stepmother. “He would have -us believe that life is a comedy, and that human beings are like the -puppets which Mr. Foote put on his stage for the diversion of the town a -few years ago.” - -Fanny Burney became grave; the longer she was living in the world, -the more impressed was she becoming with the idea that life was a -puppet-show; only when the puppets began to dance on their wires in a -draught of wind from another world the real comedy began. She felt that -as an interpreter of life Mr. Garrick had no equal on the stage or off. -On the stage he could do no more than interpret other people's notions -of life, and these, except in the case of Shakespeare, were, she -thought, mostly feeble; but when he was off the stage--well, Sir Joshua -Reynolds had told her what that queer person, Dr. Goldsmith, had written -about Garrick--the truest criticism Garrick had ever received: “'Twas -only that when he was off he was acting.” She knew what she herself owed -to Garrick from the time she was nine years old, when he had accustomed -her and her sister to look for him at their house almost daily; she knew -that whatever sense of comedy she possessed--and she looked on it as -a precious possession--was to be attributed to the visits of Garrick. -Every time she looked at her carefully locked desk in that room at the -top of the house in St. Martin's Street, which had once been Sir Isaac -Newton's observatory, she felt that without the tuition in comedy that -she had received at the hands of Mr. Garrick, the contents of that -desk would have been very different. Her stepmother, however, had no -information on this point; she had lived all her life among the good -tradespeople of Lynn, and had known nothing of Mr. Garrick until Dr. -Burney had married her and brought her to look after his children, which -Fanny knew she had done faithfully, according to her lights, in London. - -Fanny kept silent on the subject of Mr. Garrick's fooling, while Mrs. -Burney bent with great gravity over the cutting out of a pinafore for -Fanny's little niece--also a Burney; and every now and again there came -from the closed room downstairs the sound of the insisting voice of the -visitor. She hoped that Mr. Garrick would re-enact the scene for her; -she had confidence that it would lose nothing by its being re-enacted by -Mr. Garrick. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -|I SUPPOSE that I must e'en follow in the wake of the womenkind,” said -Lieutenant Burney, making an extremely slow move in the direction of the -door, when the door had been closed upon his stepmother and his sisters. - -“Is there any need?” asked Garrick. “It seems to me that in such a -case as this which Mr. Kendal promises to propound to your father, His -Majesty's Navy should be represented. In all matters bearing upon a -delicate _affaire de cour_ surely a naval man should be present to act -as assessor.” - -'Mr. Kendal looked puzzled. - -“I fail to take your meaning, sir,” said he, after a pause; he was still -rubbing his chin with a fore-finger, when Garrick cried: - -“Oh, sir, surely the advantage of the counsel of an officer trained to -navigate femininity in the shape of a ship, is apparent: a ship, even -though a three-decker ready to fire a broadside of a hundred guns, is -invariably alluded to as 'she,'” said he, airily. - -“Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in -the world,” said Mr. Kendal. - -“By no means,” said Garrick. “During my career as the manager of a -playhouse I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval -officer in dealing with feminine craft--at times off a lee shore, and -often during a storm at sea--nothing to be compared to the tempests in -our green-room--is certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant -Burney, if it please you.” - -“I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir,” said -young Burney, “unless you are convinced that my humble services----” - -“You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are -acquainted with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all -of the feminine gender--I allude to your sloops and frigates and -catamarans--I take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its -ways as any wherry that floats,” cried Garrick. Then he turned to their -visitor, who was looking more puzzled than ever. - -“You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend, -sir,” he said. “So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with -a possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a -gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize, -Mr. Kendal.” This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone, -the visitor perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to -a seat. - -“I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about,” he said. -“And though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I -doubt not that you will take my part, should the worst come to the -worst.” - -“Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney,” said -Garrick. - -“Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of -your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should -manoeuvre for,” cried the nautical assessor. - -Dr. Burney sat silently by, he had no mind to join in the fooling of -the others. Dr. Burney had never in his life lost a sense of his own -dignity. He had been a church organist for thirty years, and no man -who has had such an experience of the control of an instrument of such -superlative dignity could be otherwise than dignified. He had never -once run off on a keyboard a single phrase of “The Beggar's Opera.” Even -Handel's “Ruddier than the Cherry,” with Mr. Gay's ticklish rhymed -line about “Kidlings blithe and merry,” he only played apologetically, -allowing it to be clearly understood that Mr. Handel and Mr. Gay divided -between them the responsibility for so frivolous a measure. - -He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on -their fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the -lack of dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the -wife of the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi -while he was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern -fervour of expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part -at the time; but no one--least of all Mrs. Thrale herself--could have -foreseen that her contrition should extend so far as to cause her to -marry the singer on the death of Mr. Thrale. - -“To be brief, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he -had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much -more sympathetic. “To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has -been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not -making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I -may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped, -to everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any -other lady.” - -“I do not doubt that you believe this, sir,” said Garrick, with an -indulgent wave of the hand; “but when a lady has eyes only for one -gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of -his civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray -proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells -that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not -boldly said to Lady-------- no; I dare not mention her name; but her -ladyship is invariably what the Italians term _simpatica_ in regard to -the tender affairs of her sisters--and it was to her that Mrs. Nash -confided her secret--referring to you as bearing a striking resemblance -to the Apollo Belvedere, hoping that her doing so would not cause anyone -to accuse her of Pagan leanings.” - -“Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I -can justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair,” said Mr. -Kendal. - -“You are quite right, sir; is it a man's fault that he should bear a -striking likeness to the Apollo--I doubt not that the resemblance has -caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal,” - said Garrick. - -“Never, sir, never--at least----” he took a step to one side that -allowed of his having a full-length view of his reflection in the narrow -mirror that filled up the space between the windows; and the result of -his scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to him. He -boldly put forward a leg, and then quite unconscious, as anyone could -see, struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo Belvedere. -Then he smirked. - -“A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your -head, is a great responsibility,” said Garrick seriously. “The poor -lady!--poor ladies!--I confess that I have heard of others. And she -acknowledged to you that--that--oh, that most delicate of secrets!” - -“Never to me, sir--never in my hearing, I give you my word,” cried -the man emphatically. “Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The -first intimation that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning -last--only three days ago--Captain Kelly--the boisterous Irishman--clapt -me on the shoulder and almost shouted out his congratulations in my -ear. When I forced him to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my -denial--his forefinger in my ribs--painful as well as undignified. Who -is Captain Kelly, that he should subject me to his familiarities? But -if he was undignified, I flatter myself that I was not so. 'Sir, you -presume,' I said, and walked on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with -laughter.” - -“Psha! Kelly is a nobody,” said Garrick. “You should not have allowed -yourself to be discomposed by such as he.” - -“Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had -advanced no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly -by Sir John Dingle?--you know him, Mr. Garrick--I have seen him in -your company--more congratulations--the same attitude, sir. And then -up marches Mr. Sheridan--leaving his handsome wife--ah, I fear that I -joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley--and -Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. -Up comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set -her down when she saw me--up went the roof and up went her head, with -a shrill cry of 'Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save -only myself that Benedick is to be a married man!' And before she had -finished her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman -behind her with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted -only for a special night in the Rooms, and her 'Happy man!' came with a -flick of her fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the -last--I saw them hurrying up to me from all sides--ladies with smiles, -and gentlemen with smirks--fingers twitching for my ribs--down they -flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and -I am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion--I ask you, if -I was not justified in turning about and hastening away--what you -nautical gentlemen term 'cutting my cable '?” - -“Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no -encouragement, I would say that--that--but no one will convince me that -upon some occasion--it may be forgotten by you--such men of fashion as -yourself soon forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy lady -treasures them as golden memories--I say upon some occasion you may have -given the Widow Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a sly -rogue to maintain, Mr. Kendal,” said young Burney gravely, as though he -were a lawyer being seriously consulted. - -“Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement,” cried Mr. Kendal. “I have -ever been most cautious, I swear.” - -“Then the greater shame for you, sir,” said Garrick. - -The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at -Lieutenant Burney--Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was smiling -quite unnoticed in a corner. His part, apparently, was no more than that -of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the others. - -“The more shame--the more----” began the visitor. “I protest that I -scarcely take your meaning, Mr. Garrick.” - -“My meaning is plain, sir,” said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. “I -affirm that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so -deeply enamoured of you----” - -“But I did not perceive it--you have my word for it.” - -“Ah, sir,” said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had -studied for some months in Paris--Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield -had alone mastered the art. “Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here. -'Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the -Belvedere Apollo and the leg of--of----” he turned to young Burney-- “You -have seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships of the line, Mr. -Burney,” he said; “prithee help me out in my search for--for--the name I -am in search of.” - -“H'm, let me see--something wooden with a leg to be proud of?” said the -naval gentleman, considering the matter very earnestly. - -“Zounds, sir, I did not make it a condition that it should be a wooden -leg,” cried Garrick. - -“I have seen more than one Admiral of the Fleet mighty proud of a wooden -leg, sir,” said Burney. “But this is beside the question, which I -take to be the responsibility of our good friend here--I hope I don't -presume, Mr. Kendal--for kindling, albeit unconsciously, so far as he -was concerned--that sacred flame in the breast of--to name only one out -of a score--the lady whose name he mentioned.” - -“You are with me heart and soul, as I felt sure you would be, Mr. -Burney; as a naval officer of judgment and experience,” cried Garrick, -“and so, sir--” he turned to their visitor-- “I cannot doubt that you -will comport yourself as a gentleman of honour in this affair. Do not -allow your yielding to the natural impulse to run away to weigh too -heavily upon you. If your act should cause you to be referred to with -reprobation, not to say scorn, by the ladies or gentlemen of fashion who -are certain to espouse the cause of the lady, your subsequent conduct -will show them that they mistook your character. And I promise you that -should you receive a challenge from any of the lady's admirers--those -whose prayers she rejected because her heart was set on a gentleman who -was worthy of her choice--I think you can afford to ignore them, having -won the prize. Ah, sir, is there not a poet who says that every man that -lives has a good angel and a bad one contending for dominion over him? -That is the truth, Mr. Kendal, and I see that your good angel is none -other than the lady whose name I reckon too sacred to pass our lips at -such a time as this. Ah, sir, think of her, and let your mind go back to -the days of your happy boyhood, and say if the mother at whose knees you -knelt did not resemble her. The affection of a son for his mother--let -that plead for the lady who esteems you with more than a mother's love.” - -He had laid his hand on the poor gentleman's shoulder, and was looking -into his face, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice broke -more than once. - -And there sat Dr. Burney wiping his eyes, and Lieutenant Burney -blubbering away like any child--the two accessories to the actor's -farce could not avoid yielding to the-influence of his unparalleled art. -Though they were in his secret, he made fools of them as easily as he -made a fool of the poor gentleman who was presumably his victim. And -they had no feeling of being ashamed of yielding to his powers. He could -do anything that he pleased with them. He could do anything he pleased -with the multitudes before whom he acted. He was the master of their -emotions for the time being. He played upon their passions as though -every passion was a puppet and the strings in his own hands. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -|THE scene ended by Mr. Garrick's victim groping through his tears -for Mr. Garrick's hand. He grasped it emotionally, and though for some -moments he was too greatly overcome to be able to utter a word, yet at -last he managed to blurt out with affecting incoherence a few phrases. - -“Say no more--say no more, sir,” he muttered. “I have a heart--a -heart! I give you my word, whether you believe me or not, that I had no -notion--but you have shown me what 'tis to be a woman. Oh, sir, there -is no sweeter sex in the world! Deception! how a man's own heart may -deceive him--ay, up to a certain point--but then--ah, you have taught -me--but are you sure that the lady--what--have we not been going ahead -too fast? What--what; are you convinced?” - -“You may take my word for it, sir,” replied Garrick. “There are signs -that all who run may read. What, do you suppose that all those persons -of quality whose names you mentioned just now as having offered you -their felicitations--do you suppose that they could all be in error?” - -“Of course not--they must have seen--well, more than I saw,” said the -man. “Matrimony! Lud! if an angel had come down to tell me that I should -be contemplating such a change of life--and at my time of life too!--I -should have----” - -“What an angel may fail to convince a man of, a woman may succeed in -doing, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick sententiously. “But do not talk of your -time of life as if you were an old or even a middle-aged man, sir. To do -so were to make Dr. Burney and myself feel patriarchs.” - -The mention of Dr. Burney seemed to cause the man to recollect how it -was he came to be in Dr. Burney's house. He turned to Burney, saying: - -“Dear sir, I pray that you will look on my visit with lenient eyes. -I admit that I came hitherto be advised by you--my friend, Mr. Fulke -Greville, holds your opinion in the highest esteem, as do I, sir; and it -was actually on my mind to ask you if you thought it would be wiser for -me to go abroad for a year or two, or simply to seek some place of -retirement at home--say, Cornwall or the Hebrides--I gather from the -account of Dr. Johnson's tour thither that there are many places -difficult of access in the Hebrides--that was on my mind, Doctor, I -blush to acknowledge, so greatly overcome was I by what had happened at -the Wells.” - -“Ah, with what great ease a man may slam the door that shuts out -happiness from his life for evermore!” remarked Garrick. - -“Even now--even now I feel timid,” said Mr. Kendal thoughtfully, and, -when he had found which pocket his handkerchief was in, wiping some dew -from his brow. “The truth is, Doctor, that I have allowed some people to -assume that I am but forty-seven years old, while as a matter of fact I -have been forty-eight for some time.” - -“For some years?” asked young Burney, who did not know when he should -keep silence. - -“For some months, sir--only for some months, I give you my word.” - -“Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation -for accuracy,” said Garrick coolly. “For I vow that were you to confess -that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you.” - -The gentleman's eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again -manoeuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. -He put out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master -giving the _pas_ for the _minuet de cour_. - -“Well, well,” he cried, “if that be your opinion--and I happen to -know that 'tis shared by others--it might not be unwise to allow the -assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive -the good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight--What -is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan's that took the town a year -ago?--ah, _The School for Scandal_--you are sure that our friends will -not call me--What was the gentleman's name?” - -“No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you -either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick. - -“No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I -was thinking of--was it not Sir Peter Teazle?” - -Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment -suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina, -the actor. - -“Make your mind easy on that score, sir,” said Dr. Burney. “It is not -your purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was -where Sir Peter showed his folly.” - -“No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked -in the part,” said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was -about to agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a -chance. - -“There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal--ay, sir, -and look on you with envy as well,” he cried. - -“There can be no doubt about it,” said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. “The widow -Nash is a monstrous fine woman.” - -“Monstrous, I doubt not,” put in young Burney, now that he had the -chance. - -“All that I am uneasy about is the interpretation that she may put upon -your sudden flight,” said Garrick. “You have, you will readily allow, -sir, placed her in a somewhat difficult position at the Wells. While -everyone who is anyone has been offering you congratulations upon the -match, and a double portion to the lady, strange inquiries may be made -as to your disappearance from the Wells; and she may not be able to give -a satisfactory explanation at a moment's notice.” - -“Egad! I never thought of that, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, after a pause. “I -fear that I have placed her in a very awkward position.” - -“Ay, sir; and the consequences may be that she will be snapped up by -some adventurous person before you can put your fate to the test,” - said the naval man, raising a warning finger. “I have heard of ladies -throwing themselves into the arms of the next comer out of sheer chagrin -at being disappointed by the man on whom they had set their affections.” - -“That is a possibility that should not be neglected,” said Garrick. -“But it was only on Monday that you fled. By rapid posting you may yet -prevent such a calamity.” - -He was beginning to tire of his game now that he had succeeded so -well in it and so easily. The fooling of the man who had so completely -succumbed to his art had no further interest for him. He only wanted to -get rid of him. He was as capricious and as fickle as a child over the -toys of its nursery. - -“I shall lose no moment, be assured,” said Mr. Kendal. “I may still be -in time. My hope in this direction is increased when I remember that -the lady has been a widow for some years--to be exact, without being -uncomplimentary, nine years. I remember when Mr. Nash died. 'Twas of -pleurisy.” - -“Do not reckon too confidently on that, sir,” said young Burney. “Nine -years have not passed since she faced the company at the Wells, every -one of which was surely pointing at her and asking in mute eloquence, -'What has become of Mr. Kendal?' But by posting without delay you may -yet retrieve your error. Still, I confess to you that I have known of a -lady who, out of sheer impatience at the delay of a lover whom she -had hoped to espouse, married his rival after the lapse of twenty-four -hours--ay, and when the belated gentleman arrived just after the -ceremony, he furnished the wedding party with a succulent feast. She -was the Queen of one of the islands that we visited in the company of -Captain Cook, and the cockswain of our galley kept the pickled hand of -the belated lover for many a day--the very hand which he had designed to -offer the lady.” - -“This simple and affecting narrative proves more eloquently than any -phrases of mine could possibly do how a man may miss the happiness of -his life by a hair's breadth,” said Garrick. “And the lesson will not be -lost upon you, I am certain, sir.” - -“Lud, Mr. Garrick, you do not mean to suggest that----” - -“That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, -Mr. Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on -the whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of -the woman scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so -primeval, in the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island -of the South Seas. Therefore--there is no time to be lost. Fly to your -charmer, sir, and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over -some punishment for your having placed her in a false position for some -days; but do not mind that. You can always console yourself with the -reflection that a rod in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in -pickle. Fly, my dear friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word -for it, joy awaits you at the end of your journey.” - -“'Journeys end in lovers meeting,'” remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight -suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master, -Dr. Arne. - -At this moment a servant entered the room. - -“The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir,” he announced. - -Dr. Burney rose from his chair. - -“I am forced to leave you, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendal. “But really -there is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you -are impatient--it is but natural--to fly to the side of your charmer.” - -“I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my -obligation to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?” cried Mr. -Kendal. - -Dr. Burney smiled. - -“Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has -been played,” said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had -defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal -was thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to -appreciate such _nuances_. - -“I knew that I was safe in coming to a friend of Mr. Greville,” he said. -“I care not if, as you suggest, you have become Mr. Garrick's successor -at Drury Lane, though I thought that Mr. Sheridan----” - -“Zounds, sir, you are never going to wait to discuss theatre matters,” - cried Garrick. “Dr. Burney has been exercising his powers of oratory in -vain upon you for this half hour if you tarry even to thank him. Post, -sir, post at once to Tunbridge Wells, and send Dr. Burney your thanks -when you have put the momentous question to the lady. Go, sir, without -the pause of a moment, and good luck attend you.” - -“Good luck attend you! Keep up your heart, sir: the lady may refuse -you after all,” said young Burney; but the poor gentleman who was being -hurried away was too much flurried to be able to grasp the young man's -innuendo, though one could see by the look that came to his face that -he had an uneasy impression that Lieutenant Burney's good wishes had not -been happily expressed. The great thing, however, was that he was at -the other side of the door, calling out his obligations to everyone, -and striving to shake hands with them all at once and yet preserve the -security of his hat, which he had tucked under his arm. So excited was -he that he was only restrained at the last moment from mounting the -Thrales' carriage which was awaiting Dr. Burney, and even when his -mistake was explained to him, he took off his hat to the splendid -footman who had guarded the door of the vehicle. - -In the room where the comedy had been played, Garrick and Lieutenant -Burney had thrown themselves into chairs with roars of laughter, when -Dr. Burney returned from the hall, carrying his hat and cane. He was -scarcely smiling. - -“You have played a pretty prank upon an inoffensive gentleman, the pair -of you!” said he. “I am ashamed that my house has been used by you for -so base a purpose! The poor gentleman!” - -“Psha! my dear Doctor, make your mind easy; the lady will teach that -coxcomb a lesson that will be of advantage to him for the rest of his -life,” said Garrick. “He has been the laughingstock of the Wells for the -past fortnight, and no one laughed louder than the Widow Nash. She will -bundle him out of her presence before he has had time to rise from his -marrow-bones--he does not find the process a rapid one, I assure you. -Oh, he was her _bete noire_ even when he was most civil to her.” - -“And it was you who concocted that plot of getting all your -friends--Mrs. Cholmondeley, Mrs. Thrale and the rest--to make a fool of -him, driving him away from the Wells to encounter a more irresistible -pair of mocking demons in this room!” said Burney. “You cannot deny it, -my friend, I know your tricks but too well.” - -“I swear to you that I had no hope of encountering him in this house, my -dear Doctor,” said Garrick. “I give you my word that I had laid my -plans quite differently. My plot was a far more elaborate one, and Polly -Cholmondeley had agreed to take part in it, as well as Dick Sheridan. -They will be disappointed to learn that it has miscarried. Who could -guess that he should come to you of all men in the world, Doctor? He has -never been one of your intimates.” - -“Only when I was living with Mr. Greville had we more than a superficial -acquaintance,” replied Burney. “But that does not make me the less -ashamed of having lent myself to your nefarious project. And you, James, -you threw yourself with gusto into the fooling of the unhappy man--and -woman too--and woman too, I repeat.” - -“Pray do not distress yourself on her account, Doctor. She will send him -off with a flea in his ear by to-morrow night, and she will take care -to pose as the insulted widow of Mr. Nash, whose memory is dear to her,” - said Garrick. - -“Will she, indeed?” said Burney. “David Garrick, you are the greatest -actor that has ever lived in England--probably in the world--but you are -a poor comedian compared with such as are at work upon our daily life: -we call them Circumstance, and Accident, and Coincidence. You know the -couplet, I doubt not: - - ' Men are the sport of circumstances when - - The circumstances seem the sport of men.' - -You have sounded the depths of human impulses, so far as your plummet -allows you, and womankind seems to you an open book----” - -“An illuminated missal, with the prayers done in gold and the Lessons -for the day in the most roseate tint, Doctor.” - -“And the Responses all of a kind--the same in one book as another? But I -make bold to believe, my friend, that every woman is a separate volume, -of which only one copy has been printed; and, moreover, that every -separate volume of woman is sealed, so that anyone who fancies he knows -all that is bound up between the covers, when he has only glanced at the -binding, makes a mistake.” - -“Admirably put, sir, and, I vow, with fine philosophy,” said Garrick. -“But what imports this nomination of a woman at the present moment, -Doctor?” - -“Its import is that you are over sanguine in your assurance that Mrs. -Nash, widow, will reject Mr. Kendal, bachelor, when he offers her his -hand after a dusty journey; and so good day to you, David Garrick, and -I pray you to spend the rest of the day in the study of the history -of those women who have opened the leaves of their lives a little way -before the eyes of mankind.” - -He had left the room and was within the waiting carriage and driving -away before his son remarked: - -“Mr. Garrick, it seems to me that my good father has spoken the wisest -words that you or I have heard to-day or for many a day.” - -“And i' faith, James, it seems to me that that remark of yours is the -second wisest that has been uttered in this room,” said Garrick. - -He went away without a further word--without even taking his leave of -the two young women and their stepmother, who herself had been a widow -before she had married Dr. Burney. He had once believed that nothing -a woman--young or old--could do would surprise him; for some reason or -other he was not now quite so confident as he had been. But he certainly -did not think that one of the greatest surprises of the century should -be due to the demure young woman who seemed the commonplace daughter of -a very ordinary household, and who at the moment of his departure was -darning a small hole in a kitchen table-cloth, under the superintendence -of her admirable stepmother. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -|IN the course of the morning Esther, the married daughter of the Bumey -family, called at the house in St. Martin's Street. Esther, or as she -was usually alluded to by her sisters, Hetty or Hettina, was handsome -and accomplished. She had been married for some years to her cousin, -Charles Rousseau Burney, who was a musician, and they lived and enjoyed -living in an atmosphere of music. Her father took care that she was -never likely to be asphyxiated; their atmosphere would never become -attenuated so long as they lived, as they did, close to St. Martin's -Street. He was well aware of the fact that his Hetty's duets with her -husband--“matrimonial duets” they were called by Fanny in some of her -letters--and also with her sister Charlotte, served to attract many -distinguished visitors and profitable patrons to his house; he never -forgot that profitable patrons and patronesses are always attracted -by distinguished visitors. When one finds oneself in the company of -distinguished people, one naturally feels a distinguished person also. - -Moreover, Dr. Burney knew perfectly well that when ambitious patrons -and patronesses were made aware of the success which he had achieved in -respect of his daughters, they were all ready to implore of him to -spare some of his valuable time to give lessons to themselves, seeing no -reason why, with his assistance, they should not reach the level of his -two musical daughters. He conducted his teaching on the principle which -brings fortunes to the Parisian modiste, who takes good care that her -mannequins are good-looking and of a fine figure, knowing that the -visitors to the showrooms have no doubt, no matter how little Nature -has done for their own features or figures, that in the robes of the -mannequins they will appear equally fascinating. - -The adoption of this system in the Burney household operated extremely -well, and Dr. Burney had for several years enjoyed the proceeds of his -cultivation of the musical tastes of the most influential clientèle in -London. In addition, the greatest singers in Europe, knowing that there -was always an influential _assistance_ to be found at Dr. Burney's -little concerts in St. Martin's Street, were greatly pleased to -contribute to the entertainment, for love, what they were in the habit -of receiving large sums for from an impresario. Those Italian operatic -artists most notorious for the extravagance of their demands when -appearing in public, were pushing each other aside, so to speak, to be -allowed to sing at Dr. Burney's, and really upon more than one occasion -the contest between the generosity of a pair of the most distinguished -of these singers must have been somewhat embarrassing to Dr. Burney. -They were clearly singing against each other; and one of them, who -invariably received fifty guineas for every contribution she made to a -programme in public, insisted on singing no fewer than five songs, “all -for love” (and to prove her superiority to her rival), upon a certain -occasion at the Burneys'; so that really the little company ran a chance -of being suffocated beneath the burden of flowers, as it were--the -never-ending _fioriture_ of these generous artists--and Dr. Burney found -himself in the position of the lion-tamer who runs a chance of being -overwhelmed by the caresses of the carnivora who rush to lick his hands. - -The result of all this was extremely gratifying, and eminently -profitable. Had Dr. Burney not been a great musician and shown by the -publication of the first volume of the greatest History of Music the -world had yet received, that he was worthy of being placed in the -foremost ranks of scientific musicians, he would have run a chance of -being placed only a little higher than the musical Cornelys of Soho -Square, who gave their concerts, and entertained their friends, and made -quite a reputation for some years before bankruptcy overtook them and -the precincts of the Fleet became their headquarters. - -And now the beautiful Esther Burney was toying with the contents of her -sister Fanny's work-basket, talking about her husband and his prospects, -and inquiring what Mr. Garrick and James had to talk about in the room -downstairs. - -“Pray speak in French to Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. “I cannot get Lottie -and Susan to do so as frequently as I could wish. You must remember that -poor Fanny has had none of your advantages, and I do not want her to -be talked of as the dunce of the family. She really is not a dunce, you -know; in spite of her bad sight she really has done some very pretty -sewing.” - -“I have seen it,” said Esther. “She works very neatly--more neatly than -any of us.” - -Fanny blushed and smiled her thanks to her sister for the compliment. - -“What else is there left for me to do but to give all my attention to -my needle?” she said. “I constantly feel that I am the dunce of the -family--you are all so clever.” - -“It is well for many families that they include one useful member,” said -her stepmother in a way that suggested her complete agreement with -the girl's confession that she was the dunce of the family. A mother's -acknowledgment that a girl is either useful or good-natured is -practically an announcement that she is neither pretty nor accomplished. - -“And Fanny has many friends,” continued Mrs. Burney indulgently. - -“Which shows how kind people are, even to a dunce,” said Fanny, not -bitterly, but quite good-humouredly. - -“But I am not sure that she should spend so much of her time writing to -Mr. Crisp,” said the elder Mrs. Burney to the younger. - -“Oh, poor Daddy Crisp!” cried Fanny. “Pray, mother, do not cut him off -from his weekly budget of news. If I fail to send him a letter he is -really disconsolate. 'Tis my letters that keep him still in touch with -the life of the town.” - -“Well, well, my dear Fanny, I shall not deprive you of your Daddy -Crisp,” said her stepmother. “Poor Mr. Crisp must not be left to the -tender mercies of Susan or Lottie. He is most hospitable, and his house -at Chessington makes a pleasant change for us now and again, and he took -a great fancy to you from the first.” - -“Daddy Crisp was always Fanny's special friend,” said Esther. “And I am -sure that it is good practice for Fanny to write to him.” - -“Oh, she has long ago given up that childish nonsense,” cried the -mother. “Poor Fanny made a pretty bonfire of her scribblings, and she -has shown no weakness in that way since she took my advice in regard to -them.” - -Fanny was blushing furiously and giving all her attention to her work. - -“She has still a sense of the guilt that attaches to the writing of -stories, though I am sure that no one in this house remembers it against -her,” said Esther with a laugh, as Fanny's blushes increased. “But -indeed I had not in my mind Mr. Crisp's advantage to her in this way, -but only in regard to her correspondence. She has become quite an expert -letter-writer since he induced her to send him her budget, and indeed I -think that good letter-writing is as much of an accomplishment in these -careless days as good singing--that is ordinary good singing--the good -singing that we hear from some of father's pupils--Queenie Thrale, _par -exemple!_” - -“Your father is a good teacher, but the best teacher in the world cannot -endow with a good singing-voice anyone who has not been so gifted by -Nature,” said the elder lady. “'Tis somewhat different, to be sure, in -regard to correspondence, and I do not doubt that Fanny's practice in -writing to good Mr. Crisp will one day cause her to be regarded as one -of the best letter-writers in the family, and that is something. It is -a ladylike accomplishment, and one that is worth excelling in; it gives -innocent pleasure to so many of her friends who live at a distance; and -your father can always obtain plenty of franks, Mr. Charmier and Mr. -Thrale are very obliging.” - -Fanny was a little fidgety while her eldest sister and her stepmother -were discussing her in a tone of indulgence which was more humiliating -than open reprobation would have been. But she knew that the truth -was, that from her earliest years she was looked on as the dunce of the -family, and she was so morbidly self-conscious that she was quite ready -to accept their estimate of her. The silent member of a musical -family soon finds out how she is looked on by the others; not with -unkindness--quite the contrary--but only as if she were to be slightly -pitied for her deficiency. But she had a secret or two, the treasuring -of which in her heart prevented her from having any feeling of -humiliation in the presence of her splendid sister, whom all the world -sought to attract to their houses, especially when there were guests -anxious to be entertained by the sweet singing of a handsome young -woman with a very presentable young husband. Fanny had her secrets -and cherished them with a fearful joy, for she knew that any day might -remove either or both of them, and then there would be nothing left for -her in the household but to put her heart into her needlework. But one -cannot do needlework without needles, and if she were to put her heart -into her work, and if every needle had a point, the result would, she -knew, be a good many prickings. - -She trusted that she might never be condemned to put her heart into her -needlework. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -|THEN Lieutenant Burney sauntered into the room and greeted Esther; but -when Fanny inquired with some eagerness what had been the result of Mr. -Garrick's fooling of poor Mr. Kendal, James was by no means so glib or -amusing as Fanny expected him to be. - -“Psha!” he cried; “that Mr. Kendal is not worth powder and shot--at -least not the weight of metal that Mr. Garrick can discharge--not in a -broadside--Mr. Garrick is not given to broadsides--they are too clumsy -for him--he is like Luke Boscawen, our chief gunner; he had a contempt -for what he was used to term a blustering broadside, having a liking -only for the working of his little brass swivel. He could do anything -that he pleased with his little swivel. 'Ping!' it would go, when he -had squinted along the sights, and the object he aimed at half a -mile away--sometimes so small that we could scarce see it from our -foretop--down it went. Boscawen could do what he pleased with it--the -blunt nose of a whale rising to spout a mile away--the stem of a -cocoa-nut palm on one of the islands when we were not sure of -the natives and there was no time to climb the tree--that is the -marksmanship of Mr. Garrick, and your Mr. Kendal was not worthy of an -exercise of so much skill.” - -“Nobody seems too insignificant to be made a fool of by Mr. Garrick,” - said Mrs. Burney. “He is as happy when he has made a gruesome face and -frightened a maid with a mop at the doorstep, as when he has stricken us -with awe when the ghost enters in _Hamlet_, or when Macbeth declaims of -the horror of the curse of sleeplessness that has been cast on him. That -is why I said before he arrived that I was not sure that his influence -upon you all is for good. He makes one lose one's sense of the right -proportions and realities of life. Now is not that so, Hetty? I make -no appeal to Fanny, for I know that she has ever been devoted to Mr. -Garrick. Is it not true that she was used to frighten poor Lottie before -she was ten by showing how Mr. Garrick frowned as the Duke of Gloster?” - -“I know that Fanny murdered us all in turn in our beds, assuring us that -we were the Princes in the Tower, or some less real characters invented -by herself,” said Esther. “But indeed if James tells us that Mr. -Garrick's gun practice smashed the cocoa-nut that serves Mr. Kendal as a -head, I should not grieve. Tell us what happened, James.” - -“Oh, 'twas naught worth words to describe,” said James. “The man came to -take counsel of Daddy in regard to a jest that Mr. Garrick had, unknown -to his victim, played off upon him, and Mr. Garrick so worked upon him -that Daddy had no chance to speak. But Mr. Garrick made fools of us as -well, for I give you my word, though we were in with him in his jest, -he had us blubbering like boobies when he laid his hand on the fellow's -shoulder and spoke nonsense in a voice quivering and quavering as though -he were at the point of breaking down.” - -Mrs. Burney the elder shook her head. - -“That is what I do not like--that trifling with sacred things,” she -said. “'Tis not decent in a private house--I would not tolerate it even -in a playhouse, and I see that you are of my opinion, James, though you -may have been dragged into the abetting of Mr. Garrick in whatever mad -scheme he had set himself upon perfecting.” - -“Oh, for that matter we are all sorry when we have been merry at the -expense of another, even though he be an elderly coxcomb such as that -Mr. Kendal,” said James. “But enough--more than enough--of coxcomb -Kendal! Tell us of the Duchess's concert, Hetty. Were the matrimonial -duets as successful as usual?” - -Esther, who had been disappointed that her stepmother had not yet said -a word about the concert of the previous night given by the Dowager -Duchess of Portland, at which she and her husband had performed, -brightened up at her brother's question. - -“The concert was well enough,” she replied with an affectation of -carelessness. “'Twas no better than many that have taken place under -this roof. Her Grace and her grandees were very kind to us--we had -enough plaudits to turn the head of Gabrielli herself.” - -“Oh, the Gabrielli's head has been turned so frequently that one can -never tell when it sits straight on her shoulders,” said James. - -“She was _very_ civil to us last evening,” said Esther. “Indeed, she -was civil to everyone until the enchanter Rauzzini sang the solo -from _Piramo e Tisbe_ and swept the company off their feet. The poor -Gabrielli had no chance against Rauzzini.” - -“Especially in a company that numbered many ladies,” said James, with a -laugh. “You remember what Sir Joshua told us that Dr. Goldsmith had once -said of Johnson?--that in his argument he was like the highwayman: when -his pistol missed fire he knocked one down with the butt.” - -“I heard that upon one occasion Dr. Johnson knocked a man down with a -heavy book, but I cannot imagine his ever firing a pistol,” remarked -Mrs. Burney, who had been used, when the wife of a straightforward -merchant of Lynn, to take every statement literally, and had not yet -become accustomed to the involved mode of speaking of the brilliant -young Burneys. - -“You mean that Rauzzini--I don't quite perceive what you do mean by your -reference to Dr. Goldsmith's apt humour,” said Esther. - -“I only mean that among such a company as assembled at the Duchess's, if -he missed fire with his singing, he glanced around with those dark eyes -of his and the ladies went down before him by the score,” replied James. -“Do not I speak the truth, Fanny?” he added, turning quickly to where -Fanny was searching with her short-sighted eyes close to her work-basket -for some material that seemed to be missing. - -But she had clearly heard her brother's question, for she did not need -to raise her head or to ask him to repeat it. - -“Oh, we are all the slaves of the nobil' signor,” she said, and -continued her search in the basket. - -“From the way he talked to us last night it might be fancied that it was -he who was the captive,” said Esther. - -“And I do not doubt that he is living in a state of constant captivity,” - laughed James. “Ay, or I should rather term it inconstant captivity, -for I dare swear that those black eyes of his do a deal of roving in the -course of a year--nay, in the course of a day. These singer fellows feel -that 'tis due to their art, this moving the hearts of their hearers, -by moving their own affections from heart to heart. The Rauzzini is, I -fancy, like one of the splendid butterflies we came upon in the Straits, -fluttering from flower to flower.” - -“I have heard no stories of his inconstancy, even from the Gabrielli -when she was most envious of his plaudits,” said Esther, and she glanced -at her sister, who was earnestly threading a needle. - -“You goose!” cried James to Esther. “Do you suppose that Gabrielli would -tell you anything so greatly complimentary to him? In these days you -cannot pay a man a greater compliment than to compare him to the fickle -butterfly. You see that suggests a welcome from every flower.” - -“I protest that it is to sailors I have heard most compliments of that -sort paid,” laughed Esther, and then, putting herself in a singing -attitude before him, she lilted most delightfully: - - “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more! - - Men were deceivers ever, - - One foot on sea- - - -“ha, ha, brother James! - - - and one on shore, - - To one thing constant never. - -“Now be advised by me, dear James, and do not attribute even in a -cynical way, the vice of inconstancy to a singer, until you have left -the Navy.” - -“I did not allude to it as a vice--rather as a virtue,” said James. -“Just think of the hard fate of any girl to have such a person as a -singer ever by her side!” - -He easily evaded the rush down upon him made by Hetty, and used his -nautical skill to sail to the windward of her, as it were, until he had -reached the door, whence he sent a parting shot at her. - -“You surely don't think that I hinted that your spouse was a singer,” he -cried. “A singer! Oh, lud! I should be swaying away on all top ropes if -I were to call the matrimonial duets singing.” - -He gave a shout of laughter as he caught the ball of wool which Esther -threw at him, having picked it up from her stepmother's work-table. He -returned it with a better aim, and before his sister could get a hand on -it, he had shut the door, only opening it a little space a few seconds -later to put in his head with a mocking word, withdrawing it at once, -and then his foot was heard upon the stair, while he gave a sailor's -version of Mr. Garrick's patriotic naval song: - - Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer. - -“He has gone before I had a chance of asking him to take a message -to the cheesemonger,” said Mrs. Burney, calling out to him while she -hurried after him out of the room. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -|THE moment the two sisters were alone, the elder said quickly in a low -voice, leaning across the table: - -“We had a long talk with Signor Rauzzini, my dearest Fanny. I could not, -of course, tell you before mother.” - -“You mentioned his name; but were you discreet?” said Fanny. “I think -mother felt that you were going too far when you referred to his eyes. -Mother most surely believes that the dark eyes of an Italian form a -topic that should not be discussed except by our elders, and then only -with bated breath and a fearful glance around lest a word should be -overheard.” - -“His eyes--you know his eyes, Fanny?” - -“Oh!” said Fanny, with an inflection that was between a sigh and a moan. - -“You should have seen them while he spoke of you,” said Esther. “Talk -of flashes of lightning!--Dear child, it seemed so singular to us that a -mite like you should inspire a grand passion in such a man. You are not -angry with us, I know, but it was so indeed.” - -“Why should I feel angry with you for feeling just what I do myself, -only more intensely,” said Fanny. “Tis one of the greatest mysteries of -life--the only mystery of life that I have yet faced--why a man who is -as handsome as an archangel, and who possesses a voice that an archangel -might envy, should so much as glance at an insignificant young woman -like myself! Oh! 'tis no wonder that the notion amused you, dear Hetty.” - -“It only diverted us for a time, I assure you, my Fanny; it did not -take us very long to perceive how it was no laughing matter, but, on -the contrary, a very serious matter. Signor Rauzzini is, as I said, an -enchanter, but do you not think that 'tis somewhat dangerous to--to----” - -“To play with fire? That is what is on your mind, dear--to allow -the fire of his Roman eyes to play about me? Dangerous? I admit that -wherever there is fire there is danger, especially when it flashes from -such eyes.” - -“I am glad that you need no warning, child. As your elder sister I am -pleased that--that--but no one in the house seems to think for a moment -that the favour he has so distinctly shown to you can mean anything. -Indeed, until last night, neither Charles nor I could believe----” - -Fanny laughed, half closing her short-sighted eyes with a curious -expression as she looked at her sister. - -“It is only natural, my dear Hettina,” she said. - -“Have I ever ventured to suggest that I am other than the dunce of the -family?” - -“You have always been absurdly humble, Fanny, and I have never hesitated -to say so,” cried Esther. “I am sure that none of us could have made up -such clever little pieces to act as you did when we were children. And -as for writing, could any of us have so neatly copied out the padre's -History as you did last year? Mr. Crisp, too--he never takes pleasure in -any letters of the family except what you write for him.” - -“All perfectly true, my Hettina,” replied Fanny. “But where am I when -the house is filled with visitors? You know that I am nobody--that all -I pray for with all my heart is that no one will take any notice of me, -and I think I can say that my prayer is nearly always granted.” - -“That is because you are so dreadfully--so absurdly shy,” said Esther. -“You are the little mouse that is evermore on the look out for a hole -into which you can creep and be safe from the observation of all eyes. -You are ever trying to escape, unless when Mr. Garrick is here.” - -“Dear Hettina, I know my place--that is all. I have weak eyes, but quick -ears, and I have heard strangers ask, when they have heard you sing and -Susan play, who the little short-sighted girl in the corner is and what -she means to do for the entertainment of the company. When they are -assured that I am one of the clever Burney family they whisper an -incredulous 'No?' They cannot believe that so insignificant a person as -myself can be one of you.” - -“Tis your morbid self-consciousness, Fanny, that suggests so much to -you.” - -“Oh, no; I was the dunce from the first. You know that while you could -read any book with ease when you were six, I did not even know my -letters when I was eight. Don't you remember how James made a jest of -my thirst for knowledge by pretending to teach me the alphabet with the -page turned upside down? And when you had gone to school at Paris and -it was my turn as the next eldest, the wise padre perceived in a moment -that the money would be much better spent upon Susan and Lottie, and -they went to be educated while I remained at home in ignorance? The dear -padre was right: he knew that I should have been miserable among bright -girls away from home.” - -There was a pause before the elder sister said quite pathetically: - -“My poor Fanny! I wonder if you have not been treated shabbily among -us.” - -“Not. I, my Hettina. I have always been treated fairly. I have had as -many treats as any of you; when you were learning so much in Paris I -have been learning quite a number of things at home. And one of the -most important things I learned was that so brilliant a person as Signor -Rauzzini could never be happy if married to so insignificant a person as -Fanny Burney.” - -Esther gave a little sigh of relief. - -“Indeed I think that your conclusion is a right one, dear,” she said. -“We both came to the conclusion--Charles and I--that it would be a huge -misfortune if you should allow yourself to be attracted by the glamour -that attaches to the appearance of such a man as the Rauzzini, though, -mind you, I believe that he honestly fancies himself in love with -you--oh, he made no disguise of it in talking with us last night. But I -hoped that you would be sensible.” - -“Oh, in the matter of sense I am the equal of anyone in the family,” - said Fanny, laughing. “That I mean to make my one accomplishment--good -sense. That is the precious endowment of the dunce of the clever -family--good sense; the one who stands next to the dunce in the lack of -accomplishments should be endowed with good nature. Good sense and good -nature go hand in hand in plain grey taffeta, not down the primrose -paths of life, but along the King's highway of every day, where they run -no chance of jostling the simple foot-passengers or exciting the envy -of any by the flaunting of feathers in their face. Good sense and good -nature are best satisfied when they attract no attention, but pass on to -obscurity, smiling at the struggle of others to be accounted persons of -importance.” - -“Then you have indeed made up your mind to marry Mr. Barlowe?” cried -Esther. - -Fanny laughed enigmatically. - -“Does it not mean rather that I have made up my mind not to marry Mr. -Barlowe?” she cried. - -Esther looked puzzled: she was puzzled, and that was just what Fanny -meant her to be. - -But then she looked piqued, as elder sisters do when puzzled by the -words or the acts of the younger. What business have younger sisters -puzzling their elders? Their doing so suggests pertness when the elders -are unmarried, but sheer insubordination when they are married; and -Esther was by no means willing at any time to abrogate the privileges of -her position as a married woman. - -“I protest that I do not understand your meaning, Fanny,” she said, -raising her chin in a way that gave her head a dignified poise. There -was also a chill dignity in the tone of her voice. - -“Dear Hettina, I ask your pardon,” cried Fanny quickly. “I fear that -I replied to you with a shameful unreasonableness. But indeed I am not -sure that you had reason on your side when you assumed that because I -was ready to acknowledge that it would not mean happiness to our dear -Signor Rauzzini to marry an insignificant person like myself, I was -therefore prepared to throw myself into the arms of Mr. Barlowe.” - -“I fancied that--that--but you may have another suitor in your mind -whose name you have not mentioned to anyone.” - -“Why should it be necessary for me to have a suitor of any kind? Is it -not possible to conceive of the existence of a young woman without a row -of suitors in the background? I admit that the 'Odyssey' of Homer--you -remember how I used to listen to your reading of Mr. Broome's -translation to mother--would be shorn of much of its interest but for -that background of suitors in one of the last books, but--well, my dear -sister, I hold that the alternative song of life to the matrimonial duet -is the spinster's solo, and it does not seem to me to be quite devoid of -interest.” - -“Oh, I took it for granted----” began Esther, when Fanny broke in upon -her. - -“Yes, I know what all the happily wedded ones take for granted,” she -cried. “You assume that the wedded life is the only one worth living; -but as we are told in the Bible that there is one glory of the sun and -another of the moon, so I hold that I am justified in believing that if -matrimony be celestial, spinsterhood is terrestrial, but a glory all the -same, and not unattractive to me. I may be wise enough to content myself -with the subdued charm of moonlight if it so be that I am shut off from -the midday splendour of matrimony.” - -Esther did not laugh in the least as did her sister when she had -spoken with an air of finality. She only made a little motion with her -shoulders suggesting a shrug, while she said: - -“I hope you will succeed in convincing mother that your views are the -best for the household; but I think you will have some difficulty in -doing so, considering what a family of girls we are.” - -“I do not doubt that mother will be on the side of immediate matrimony -and poor Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny. - -“Why poor Mr. Barlowe?” cried Esther. “He is a young man of excellent -principles, and he has never given his parents a day's trouble. It -is understood that if he marries sensibly he will be admitted to a -partnership in the business, so that----” - -“Principles and a partnership make for matrimonial happiness, I doubt -not,” said Fanny. “And I doubt not that Dr. Fell had both excellent -principles and an excellent practice; still someone has recorded in -deathless verse that she--I assume the sex--did not like that excellent -man.” - -“And you do not like Mr. Barlowe on the same mysterious grounds?” said -Hetty. - -“Nay, I am not so unreasonable, I hope,” replied Fanny. “But--but--dear -sister, I remember how I thought that the song of the linnet which was -in our little garden at Lynn was the loveliest strain of the grove, and -such was my belief until I awoke one night at Chessington and heard the -nightingale.” - -“You are puzzling--singularly puzzling today,” said Esther frowning. -“You have started two or three mystifying parables already. You told -me some time ago as a great secret that you had been renewing your -story-writing, in spite of your having burnt all that you had written -for our edification--all that story--what was its name? The heroine was -one Caroline Evelyn. You were ever an obedient child, or you would not -have sacrificed your offspring at the bidding of our new mother, though -the advice that she gave you was good, if you have not quite adhered to -it. Novel writing is not for young ladies any more than novel reading, -and certainly talking in parables is worse still. Well, I have no more -time to spend over your puzzles.” - -“You would not find their solution to repay you, my dear,” said Fanny. - -“Still, I am pleased to learn that you take a sensible view of Signor -Rauzzini and his heroics--but, indeed, I cannot see that Mr. Barlowe -should not be considered, with his prospects--his father is a mercer in -gold and silver lace, as you know----” - -“I have heard so--it is a profitable trade, I believe.” - -“None more so. It is impossible to believe that a time will ever come -when gold and silver lace will cease to be worn by gentlemen.” - -“That would be an evil day for England as well as for Messieurs Barlowe, -_père et fils_. But thank heaven it is not yet in sight. Good morning, -dear sister; and be assured you have my thanks for your advice. But -mind you keep my little secret about the writing. Good-bye. You can face -mother boldly, knowing that you have carried out her commission to the -letter, and very neatly and discreetly into the bargain.” - -“I would not have done so if her views had not been mine also; as for -your writing--you may depend on my keeping your secret. But you will -have to get the padre's permission to have it printed--that's something -still in the far future, I suppose;”--and the elder sister stooped to -kiss the younger--Fanny was not up to the shoulder of the beautiful and -stately Esther. - -And so they parted. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -|FANNY BURNEY had been forced, for the first time, to make her sister -aware of the fact that she knew she was looked on as the dunce of the -brilliant Burney family. She could see that her doing so had startled -her sister, for neither Esther nor any of the other girls had ever -suggested to her that they thought of her as being on a different level -from themselves, though it was tacitly allowed that it was a great -pity that Fanny did not emulate them in taking pains to shine as it was -expected the children of that estimable master of music, Dr. Burney, -should shine, so as to make the house in that narrow little street off -Leicester Fields attractive to its many distinguished visitors. - -Fanny had truly defined her place in the household. She had recognized -her place for several years; but there was not the least suggestion of -rancour in her tone when talking to her brilliant elder sister, for -the simple reason that there was no bitterness in her heart against any -member of the family for being cleverer than herself. Fanny took pride -in the accomplishments of her sisters, and was quite content with her -position in relation to them. She got on well with all of them, because -she was fond of them all, and they were all fond of her. She had not -rebelled when her father had sent her younger sisters to be educated -in Paris, and had allowed her to pick up her own education as best she -might in his own library; and it had been a great happiness to her to be -allowed the privilege of copying out for the press the first volume of -her father's “History of Music.” It was her stepmother who, finding -out that Fanny had what Mrs. Burney called “a taste for writing,” had -suggested that that was the legitimate channel in which such a taste -should flow; and it was her stepmother who had induced her to make a -bonfire of all her own writings--the scribblings of her girlhood that -represented the foolish errant flow of her “taste for writing “: and -now and again she had a consciousness of her own duplicity in failing -to resist the impulse that had come upon her to do some more of what her -mother termed her “girlish scribbling.” - -One of the guilty secrets that Fanny cherished was that when it was -believed she was writing her long letters to her old friend Mr. Crisp, -she had been composing a novel which was now about to be given to the -world; the second was that Signor Rauzzini, the handsome young Roman -singer with whom half the fashionable ladies of the town were in love, -was in love with her. - -These were two secrets worth the cherishing, she knew; and the thought -of them more than compensated her for the reflection that she was the -dunce of the family, and that the unconscious tone of patronage adopted -toward her by her elder sister and the dreadful compliments paid to her -plain sewing, as though plain sewing represented the highest hopes that -could reasonably be entertained in regard to her, were only to be looked -for in the circumstances. - -The two secrets were closely bound up together, she knew. She had the -deepest affection for Signor Rauzzini. How could she fail to return the -feeling which the whisper of his musical voice had told her he had -conceived for her? He loved her in spite of the fact that she was the -least attractive member of the family--in spite of the fact that half -the town was at his feet, and that he might have made his choice from -among the best. He had chosen her whom no one else had ever noticed, -with the exception of her father's old friend, Mr. Crisp, and--oh, yes -(she laughed now, perceiving that she had done an injustice to the other -person who had been attracted to her--mainly, she thought, on account of -her reputation for plain sewing)--a young man named Thomas Barlowe, the -excellent son of the well-known mercer of gold and silver lace, in the -Poultry! - -Thinking of young Mr. Barlowe by the side of Signor Rauzzini, -Fanny laughed again. She had so restricted an opinion of her own -attractiveness that the tears actually came into her eyes for having -given that derisive laugh as she compared the two young men; and she -felt that she had been grossly ungrateful to young Mr. Barlowe; for even -young Mr. Barlowe had a right to look above her level for a wife. As the -daughter of a simple music master with a large family she could have no -endowment so far as worldly goods were concerned; and she knew that the -practical parents of young business men, as a rule, looked for their -sons to marry, if not great fortunes, at least young women with a few -thousands to their names. - -She felt that she had treated the condescending young Mr. Barlowe very -badly in laughing at the poor figure he cut by the side of the angelic -Roman singer--she had failed to resist the temptation to call Signor -Rauzzini angelic in one of her letters to Mr. Crisp--and now, -in thinking of Mr. Barlowe as a very worthy young man, she was -unconsciously relegating him to a hopeless position as a lover. It -is not the very worthy young men who are beloved by young women of a -romantic temperament: if it were there would be very few romances -left. But little Miss Burney desired only to ease the twinges of her -conscience for having laughed at the thought of young Tommy Barlowe; and -she thought that she had done the right thing in assuring herself that -he was a very worthy person. - -And then she thought no more about him. She had a feeling that to give -another thought to him when she had such a man as Signor Rauzzini -to think about, would be a constructive act of treason in regard to -Rauzzini. She had received many hints from her stepmother to the effect -that all the family considered her to be a very fortunate young woman -(all things taken into account) in having a chance of marrying the -Thomas who seemed ready to pay his addresses to her; but though quite -submissive to her stepmother in household matters, she was ready to face -her with the “Never!” of the avowed rebel in the matter of consenting -to wed the highly approved Thomas, and so she dismissed him from her -thoughts, in favour of the man whom she loved. - -But thinking of the man whom she loved was by no means equivalent to -passing into a region of unalloyed happiness. She had mystified her -sister by the way in which she had spoken about Signor Rauzzini, and the -seal had been put upon the mystery by her frank acknowledgment that she -did not think a union between so distinguished a man as Rauzzini and so -insignificant a person as herself was likely to be satisfactory. - -She had certainly allowed Hetty to go away believing that this was -in her mind; and that was just what was in her mind when her thoughts -turned from Thomas, whom she considered so estimable, to Rauzzini, -whom she loved. She loved the Roman singer so truly that she had made a -resolution never to consent to his marrying anyone so insignificant as -she believed herself to be. - -She had no illusions regarding herself. She knew just how good-looking -she was; she knew that by the side of any of her sisters she was almost -plain; but that she had a pleasing, simple face of a very ordinary type. -She knew that she could love with the truest devotion and she could -trust herself not to change with time. But she felt that these were not -beyond the traits of the ordinary young woman, and that they did -not lift her from the level of insignificance to the level of Signor -Rauzzini. - -She knew that she was at that moment an insignificant person; and she -made no attempt to think of herself as otherwise. - -Yes; but she had heard of people--even young women--being insignificant -one day, and the next springing to a pinnacle of fame to which all eyes -looked up. How would it be if she were destined to reach in a moment -a position that would place her on a level with the man of her -thoughts--the man whose fame as a singer had caused him to be the centre -round which every conversation in the most notable circles turned? -Everyone was talking in praise of Rauzzini; and she herself thought of -him as occupying a place on a height as far above her as King Cophetua's -throne was above the marble steps at the foot of which the beggar maid -had crouched; but in her mind there was the possibility that her name -might one day be spoken by the world in connection with an achievement -that would raise her from the insignificance of Fanny Burney to the -importance of Signor Rauzzini, and prevent people from asking what on -earth had induced so glorious a person as he to make her his wife! - -That was the secret dream which filled the imagination of this -imaginative young woman--the same dream as comes to so many young women -who have written the last chapter of a book and sent it forth for the -world to receive with acclaim--the dream of fame--of immortality! She -had written a novel and it was about to be given to the world, if the -world would have it, and upon its success her happiness depended. If -it brought her fame, it would place her by the side of the man whom -she loved; but if it failed, then she would remain a person of no -significance, and quite unworthy of sharing the honours which were -showered upon her lover. She had imagination, and this faculty it was -that made her more than doubtful of the success of King Cophetua's rash -experiment. She felt sure that King Cophetua had now and again, turning -suddenly round, caught one of his courtiers with his tongue in his -cheek when his Majesty was entering the throne-room with his shy and -insignificant Queen by his side, and that the Queen had occasionally -overheard the whispers of her maids of honour, when they did not know -she was at hand, asking one another what on earth the King had seen in -her that induced him to make her his consort. Little Miss Burney had -long ago made up her mind that the union of King Cophetua and his beggar -maid was far from being a happy one--that the King looked around him and -saw several princesses of great beauty and quite devoid of shyness who -were fully acquainted with the convenances of his court and would not, -if he had married any one of them, have made the mistakes which she was -sure the young person whom he had elevated had fallen into, causing him -constant irritation. - -Little Miss Burney had resolved that she would never play the part of -a crowned beggar maid. The man whom she loved had won fame for himself, -and she would not go to him unless she, too, had at least made such -a name for herself as should prevent her from feeling herself in the -position of the beggar maid whom King Cophetua had raised to his side. -Little Miss Burney resolved that although she could scarcely expect to -go to her lover wearing purple robes embroidered with gold, she could, -at any rate, refrain from wearing beggars' rags. She had her ambitions, -and she felt that they were not ignoble, but that they made for the -happiness of the man she loved, and who had been gracious enough to love -her--the least attractive member of the family. - -But after she had sat for some time with her hands lying idle on the -sempstress' work at which she had been engaged on the departure of her -sister--after her imagination had carried her much farther away than she -intended it should, she was sensible of a return to the cold world from -which she had soared. Her heart, which had begun to beat quickly when -Hetty had told her how the divine Rauzzini had spoken of her, sank -within her as she seemed to hear a voice asking who was she that she -should hope to reach by the publication of that story which she had been -writing by stealth and at odd times during the past three years, even -the smallest measure of fame that would compare with that of Signor -Rauzzini? What fame attached to the writing of a novel in comparison -with that achieved by the enchantment of a singer who had power to move -the hearts of men and women as it pleased him? Orpheus--ah, what -fame could compare with the fame of Orpheus, the singer? His was a -heaven-sent gift. What was her little talent compared with such a gift? -If she had the ability even to make music such as one of her sisters -could bring forth from the keys of the piano, she would have a better -chance of being accounted worthy of a place beside Signor Rauzzini than -if her novel found its way to the shelves of many readers. The writing -of a novel was a poor achievement--nay, in the opinion of a good many -people, including her own stepmother--a most practical woman--it was -something to be ashamed of; and Fanny herself, thinking over all -the novels written by women which she herself had read--most of them -surreptitiously--was disposed to agree with her. That was why she had -kept as a secret for more than three years the fact that she was trying -to write a novel. Her father knew nothing of it, and her stepmother was -equally uninformed. Even her old friend Mr. Crisp, to whom she wrote -voluminous letters week after week, and to whom she gave her confidence -on many matters, had no suspicion that she had written her novel. - -She had thought it prudent to keep this matter hidden from them, for she -did not doubt that if she had told any one of them of her project, she -would never have a chance of realizing it. They would certainly have -pronounced against such a proceeding even before a page of her novel -came to be written. - -And yet it was the thought that this novel was shortly to be published -that had caused her to feel that she was drawing nearer to her lover. - -As she reflected upon this, sitting idly over her work when her sister -had left the house, her tears began to fall, not in a torrent, but -slowly dropping at intervals upon the fabric which she had been sewing. -She felt very sad, very hopeless, very lonely. - -Nor could it be said that the sudden return of Mrs. Burney meant a -return of happiness to the girl. - -Mrs. Burney did not consider that Fanny had made satisfactory progress -with her work, and did not hesitate to express her opinion to this -effect. But she was not imprudently unkind; for young Mr. Barlowe had -just written to her, begging permission to pay his respects to Mrs. -Burney and her daughter that evening, and she meant that Fanny should be -in a good humour to entertain him. - -Mrs. Burney had great hopes that the question of Fanny's future--a -constant topic of conversation and consultation between her and her -husband--might be settled by a series of visits of young Mr. Barlowe. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -|YOUNG Mr. Barlowe took himself very seriously, and he had every right -to do so; for a more serious young man was not to be found in business -in London. He had been brought up to look upon everything in the world -as having an intimate connection with business, and it had always been -impressed upon him that business meant the increase of money, and that -there was hardly anything in the world worth giving a thought to apart -from the increase of money. It never occurred to any of his preceptors -to suggest that the advantage of increasing one's money lay in the -splendid possibilities of spending it. The art of making money forms -the whole curriculum of a business man's education; he is supposed to -require no instruction in the art of spending it. Thus it is that, by -attending only to one side of the question, so many business men lead -much less interesting lives than they might, if they had it in their -power to place themselves under the guidance of a trustworthy professor -of the Art of Spending. But no Chair of Spending has yet been provided -at any University, nor is there any instructor on this important branch -of business education at any of the City schools, hence it is that the -sons of so many money-making men turn out spendthrifts. They have been -taught only one side of the great money question, and that the less -important side into the bargain. In making an honest endeavour to master -the other side, usually on the death of a father or a bachelor uncle, -both looked on as close-fisted curmudgeons, a good many young men find -themselves in difficulties. - -Young Mr. Barlowe, on being introduced to the Burney family, through the -circumstance of Mrs. Burney's first husband having done business with -Mr. Barlowe the elder, found himself in a strange atmosphere. He had -never before imagined the existence of a household where music and plays -and books were talked about as if these were the profitable topics of -life. Previously he had lived in a house where the only profitable topic -was thought to be the Profits. At his father's table in the Poultry the -conversation never travelled beyond the Profits. The likelihood of a -rise in the price of gold or silver sometimes induced the father to -increase his stock of bullion without delay, and then if the price rose, -he could conscientiously charge his customers for the lace at such a -rate per ounce as gave him a clear five per cent, extra profit; and it -was upon such possibilities that the conversation in the Poultry parlour -invariably turned. - -And here were these Burneys talking with extraordinary eagerness and -vivacity upon such matters as the treatment by a singer named Gabrielli -of one of the phrases in a song of Mr. Handel's, beginning: “Angels ever -bright and fair”! For himself, young Mr. Barlowe thought that there -was no need for so much repetition in any song. “Angels ever bright and -fair, Take, oh take me to your care”--that was the whole thing, as it -seemed to him; and when that request had been made once he thought it -was quite enough; to repeat it half a dozen times was irritating and -really tended to defeat its purpose. Only children in the nursery -kept reiterating their requests. But he had heard Dr. Burney and -his son-in-law, Esther's husband, discuss the Gabrielli's apparently -unauthorized pause before the second violins suggested (as it appeared -to the younger musician) a whisper of assent floating from the heaven; -and all the members of the family except Fanny had taken sides in the -controversy, as though a thing like that had any bearing upon the daily -life of the City! - -Thomas Barlowe was amazed at the childishness of the discussion, and he -was particularly struck by the silence of Fanny on this occasion. She -was silent, he was sure, because she agreed with him in thinking it -ridiculous to waste words over a point that should be relegated to the -nursery for settlement. - -“They seem pleasant enough people in their way,” he told his mother -after his first visit. “But they know nothing of what is going on in the -world--the real world, of which the Poultry is the centre. It might -be expected that the young man who is a naval officer and has seen the -world would know something of the import of the question when I asked -him what direction he thought gold would move in; but he only winked and -replied, 'Not across my hawse, I dare swear,' and the others laughed as -if he had said something humorous.” - -“Mayhap it was humorous,” suggested his mother gravely. - -“It would be sheer ribaldry for anyone to jest upon such a subject -as the fluctuations in the price of silver,” said Thomas slowly. -“Lieutenant Burney must surely know how serious a matter would be a fall -of a fraction of a crown when we have bought heavily in prospect of -a rise. But Miss Burney looks to be different from the others of the -family. I have told you that while her father, and indeed all the rest, -were talking excitedly on that ridiculous point in Mr. Handel's music, -she sat in silence. She is short-sighted, but I noticed more than once -that she had her eyes fixed on me, as if she had found something to -study in me. She is, I think, a steady, observant young lady. When Mrs. -Burney said she hoped that I would visit them again, I think I perceived -a sort of interest on Miss Burney's face as she awaited my answer.” - -Thomas had resolved not to frustrate the hopes that Mrs. Burney had -expressed as to his paying another visit--as a matter of fact he had -come three times, and on every occasion he had devoted himself to -Fanny--to be more exact than Mrs. Burney, who had described his -attentions in this phrase, he had passed his time subjecting her to a -sort of catechism with a view to discover if she would make him the -sort of wife that would suit him. It appeared that the result of his -inquisition was satisfactory, and that his attentions were gradually -becoming intentions; but Mrs. Burney had never gone farther than to -comment favourably to Fanny upon the young man's steadiness, and to -suggest that the young woman whom he might choose to be his wife would -be fortunate, steady young men with good prospects in the City being far -from abundant. She had never gone so far as to ask Fanny if she would -accept good fortune coming to her in such a form; though Fanny knew very -well that she had asked Esther to sound her on this point. - -How far Esther's mission was accounted successful by their stepmother, -Fanny, of course, could not guess; but at any rate Thomas was to pay a -visit after dinner, and Fanny felt that it was necessary for her to be -discreet. It had been very interesting for her to study Thomas, with the -possibility before her of writing a second novel, in which some of -his traits of character might be introduced with advantage; but she -perceived how there was a likelihood of her course of study being paid -for at too high a rate; so she resolved--to be discreet beyond her -ordinary exercise of a virtue which she displayed at all times of her -life. - -So Thomas came to the house in St. Martin's Street while tea was -being served in the drawingroom, to the accompaniment of a duet on -the piano--Dr. Burney had quickly perceived the merits of this new -instrument over that of the harpsichord--between Susan and her father. -Very close to the instrument, pressing the receiver of his ear-trumpet -to the woodwork of the case, sat Sir Joshua Reynolds, while his -sister--a lady of middle age who was gradually relinquishing the idea -that she, too, could paint portraits--was suffering Mrs. Burney -to explain to her the advantages of Lynn over London as a place of -residence for people anxious to economize. - -Fanny was at the table where the teapot and urn were being drawn on, and -close to her sat her brother James, with a volume like an account-book -lying face down on the table while he drank his tea. - -The progress of the duet was not arrested by the entrance of young Mr. -Barlowe, but he looked in the direction of the instrument when he had -shaken hands with Mrs. Burney and bowed to Miss Reynolds. It was obvious -that he was mystified by seeing Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet pressed against -the sound-conducting case of the piano. He was still looking at it with -curious eyes while he greeted Fanny with the concentrated politeness of -the Poultry. - -Lieutenant Burney roused himself from his lolling attitude when he saw -the puzzled look on the young man's face, and he obligingly endeavoured -to explain away the mystery. - -“'Tis no wonder that you are amazed, Mr. Barlowe,” he said in a -whisper. “I own that when it was first brought to my notice I thought it -extraordinary. A marvellous instrument, is it not, that is played by the -ear instead of by the mouth? And yet you must own that some of the notes -it produces are very fine--much more delicate than could be produced by -any other means.” - -“I do not profess to be a judge of music, sir,” said Thomas; “but I -know what pleases me.” Fanny wondered how often she had heard that -same boast--the attempt of complete ignorance to be accredited with the -virtue of frankness. “Yes, I own that I consider the music monstrous -pretty; but with the ear--that is what puzzles me: it seems a simple -trumpet, such as is blown by the mouth.” - -“Pray do not let my father hear you say that, Mr. Barlowe,” whispered -James. “That instrument is his fondest. You know that he has written a -'History of Music'?” - -“All the world knows that, sir,” replied Thomas gallantly. “I have not -yet found time to read it myself, but----” - -“Neither have I, sir; but I understand that that instrument which seems -new to such simpletons as you and I is really as ancient as the pyramids -of Egypt--nay, more so, for my father discovered in his researches that -this was the identical form of the first instrument made by Tubal Cain -himself.” - -“Is't possible? In our Family Bible there is a picture of Tubal Cain, -but he is depicted blowing through a conch shell.” - -“A shell! Ah! such was the ignorance of the world on these matters -before my father wrote his History. But he has managed to clear up -many points upon which complete ignorance or very erroneous opinions -prevailed. It is not generally known, for instance, that Tubal had his -second name given to him by reason of his habitually murdering every -musical piece that he attempted to play.” - -“But he was the inventor, was he not?” - -“Quite true, Mr. Barlowe. But that fact, you must admit, only made his -offence the more flagrant. So the inscriptions on the rocks assert; and -there are some sensible people nowadays who believe that Tubal's second -and very suggestive name should be coupled with the names of many more -recent performers on musical instruments.” - -“You do not allude to the gentleman who is playing that new -instrument--I mean that very ancient instrument--by the side of Dr. -Burney?” - -“Oh, surely not. That gentleman is one of the most notable performers of -our age, Mr. Barlowe. I ask you plainly, sir, have you ever seen, even -at a raree show, a musician who could play an instrument with his ear -and produce such a good effect? You can easily believe that a vast -amount of ingenuity is needed to produce even the simplest sound in that -way.” - -“If I had not it demonstrated before my eyes I should not believe it -possible. I protest, sir, that the effect is very pretty. Is't not so, -Miss Burney?” - -The young man turned to Fanny, who was doing her best to refrain from an -outburst of laughter; she could not trust herself to put her cup of tea -to her lips while her brother was continuing his fooling. She thought -that it was scarcely good manners of him to play such a jest upon a -visitor, though she knew the ward-room code of manners which her naval -brother had acquired was very liberal on such points. She was about to -give Mr. Barlowe a hint of the truth of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet, but -James, perceiving her intention, defeated it by saying in a tone above a -whisper: - -“Cain--we mentioned Cain, did we not, Mr. Barlowe? Oh, yes; and it must -have occurred to you how strangely customs have altered during the past -ten years--how strongly opposed people are to-day to principles that -were accepted without demur so recently as in our own boyhood. You take -my meaning, sir?” - -Mr. Barlowe did not look as if he quite grasped Lieutenant Burney's -drift, and Fanny felt it incumbent on her to prevent further fooling (as -he thought she would) by remarking: - -“My brother means, Mr. Barlowe, that 'tis remarkable how many changes -are being made in many ways--but what he had in his mind was, of course, -in respect to the forte-piano--on which my father and sister are -playing a duet: only a few years ago no one thought to improve upon -the harpsichord; and yet my father asserts that in a short time the -harpsichord will be no more than a curiosity--that the forte-piano--or -as we simply call it now, the piano, will take its place in every -household. That is what you meant, was it not, James?” - -“I was thinking of Cain and his profession--Cain, the good old murderer, -rather than of Tubal Cain, who was perhaps equally criminal in inventing -the liveliest source of human torture,” replied James gravely. “Yes, -I was thinking--suggested by the mention of Cain--how strange people -nowadays would regard my father's intentions regarding my future when -he assumed that I should have the best chance for cultivating my bent, -which he had early recognized in me, by sending me, before it became too -late, to be educated for the profession to an accomplished murderer.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -|YOUNG Mr. Barlowe started so violently that he spilt his tea over his -knees; for just before James had uttered his last sentence the music -stopped, but as it had been somewhat loud in the final bars, and James -had raised his voice in the same proportion, the inertia of his tone -defied any attempt to modulate it, so that it was almost with a shout -that he had declared that he had been sent to be educated in his -profession to a murderer. - -Fanny was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the contretemps -to be able to laugh. Her brother, who had had no intention of startling -anyone in the room except young Mr. Barlowe, hung his head and was -blushing under the South Sea tan of his skin; Sir Joshua Reynolds had -heard nothing after the crashing chords that concluded the duet; but -poor Miss Reynolds almost sprang from her chair in horror. - -Mrs. Burney was very angry. - -“You have been making a fool of yourself as usual, James,” she cried. -“Pray give Mr. Barlowe another cup of tea, Fanny. I vow that 'tis a -shame for you, James Burney, to treat such a company as though you were -on the deck of the _Adventure_ facing your South Sea savages.” - -But Dr. Burney, with his customary tact, raised a hand half reprovingly -toward his wife. - -“Give Mr. Barlowe his cup, and then pass one to me, Fanny,” he said, -rising from the piano. “You know that James has spoken no more than -the truth, my dear,” he added, smiling at his wife. “I can see that the -rascal has been fooling while our backs were turned to him; but we know -that he spoke no more than the truth--at least in that one sentence -which he bawled out for us. He was, indeed, sent to a school where he -was placed under an accomplished usher who was some time after hanged -as a murderer. You see, madam----” he had turned, still smiling, to Miss -Reynolds, thereby doing much to restore her confidence in the sanity of -the family--“You see that James was from the first so desperate a young -rascal that, just as a boy who is an adept at figures is educated for -the counting-house, and one who spends all the day before he is six -picking out tunes on the harpsichord should be apprenticed, as I was, to -a musician, so we thought our James should be sent whither he could -be properly grounded in the only profession at which he was likely to -excel. But, alas! the poor usher was carried off by the police, tried at -the next assizes and duly hanged before James had made much progress in -his studies; but I believe that a few years in the navy does as much -for a youth who has made up his mind to succeed, as a protracted course -under a fully qualified criminal.” - -Miss Reynolds looked as if she were not quite certain that, in spite of -his smiles, Dr. Burney was jesting; but when Mrs. Burney, seeing how her -husband's mock seriousness was likely to produce a wrong impression upon -plain people, said: - -“You must recall hearing about Mr. Eugene Aram some years back, Mrs. -Reynolds,” that lady showed that her mind was greatly relieved. - -“I recall the matter without difficulty,” she said. “The man was usher -at the grammar school at Lynn.” - -“And no school had a more learned teacher than that unfortunate man,” - said Sir Joshua. Young Mr. Barlowe had been divided in his amazement -at what Dr. Burney had said, and at the sight of Sir Joshua holding the -trumpet to his ear, though the instrument remained mute. He had never -found himself within the circle of so startling a society. He wished -himself safe at home in the Poultry, where people talked sense and made -no attempt to blow a trumpet with their ears. - -“James had acquired quite a liking for poor Aram,” said Dr. Burney, -“and, indeed, I own to having had a high opinion of the man's ability -myself. It was to enable him to purchase books necessary for his studies -in philology that he killed his victim--a contemptible curmudgeon named -Johnstone. I fear that all our sympathy was on the side of the usher.” - -“I was greatly interested in Mr. Aram, and read a full account of his -trial,” said Sir Joshua. - -“I wonder that a man of so sensitive a mind as his did not so brood over -his crime as to cause suspicion to fall on him earlier than it did.” - -“Only upon one occasion it seemed that he was affected by an incident -which might possibly have awakened some suspicion in the mind of a -person given to suspicion,” said Dr. Burney. - -“James had been presented with a copy of the translation of Gessner's -'Death of Abel'--everyone was going mad about the book that year--more -copies were sold of it than of any translation since Pope's 'Homer,' but -I fancy James found it dull enough reading. He had it on his knee trying -to get through a page or two in case the kind donor might question him -upon it, when the usher came up. He took the volume in his hand and -glanced at the title. Down the book fell from his grasp and he hurried -away without a word--'as if he had been stung,' James said, in telling -us about it, to excuse the broken cover. Of course, I never gave a -thought to the matter at the time; but when I heard of the arrest of -Eugene Aram the following year, I recalled the incident.” - -“I should like to make a picture of the scene, and name it 'Remorse,'” - said Reynolds. - -(_He never did make such a picture; many years had passed, and Lieutenant -Burney had become an Admiral before his narration of the incident -touched the imagination of a poet who dealt with it in verse that has -thrilled a good many readers._) - -Thomas Barlowe was not greatly thrilled by the story as told by Dr. -Burney. He seemed rather shocked to find himself at the table with -someone who had been taught by a murderer. He glanced furtively at James -Burney, who had remained silent since the contretemps that had prevented -him from perfecting his fooling of Thomas; and the result of Thomas's -scrutiny at that moment was to cause Thomas a tremor; for who could say -what fearful knowledge Lieutenant Burney might have acquired during -his intercourse with the murderer--knowledge which might jeopardize the -safety of a simple visitor like himself? Thomas felt that no ordinary -person could be accounted absolutely safe in a company that included a -tall, able-bodied young naval man who had begun his education under a -murderer and had gone to complete it among the cannibals of the South -Seas; and, in addition, an elderly gentleman who fancied that he could -bring any sound out of a trumpet by pressing it to his ear instead of -his lips, and had shown himself ready to extol the scholarship of any -man who had been hanged. - -But then Thomas looked at Fanny, and she pleased him more than ever. She -was so demure, so modest, so shy. She had a very pretty blush, and she -did not play on the piano. It was a thousand pities, he felt, that such -a girl should be compelled to remain in such uncongenial companionship. -All the time that Dr. Burney and his other daughter were playing a -second duet, and the silly gentleman holding the bell of his trumpet -to the case of the piano, still fondly believing that he was also a -performer with the mouth-piece in his ear, Thomas Barlowe was feeling -wave after wave of pity passing over him for the unhappy position of -the shy girl in the midst of so doubtful a household. Before long his -compassion for her so stimulated his imagination that he began to think -of the possibility of his rescuing her--he began to think of himself in -the character of a hero--he did not remember the name of any particular -hero who had carried off a young woman who was placed in a similar -situation to that occupied by Miss Burney; but he had no doubt that more -than one romance was founded upon the doings of such a man as he felt -himself fully qualified to be, if he made up his mind to assume such a -rôle. - -As the music continued--it was an arrangement of Bach's _Orfèo_--Thomas -Barlowe became more and more resolute. He would be the heroic person who -should appear at the right moment and achieve the emancipation of that -sweet and shy girl, who by no fault of hers was forced to live in that -house and remain, if she could, on friendly terms with her father and -sisters, who kept strumming on the piano, and with her brother, who was -ready to boast of having received the rudiments of his education from -a murderer. All that he needed was the opportunity to show his heroism, -and he did not doubt that when he set his mind to work on the matter, he -would have such an opportunity. - -If anyone had whispered in his ear that his inward consciousness of -being equal to the doing of great deeds was solely due to the music -which was being played, and to which he was unwillingly listening, he -would have been indignant. He would have thought it preposterous had it -been suggested to him that the effect of that strumming was to make him -feel more like a god than a man--to be ready to face hell for the love -of a woman, as Jean Sebastian Bach imagined Orpheus doing for Eurydice. -But Jean Sebastian Bach knew what he was about when he had composed his -_Orfèo_, and Dr. Burney was quite equal to the business of interpreting -his aims, and of urging his daughter Susan to join with him in -impressing them upon even so unimpressionable a nature as that of Thomas -Barlowe; so that while Thomas Barlowe believed that this music was one -of the most petty of all human interests, it was making him think -such thoughts as had never before entered his mind--it was giving him -aspirations from which in ordinary circumstances he would have shrunk. - -The master musician and his interpreters were making sport of him, -leading him if not quite into the region of the heroic, at least to the -boundary of that region, and supplying him with a perspective glass, as -the Interpreter did to the Pilgrims, by the aid of which he might see -the wonderful things that had been beyond his natural scope. - -And that was how it came about that he gazed into Miss Burney's eyes and -pressed her hand at parting with a tenderness he had never previously -associated with his leave-taking. He felt sure that Miss Burney would -understand what he meant, though he knew that he would have difficulty -in expressing it all to her in words; for the effect of the music was -to make him feel that he could put so much feeling into a look, into -a squeeze of the hand, as would touch the heart of any young woman and -cause her to be certain that she might trust him though all other help -might fail her. - -That was the effect which the heroic music had upon him, though he did -not know it; it made him feel willing to face hell for her sake at that -moment, and even until he had walked through more than a mile of the -network of streets that lay between Leicester Fields and the Poultry. - -But the effect of such an intoxicant as music upon such a nature as his -is not lasting. Before he had reached Cheapside his own individuality -was beginning to assert itself; and he wondered if he had not gone too -far for discretion--discretion being, according to his reckoning, the -power to withdraw from a position that might compromise him. And before -he reached his home he had got the length of wondering how he had so far -forgotten himself as to yield to that compromising impulse represented -by the gaze and the squeeze. He could not for the life of him understand -what had come over him at that moment; for he had by no means satisfied -himself that Miss Burney was the young woman who would make him -comfortable as his wife. He still thought highly of her on account of -her modesty and her dainty shyness, but marriage was a serious matter, -and he was not sure that he should take her for his wife. - -On the whole, he felt that he had had a very trying evening--between the -Lieutenant who had so nearly qualified to practise as a murderer, and -the father and daughter who seemed ready to strum their duets until -midnight, to say nothing of the foolish gentleman who tried to play -the trumpet with his ear; and Thomas made up his mind that he would not -trust himself into the midst of so unusual a circle until he was certain -that he wanted to marry the young woman whose hand he had, for some -reason or other, pressed at parting. - -But Mrs. Burney had noticed much more clearly than Fanny had done the -expression that the face of Thomas Barlowe had worn when he had looked -into the girl's eyes; she had measured to the fraction of a second the -duration of his holding of her hand beyond the time essential for -the discharge of the ordinary courtesy of a hand-shake; and she was -satisfied that Thomas was progressing in his wooing of the least -attractive and certainly the least accomplished member of the family. -The good woman thought, however, that it was rather a pity that her -husband and Susan had persisted in the practice of their duets; for by -doing so they had not given a chance to Thomas and Fanny of being alone -together. - -But, looking back upon the incidents of the evening, she came to the -conclusion that, on the whole, she had no reason to complain of the -progress that was being made in the young man's wooing. She was no -believer in undue haste in this respect; and had not Thomas looked into -Fanny's eyes at the close of the evening? Yes, at the close; and that -proved to her satisfaction that he had not suffered discouragement by -the maladroit conversation about Mr. Eugene Aram. The unhappy episode -upon which her husband had dwelt with far too great attention to its -details, was one to which she herself had never alluded; for at Lynn, -where she had lived all her life previous to being married to Dr. -Burney, the Eugene Aram episode was regarded as a scandal to be ignored -by those of the inhabitants whose children had attended the school where -he had been usher. It was a distinctly favourable sign of the impression -made upon young Mr. Barlowe by Fanny, that he had gazed into her eyes in -spite of his having been made aware of the connection of the family with -the tragedy of that wretched schoolmaster. Mrs. Burney took no account -of the effect of Bach's marvellous music upon a young man who was a -lover in the rough. In this respect, as has been indicated, she did not -differ from the young man himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -|IT was at the Pantheon in the Oxford Road a fortnight later, that Mrs. -Thrale, the brewer's lively wife, had an opportunity of shining, by a -display of that _esprit_ which caused Mr. Garrick to affirm solemnly -that if she had gone upon the stage she would have been a dangerous -rival to Mistress Clive; and Fanny Burney, with her father and Mr. -Linley, the father of the beautiful Mrs. Sheridan, was a witness of the -ease with which the lady sparkled as she described for the benefit of -the circle how Mr. Garrick's jest at the expense of poor Mr. Kendal and -the Widow Nash had set all the Wells laughing. She imitated Mr. Garrick -to his face, in offering his congratulations to Mr. Kendal and so -setting the ball a-rolling until within an hour the poor, silly -gentleman had been offered the felicitations of half the Wells upon his -engagement to Widow Nash. Mrs. Thrale re-enacted with great gravity -the part she had played in Mr. Garrick's plot, and then she hastened -to imitate Mrs. Cholmondeley's part, and even Mr. Sheridan's, upon that -lively morning at Tunbridge Wells. - -But there was much more to tell, and Mrs. Thrale took very good care to -abate nothing of her narrative; it gave her so good a chance of acting, -and it gave Mr. Garrick so good a chance of complimenting her before all -the company. - -“Oh, I vow that we played our parts to perfection,” she cried, “and -without any rehearsal either. But then what happened? You will scarce -believe it, Mr. Garrick has always borne such a character for scrupulous -honour in his dealings with his companies, but indeed 'tis a fact that -our manager decamped as soon as he found that the poor man had been -teased to the verge of madness by the fooling he had started--off he -went, we knew not whither; leaving no message for any of us. He was not -to be found by noon; and what happened by dinner-time? Why, the poor -gentleman whom we had been fooling had also fled!” - -“That was indeed too bad of Mr. Kendal,” said Dr. Burney. - -“'Twas too inconsiderate of him truly,” cried Mrs. Thrale. “'Tis no -great matter if the manager of the playhouse runs away when his play -is produced--you remember that Mr. Colman hurried off to Bath to escape -lampooners when the success of Dr. Goldsmith's comedy _She Stoops to -Conquer_ had proved to all the town that he was no judge of a play; -but for the one who has been made the object of such a jest as ours to -escape without giving us a chance of bringing our teasing to a fitting -climax is surely little short of infamous.” - -“And when did you design the fitting climax to arrive, madam?” asked one -of the circle. - -“Why, when the gentleman and lady should come face to face in the -Assembly Rooms, to be sure,” replied Mrs. Thrale. “We were all there to -await the scene of their meeting; and you can judge of our chagrin when -only the lady appeared.” - -“We can do so, indeed,” said Mrs. Darner, who was also in the circle. “I -can well believe that you were furious. When one has arranged a burletta -for two characters 'tis infamous when only one of the actors appears on -the stage.” - -Mrs. Thrale smiled the smile of the lady who knows that she is -harbouring a surprise for her friends and only awaits the right moment -to spring it upon them--a cat to be let out of the bag at the pulling of -a string. - -“I knew that we should have your sympathy, Mrs. Darner,” she said -demurely. “You have, I doubt not, more than once experienced all the -chagrin that follows the miscarrying of a well-planned scheme. But as -it so happened, we were more than compensated for our ill-usage at that -time by the unlooked-for appearance of the missing actor two nights -later.” - -“Oh, lud!” cried Mrs. Darner, holding up both her hands in a very dainty -way. - -Mr. Garrick also lifted up his hands in amazement, but he did not need -to exclaim anything to emphasize the effect of his gesture. - -Dr. Burney smiled, trying to catch the eye of Mr. Garrick, but Mr. -Garrick took very good care that he should not succeed in doing so. - -“You may well cry, 'oh, lud!'” said Mrs. Thrale. “But if you had been -in the Rooms when the man entered you would not have been able to say a -word for surprise, I promise you. The poor gentleman had posted all the -way from town to Tunbridge, apparently for our diversion only, and what -a sight he was! It seems that he had got over his fright at the coupling -of his name with the lady's, while flying to London, but from this point -a reaction set in, and he spent all the time that he was posting back to -the Wells adding fuel to the fire of his resolution to throw himself -at the feet of the lady at the earliest possible moment. Was there ever -such a comedy played, Mr. Garrick?” - -“'Twould be too extravagant for the theatre, madam, but not for Nature's -playhouse,” replied Garrick. “I have more than once been told the story -of soldiers having fled in a panic from the field of battle, but on -finding themselves in a place of safety they returned to the fight and -fought like demons. Was there aught that could be termed demoniacal -in the gentleman's conduct on finding himself face to face with the -enemy--I mean the lady?” - -“Aught demoniacal, do you ask me?” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Oh, sir, have -you not heard the parable of the demon that was cast out of a man, but -finding its homeless condition unsupportable, sought out seven of its -friends and returned with them to its former habitation, so that the -last state of the man was more demoniacal than the first?” - -“I fancy I have heard the parable, madam, but its application----” began -Garrick, when Mrs. - -Darner broke in upon him, crying: - -“Do not ever attempt to point out the aptness of the application of -a parable, Mrs. Thrale. Do not, if you are wise. Would you lead us to -believe that the unhappy wretch found it necessary to post up to town -to obtain his relay of demons for his own discomfiture when so much rank -and fashion was at the Wells, though at the fag end of the season?” - -“Leaving parables aside, demons and all, I can bear witness to -the condition of the man when he entered the Rooms and strode with -determination on his face up to where the Widow Nash was fanning -herself--not without need,” said Mrs. Thrale. “It so happened that she -was seated under the gallery at the furthest end of the Rooms, but our -gentleman did not pause on entering to look round for her--I tell you -that it seemed as if he went by instinct straight up to her, and bowing -before her, said: 'Madam, may I beg the honour of a word or two with you -in private?'--I was close by and so were several other equally credible -witnesses, and we heard every word. The widow looked at him coolly----” - -“Yes, you said she had been fanning herself,” remarked Mrs. Darner, but -without interrupting the flow of the narrative. - -“There was no need of a fan for her voice, I can assure you, when she -had completed her survey of the dusty gentleman and thought fit to -reply to him,” continued Mrs. Thrale. “'I vow, sir,' said she, 'that I -consider this room sufficiently private for anything you have to say -to me.' She had plainly got wind of Mr. Garrick's plot and so was fully -prepared for the worst--though some people might call it the best--that -could happen. 'Madam,' said Mr. Kendal, 'what I have to say is meant for -your ear alone,' and I am bound to admit that he spoke with suavity -and dignity. 'Pray let my friends here be the judges of that,' said the -widow. That was a pretty rebuff for any gentleman with a sense of his -own dignity, you will say; but he did not seem to accept it in such a -spirit. He hesitated, but only for a few moments, then he looked around -him to see who were within hearing, and with hardly a pause, he said in -the clearest of tones, 'I perceive that we are surrounded just now with -some ladies who, two days ago, offered me congratulations upon my good -fortune in winning your promise, madam; and I venture now to come -before you to implore of you to give me permission to assume that their -congratulations were well founded'--those were his words; we did not -think that he had it in him to express himself so well.” - -“And what was the lady's reply?” asked Dr. Burney, recalling the -prophecy in which he had indulged when parting from Garrick at his own -door. - -“The lady's reply was disappointing, though dignified,” replied Mrs. -Thrale. “'Sir,' she said, 'I have oft heard that the credulity of a man -has no limits, but I have never before had so conspicuous an instance of -the truth of this. Surely the merest schoolboy would have been able to -inform you that you were being made the victim of one of Mr. Garrick's -silly jests--that these ladies here lent themselves to the transaction, -hoping to make a fool of me as well as of you; but I trust that they -are now aware of the fact that I, at least, perceived the truth from the -first, so that whoever has been fooled I am not that person; and so -I have the honour to wish you and them a very good evening.' Then she -treated us to a very elaborate curtsey and stalked away to the door, -leaving us all amazed at her display of dignity--real dignity, not the -stage imitation, Mr. Garrick.” - -“You should have been there, if only to receive a lesson, Mr. Garrick,” - said Mrs. Damer. - -“I hope those who had the good fortune to be present were taught a -lesson,” said another lady in the circle. - -“If you mean me, madam,” said Mrs. Thrale, with tactful good humour, -“I frankly allow that I profited greatly by observing the scene. 'Tis -a dangerous game to play--that of trying to show others in a ridiculous -light, and in future I vow that all my attention shall be given to the -duty of avoiding making a fool of myself. Your jest miscarried, Mr. -Garrick; though how that gentleman who fled from the Wells in that -headlong fashion was induced to return, is beyond my knowledge.” - -“Psha! madam, the fellow is a coxcomb and not worth discussing,” cried -Garrick. “He got no more than his deserts when the lady left him to be -the laughing-stock of the Assembly. I knew that that would be his fate -if he ever succeeded in summing up sufficient courage to face her.” - -“But strange to say, we did not laugh at him then,” said Mrs. Thrale. -“He seemed to be quite a different man from the one whom we had tried -to fool two days earlier. There was a certain dignity about him that -disarmed us. You must allow, Mr. Garrick, that only the bravest of men -would have had the courage to march up the Assembly Rooms and make his -proposal to the lady in public.” - -“That is the courage of the coxcomb who believes himself to be -irresistible to the other sex, madam,” said Garrick; “and I affirm that -'twas most reprehensible to refrain from laughing at him.” Then, putting -his arm through that of Burney as if to stroll on with him, and so -give the others to understand that he had had enough of Mr. Kendal as a -topic, he whispered: - -“Ha, my friend, did not I prophesy aright what would be the fellow's -fate? I know men, and women, too--ay, in some measure, though they are -sealed books, eh, friend Burney? And you tried to persuade me that she -would not snub him? I knew better--I knew that she--eh, what--what are -they staring at?” - -“They are staring at the appearance of Mr. Kendal with the Widow Nash on -his arm--there they are, David, and you are staring at them too,” said -Burney with a smile. - -“Angels and Ministers of Grace! 'Tis a man and his wife we are staring -at! The woman has married him after all!” cried David, his hand dropping -limply from Burney's shoulder. “A man and his wife: I know the look in -their faces!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -|IT was, indeed, the same man who had come to consult Dr. Burney, but -had not been allowed the chance of doing so by Garrick, a fortnight -before--the same man, but with a marked difference, who was now walking -across the pillared room in the Pantheon, with a smiling, well-favoured -lady by his side; and toward the pair the eyes of all the circle whom -Mrs. Thrale had been addressing were directed. - -Mrs. Thrale and her friends were too much amazed to be able to speak, -but the lips of every one of them were holding back some exclamation of -surprise: an acute observer would have been able easily to set down the -various unuttered exclamations of the party, from the simple “Oh, -Lud!” of Mrs. Thrale to the more emphatic “Merciful Powers!” of Mrs. -Cholmondeley, though not a word was spoken between them, while Mr. -Kendal and the lady walked, straight through the room to where they were -standing. - -“Slip behind the pillar: I will cover you, my friend,” whispered Dr. -Burney to Garrick. - -But Garrick had no intention of doing anything so ignominious--more -especially as he perceived that Mr. Kendal had caught sight of him; and -it was really Garrick who advanced to meet the couple, with the air of -a host about to welcome two long-expected guests--it was really Garrick -who received them with one of his finest bows, and who--to add to the -amazement of the group behind him--was greeted by Mr. Kendal and the -lady with the friendliest of smiles (the lady was blushing, not Mr. -Garrick). - -And then it was to Dr. Burney the gentleman turned. - -“Dear sir,” he cried, “with what words should I approach you? It is to -your counsel and Mr. Garrick's that I owe my happiness.” Then he made -his bow to the others of the group. - -“Mrs. Thrale,” he said, when he had recovered himself, “we hoped to find -you here with your friends, so that we might lose no moment in offering -you our thanks for the tactful way in which you brought us together. -Only such genius as yours, madam, could have perceived--well, all -that you did perceive. I protest that neither Mrs. Kendal nor myself -apprehended the too flattering truth. But the heart of a woman who has -herself loved--ah, that is the source of such genius as you displayed -with such subtlety. She is mine, madam; we have been married a whole -week, and I, at least, know what a treasure--but I cannot trust myself -to talk of my happiness just now. Perhaps at some future time I shall -be able to tell you coherently how I felt within me that my Diana--Mrs. -Nash, as she was then--did not mean her rebuff as a final dismissal, and -thus I was led to her side--to implore an audience of her, in the course -of which she confessed to me that----” - -But his bride prevented the flow of his eloquence by tapping him under -the chin in exquisite playfulness with her fan, smiling roguishly at him -first, and then looking round the group with an air of chastened triumph -while she said: - -“Foolish man! Prithee remember, Ferdinand, that you are in a public -place, and that the secrets of the confessional are sacred. I protest -that you are exceeding a husband's privilege in revealing aught that I -confessed when taken aback at your sudden appearance before me!” - -“I ask your pardon, my angel,” he cried. “I had no right to say even the -little that I have said. I suppose I shall learn discretion in time and -with practice. But when I think of the kindly interest that some of our -friends here showed in bringing us together, I feel that they should be -rewarded by a repetition of the whole story.” - -“Nay, nay, sir, you may take my word for it that we look not for such a -reward,” cried Garrick. “Such philanthropists as Mrs. Thrale and myself -feel more than rewarded when we succeed in bringing together a lady and -gentleman who were so plainly intended by Providence for each other's -happiness.” - -“It was Mr. Garrick who looked with the eyes of Providence into your -case as associated with Mr. Kendal, madam. That is, if Puck may ever be -thought of as assuming the rôle of Providence,” said Mrs. Thrale. “For -myself, I believe that Puck has more to do with the making of matches -than heaven; and assuredly in this particular case the mischievous fairy -had more than a finger. But however that may be, we can still wish you -every happiness in life, and offer you an apology for----” - -“H'sh!” whispered Garrick, raising a hand. “Rauzzini is beginning to -sing. I am sure, Mrs. Kendal, that you will willingly accept Signor -Rauzzini's song in lieu of Mrs. Thrale's apology, however admirably -worded the latter were sure to be.” - -The bride smiled benignly at Mrs. Thrale, and there was more than a -trace of triumph in her smile. - -Dr. Burney smiled also at the adroitness of the actor, who, he could -perceive, had no intention of allowing himself to be incriminated by any -confession, assuming the form of an apology, that Mrs. Thrale might make -in a moment of contrition for having been a partner with him in a piece -of fooling that had had a very different result from the one he (and -she) had looked for. - -Garrick, still holding up a warning finger as if he had at heart the -best interests of the composer as well as the singer of “Waft her, -Angels,” prevented another word from being spoken, though more than a -full minute had passed before Rauzzini had breathed the first notes of -the recitativo. - -But incautiously lowering his finger when the handsome Roman had begun, -Mrs. Thrale took advantage of her release from the thraldom imposed upon -her, to say in a low tone, looking toward the gallery in front of which -the singer stood: - -“It is one angel talking to the others! Was there ever so angelic a -man?” - -And little Miss Burney, who had also her eyes fixed upon the singer, -felt that little Mrs. Thrale was not merely an angel, but a goddess. She -expressed her opinion to this effect in her next letter to Mr. Crisp. - -She listened in a dream to the singing that no one could hear and remain -unmoved, even though one had not the advantage of looking at the singer -at the same time. Fanny Burney was too shortsighted to be able to -distinguish one face from another at such a distance; but this made -no difference to her; she had the face of the sweet singer ever before -her--most clearly when she closed her eyes, as she did now, and listened -to him. - -“Waft her, angels, to the skies--Waft her, angels, waft her, angels, -waft her to the skies,” rang out his fervent imploration, and she felt -that there were no powers that could withstand the force of such an -appeal. For herself she felt carried away on the wings of song into the -highest heaven. She felt that harps of heaven alone could provide an -adequate accompaniment to such a voice as his; and she gave herself up -to it as unreservedly as a bride gives herself to the arms of her lover. -She had that sensation of a sweet yielding to the divine influence of -the music until she could feel it enfolding her and bearing her into the -infinite azure of a realm more beautiful than any that her dreams had -borne her to in the past. She wanted nothing better than this in any -world. All that she wanted was an assurance that it would continue for -ever and ever.... - -With the cessation of the singing she seemed to awaken from a dream of -divine delight, and in her awaking to retain the last thought that had -been hers--the longing for an assurance that the delight which she was -feeling would endure. She was awake now, and she knew that love had been -all her dream, and that what she longed for was the assurance that -that love would continue. And now she remembered that it was this same -longing that had brought about her resolution that she would never go to -her King as the beggar maid had gone to King Cophetua. There would be -no assurance of the continuing of love between them if she had the -humiliating feeling that he had stooped to raise her to his level. - -That was the thought which took possession of her mind when she had -returned from the sublimities to which she had been borne by her lover's -singing, and in another minute the reaction had come. She had been -soaring high, but now she was conscious of a sinking at heart; for the -whole building was resounding with acclamations of the singer. There did -not seem to be anyone silent, save only herself, throughout the hall. -Everyone seemed calling the name of Rauzzini--all seemed ready to -throw themselves at his feet; and when he stood up to acknowledge their -tribute of enthusiasm to his marvellous powers, there was something of -frenzy in the way his name was flung from hundreds of voices--it was -not enough for the people whom he had stirred to shout his name, they -surrounded him with the banners of a great conqueror--the air was -quivering with the lace and the silk that were being waved on all sides -to do him honour--handkerchiefs, scarves, fans--the air was full of -them. - -And there he stood high above them, smiling calmly and bending his head -gravely to right and left in acknowledgment of all.... - -That was his position before the world. Her heart sank within her as she -asked herself what was hers. How could she ever hope to attain to such a -place as should win from the world such applause as this? How could -she ever be so vain as to think that the giving of a little book to -the world should have an effect worthy of being compared with this -demonstration which was shaking the Pantheon? - -Her heart sank to a deeper depth still when the thunders had passed -away--reluctantly as the reverberations of a great storm--and there was -a buzz of voices all about her--exclamations of delight--whispers of -admiration--ladies with clasped hands, fervent in their words about the -marvellous face of the young Roman--and her father and his friend, Mr. -Fulke Greville, exchanging recollections of the singing of the same air -by other vocalists, and coming gradually to the conclusion that none had -put such feeling into it as had Rauzzini. - -The buzz of voices did not cease when the singer had come down from his -gallery and was greeting some of his friends on the floor of the great -hall. He had trouble in making his way as far as the group which he -meant to reach. The most distinguished ladies of high quality had -pressed round him with uncritical expressions of appreciation of his -singing, and there was no lack of gentlemen of fashion to follow their -example, though wondering greatly that the ladies of quality should -allow themselves to show such transports respecting a man with no trait -of a true-born Englishman about him. Signor Rauzzini might have indulged -in a score of pinches of snuff out of the gold and enamelled boxes that -were thrust forward for his acceptance with the finest artificial grace -of a period when it was not thought effeminate to be graceful over small -things. - -He bowed low to the ladies of quality, and smiled his polite rejection -of the snuff of the gentlemen of fashion. But such convenances made it -impossible for him to keep his eyes upon the group toward which he -was making a necessarily slow way, and he only reached the side of Dr. -Burney to find that Dr. Burney's daughter had disappeared. He had no -chance of seeing how Miss Burney at his approach had slipped behind -a pillar and suffered herself to be conducted thence to a seat by her -cousin Edward: the fact that Edward was learning to be a painter was a -sufficient excuse for his paying an occasional visit to such scenes -of colour as were unfolded before the eyes of a frequenter of the -fashionable Pantheon every night. - -Fanny felt that if Signor Rauzzini had come to her side after passing -through the ranks of lace and velvet and brocade, she would have sunk -through the floor of the hall. But she knew that it was to her side he -was coming, and she took the opportunity of flying when he was compelled -to make a pause in front of the flattery of the Duchess of Ancaster. - -She was painfully shy at all times, but overwhelmingly so at that -moment, though she knew that she was the only woman in the place who -would make the attempt to evade the distinction which threatened her. -How could she remain where she had been with all eyes in the room upon -her? She felt that it would be impossible. - -Her heart was beating quickly as she thought: - -“Not yet--not yet.” - -After all there is no more womanly trait than that of fleeing from a -lover; but Fanny Burney was yielding to its impulse without an attempt -to analyse it, and without being consoled by the reflection of the -woman of the younger world, that if it is woman's instinct to fly from a -lover, it is a lover's instinct to pursue. - -She had scarcely finished the cup of ice which her cousin had brought -her, before the man had found her. - -But now the Gabrielli was beginning to sing, and all eyes were directed -upon the Gabrielli, so that no one but Rauzzini saw how Dr. Burney's -over-shy daughter was flushing. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -|THEY spoke in French, with an occasional phrase in Italian when they -found the other tongue lacking in melody or in the exact shade of -meaning that they sought to express. Edward Burney thought that the -moment was one that favoured his ambition to study the pose of Madame -Gabrielli, with a view to starting on a portrait that should make him -famous. He asked Fanny's permission to allow him to take up a place -a few yards beyond the pillar. He promised not to be long absent, and -Fanny had not the heart to detain him. - -“You fled from me--was that kind?” asked Rauzzini when the cousin had -moved away, but was still in view. - -“Ah,” said she, “one who has my odious selfconsciousness does not ask -what is kind or unkind, she simply flies.” - -“But you knew that I was coming to your side?” said he. - -“I know that you are wise enough to value the criticism of a musician -like my father above the vapid phrases of the people of fashion,” - replied Fanny. - -“That is true indeed,” said he. “I value a word of praise or blame from -Dr. Burney as precious. But Dr. Burney has a daughter whose words are to -me as precious.” - -“She is not here to-night,” said Fanny. “My sister Esther, to whom you -refer, is indeed a discriminating critic. She told me how exquisitely -you sang at the concert where you met her--it is scarcely a fortnight -ago.” - -“Dr. Burney has more daughters than that one,” said he. - -Fanny laughed. - -“He has indeed more daughters than one,” she said. “We were a household -of daughters before Esther married and when my brother was in the South -Seas. But only Esther is critical as a musician.” - -“In the name of heaven, do you think that it is only possible for me to -value words that refer to my singing?” he asked. “Do you not know that I -would rather listen to your voice than----” - -“Than Madame Gabrielli's?” said Fanny; he had spoken his last sentence -in too loud a tone, even though the Gabrielli's brilliant vocalism -usually admitted of a conversation being carried on with some vehemence -in the great room of the Pantheon without causing remark. - -He smiled at her warning, and it was in a subdued voice that he said: - -“I am tired of hearing the Gabrielli; but what of your voice? How often -have you given me the chance of hearing it? Even now you fled from me as -though I carried the plague about with me! Was that kind or unkind?” - -“You do not entertain the thought that perhaps I have not yet tired -of Madame Gabrielli's vocalism: I knew that she was at the point of -beginning her aria.” - -“You would sacrifice me on the altar of your favourite? Well, perhaps -you would be justified in doing so. Hold up your finger now and I shall -be mute as a fish until Gabrielli has had her last shriek. I can still -look at you--it will not spoil your appreciation of the aria if I merely -look at you.” - -“I think I would rather that you talked to me than merely looked at me. -I do not invite people to look at me, and happily few people do. I am -not conspicuous. I am the insignificant one. There is Mrs. Thrale, for -instance; she has been several times at our house, and every time she -comes she inquires who is the little one.” - -He smiled and held up his finger in imitation of the way she had rebuked -him for talking too loud. - -“H'sh; I am anxious to hear the Signora Gabrielli,” he said, and the -express on that he made his face assume at that moment would -have convinced anyone that he was giving all his attention to the -singing--drinking in every note with the earnestness of an enthusiast. -There was a certain boyish exaggeration in his expression that was very -amusing to Fanny, though less observing persons would have been ready -to accept it as evidence of the generous appreciation on the part of one -great singer of the success of another. - -So he remained until the _cavatina_ had come to an end; and then he was -loudest in his cry of “Brava!” - -“It is a treat--a great--a sacred treat,” said he, turning to Fanny. “I -do not think I ever heard that song before. Has it a name, I wonder?” - -“If I mistake not it is from an opera in which a certain Roman tenore -made a name for himself last year, in happy conjunction with Madame -Gabrielli,” said Fanny. - -“Is it possible? I had not heard of that circumstance,” said he, with a -look of the most charming innocence in his large eyes. It was his hands -that were most expressive, however, as he added: - -“But it was last year, you say, mademoiselle? Ah, who is it that -remembers an opera from one year to another? No one, except the -_impresario_ who has lost his good money, or somebody's else's money, -over its production. Enough, the _cantatrice_ has given us of her best, -and is there now any reason why we should remain dumb? The great charm -of the singing of these brilliant artistes of last year's operas is that -when they have sung, they have sung--they leave one nothing to think -about afterward. Is not that so, mademoiselle?” - -“They leave one nothing to think about--except their singing,” said -Fanny. “For myself, I am still thinking of 'Waft her, angels,' although -nearly half an hour must have passed since I heard the last notes. And -it seems to me that when half a century will have passed I shall still -be thinking of it.” - -He did not offer her the conventional acknowledgement of a bow. He -only looked at her with those large eyes of his; they were capable of -expressing in a single glance all the tenderness of feeling of a poem. - -“I have not sung in vain,” he said in a low tone. “My old _maestro_ gave -me the advice one day when I was proving to him my success in reaching -the high note which I had been striving for years to bring into my -compass: 'That is all very well,' he said. 'You have aimed at touching -that rare note, now your aim must be to touch the heart of everyone who -hears you sing.' I sometimes think that he set for me too difficult a -task.” - -“Not too difficult--for you,” said she. - -“There are dangers,” he said thoughtfully. “I have known singers who -tried to reach the hearts of their hearers by tricks--yes, and they -succeeded through these illegitimate means in making themselves popular, -while far better singers who had a scorn of such tricks and gave their -best to all who listened to them, failed to please anyone who had not a -knowledge of the true boundary of music.” - -“I have seen these tricksters, too,” said Fanny. “I have witnessed their -sentimental grimaces--their head shakings--their appeal to the feelings -with pathetic eyes turned heavenward. They made me ashamed of -them--ashamed of myself for listening to them, though people about me -had been moved to tears. But I think that the people who are easily -moved to tears are those who retain an impression the shortest space of -time.” - -“You give me confidence--encouragement,” he cried. “I have made up my -mind that if I cannot reach a heart by the straight King's highway, I -will not try to do so by any bypath. Bypaths are, we know, the resorts -of brigands: they may captivate a heart or two, but only to leave them -empty afterwards.” - -So they talked together for many minutes. Faney Burney had a sufficient -acquaintance among musicians, vocal as well as instrumental, to have -learned, long ago, that they can easily be prevented from talking on any -other subject than music, and the same reflection that had caused her -to say that “Not yet--not yet,” had impelled her to lead Rauzzini in -another direction than that in which he had shown so strong a tendency -to go. He had been trying to make her understand that he had travelled -through the obstructions of the hall not in order that he might obtain -the criticism of so accomplished a _maestro_ as Dr. Burney upon his -singing, but in order that he should have a chance of talking to Dr. -Burney's unaccomplished daughter; he had shown her that his wish was to -converse on the topic of this unaccomplished daughter; but she had no -mind to acquiesce in his aims for the present. She still felt herself to -be the beggar maid, and she would not allow her king to get any nearer -to her. - -It was not until her cousin had returned to where she was seated, that -the young Italian found that he had not made much progress with his -suit. He had intended that this _tête-à-tête_ with her should make -her aware of how he felt in regard to her, but he had allowed his -opportunity to pass, and in place of talking about her he had been led -to talk of himself. - -That was how he expressed himself to her when he found that their -_tête-à-tête_ was at an end. - -“How has this come about?” he cried in surprise. “How is it that I have -shown myself to be so vain as to make speeches about my singing when I -meant to talk to you of yourself?” - -“'Twas I who found a more profitable topic for you, _signore mio_,” she -replied, feeling her way through the words of his native tongue, for he -had spoken out his surprise in Italian. - -He shook his head and made a gesture with his hands. - -“But it is a mystery!” he said in French. “I had no desire to talk about -myself or my singing. I meant to tell you what was in my mind when I saw -you entering this place with your father. Shall we retrace our steps in -our conversation until I find how it was that I took a wrong turning? -Alas! I fear that it would not be possible!” - -“It would not be possible, indeed,” she replied. “Did you not say -something about the bypaths being dangerous with banditti? We kept -our feet upon the King's highway, which is safe. I was swept off my -feet--carried away--away--by your singing of the aria; I had scarce -touched the earth once more when you came to my side, and now we are -parting happily, you to realize your aspirations, I to--to--well, -to retain for ever the memory of your singing--the memory of those -celestial harmonies into the midst of which I was wafted by the angels -of your imploration. That is enough for one evening of my life. Nay, you -must not speak another word lest the charm of all should fade away. I -shall go home to dream of angels.” - -“And I shall go to dream of you,” he said in a low tone. - -He did not hold her hand so long as Thomas Barlowe had done when parting -from her, but she felt that somehow he had accomplished more by his -reserve than Thomas had achieved by his impetuosity. She hoped that she -might never see Thomas again; but for Signor Rauzzini---- - -They parted. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -|THESE foreigners!” exclaimed young Edward Burney when Rauzzini had left -them, and Fanny was asking her cousin if her father was not looking for -her. “These foreigners! Your father is talking with another of them--an -Italian too, as I live--I have seen him in St. Martin's Street--Signor -Piozzi. But I suppose Uncle Burney likes to keep in touch with them. The -town is swarming with them: they are even to be found about Leicester -Fields. Why do some people fancy that we must have Italians to sing -for us? There are plenty of good singers in England, without a drop of -foreign blood in their veins. A good sea song with a chorus that is easy -to get into the swing of--that's English and honest.” - -“Honest down to the hoarsest note,” said Fanny. “You and James are at -one in the matter of songs.” - -“Cousin Jim hates foreigners, as is quite proper that an officer in a -King's ship should,” said Edward stoutly. - -“Not all foreigners,” said Fanny smiling. “You forget how kindly he took -to Prince Omai.” - -“Oh, a South Sea Islander is different,” cried her cousin. “I expect -that the South Seas will soon become as English as ourselves if Captain -Cook goes on discovering islands.” - -“Edward,” said Fanny, after a pause sufficient to allow of the -introduction of a new topic; “Edward, could you make it convenient to -call at the Orange Coffee House some day soon to inquire if there is -another letter for Mr. Grafton?” - -“I'll not omit it on any account,” he replied. “Oh, yes, Mr. Grafton, -I'll collect your correspondence for you, never fear. You have not let -anyone else into the secret, I hope?” - -“No one knows it except Susy and Lottie and Charles and Hetty; but Hetty -only knows that I wrote the book, not that it is to be printed--Charles -is still away from us, or I would not trouble you, Edward.” - -“Poor Charlie grew tired of the Orange Coffee House, did he not? He told -me how you made him your messenger at first, disguising him in a cloak -and a gentleman's hat, so that he might not seem quite the boy that he -was. But how the secret has been kept so well is a wonder to me--kept -from the powers that be, I mean--uncle and aunt. I wonder if your mother -never had a suspicion of what was going on, especially as she knew all -about your writing long ago.” - -“I think that it was the copying out of the padre's History that saved -me,” said Fanny. “Many a page of my novel I wrote when she believed that -I was copying the notes for the History--yes, that, and the letters -which Mr. Crisp insists on my sending him every week. But even with -these excuses I could sometimes not get through more than three or four -pages of my own book during a whole week.” - -“How will you look when the secret is let out--it must be let out some -day, you know? If the writing a novel is thought shocking, how will -Uncle Burney receive the news, think you? He has not yet given you leave -to publish it.” - -There was a troubled look on poor Fanny's face as she replied, after a -pause: - -“I have often meant to ask father's permission, but I was not able to -summon up courage enough to face him with the whole truth. But it cannot -be delayed much longer. Perhaps I might write him a letter about it some -time when I am at Chessington.” - -“I don't envy you the duty, my dear Fanny,” said lie. “But I think that -the sooner you get it over the easier you will feel. I suppose that -writing a novel is worse than writing a 'History of Music.' I wonder why -you took so much trouble over the business.” - -“I could not help it,” she cried. “I have often wondered myself why I -was sitting up in that cold room at the top of the house, writing until -my fingers were benumbed, when I might have been at my comfortable -sewing in front of a fire downstairs; but I could not help it--I could -not help doing it, Eddy.” - -Eddy never reached that point in his career as a painter when he found -the artist's impulse to create too great to be resisted. He could not -appreciate her explanation. - -“'I couldn't help it,' that's what we were used to say long ago, when -we got into mischief; I hope that Uncle Burney and Aunt Burney--don't -forget her in this matter--I hope that they will accept your excuse. -Anyhow, you may trust me to act as your 'Mr. Grafton' at the Orange -Coffee House some day this week.” - -He caught a glimpse of his uncle, Dr. Burney, sitting with Mr. Greville, -so that he had no trouble in placing Fanny once more in charge of her -father. He could see that the girl was a little downcast, and tried to -cheer her up a bit by whispering in a sly way into her ear: - -“Good-night, Mr. Grafton; my best respects to Mrs. Grafton and the -children--especially Evelina.” - -The smile that Fanny gave in acknowledgment of his pleasantry did not -quite carry conviction that his well-meant effort had been successful. -He went away feeling as much sympathy for her as was possible for him -to have in common with the reflection that if she was in a difficult -position, it was wholly one of her own seeking. What could have induced -a girl who had been carefully brought up, and provided with an excellent -stepmother, to write a novel, placing herself thereby on a level -with those dreadful ladies whose productions were prohibited in every -self-respecting household and only read by stealth when obtained at -a cost of twopence--more than the best of them were worth--at the -circulating library? - -Yes, poor Fanny was undoubtedly to be pitied; but she had really only -herself to blame for the trouble that was looming in front of her when -the secret of her authorship should be revealed to her father and her -excellent stepmother--one of the best judges to be found anywhere of all -sorts of needlework--not merely plain sewing and buttonholing, but satin -stitch, herring-boning and running and felling. - -The very next day Cousin Edward called at St. Martin's Street, carrying -with him a small parcel neatly done up in white paper. He was lucky -enough to find Fanny and Susan alone in the work-room; and after asking -mysteriously if there was any chance of his uncle or aunt coming -upon them, and being assured that they were both away for the day, he -carefully locked the door of the room, saying in the whisper of a man of -plots and mysteries: - -“'Tis better to be sure than sorry. In matters of this nature 'tis -impossible to be too cautious.” - -He then handed the parcel to Fanny, who gave an exclamation when she saw -that it was addressed: - -“_To Mr. Grafton, at the Orange Coffee House, Orange Street_.” - -She opened the parcel, and found it to contain a printer's unbound copy -of a book, the title page of which stared up at her: “_Evelina; or, A -Young Lady's Entrance into the World_,” and with it was a letter from -Mr. Lowndes, the bookseller, presenting his compliments to Mr. Grafton, -with the request that Mr. Grafton would read the book and prove it as -soon as possible, returning the list of errata to Mr. Lowndes, so that -the edition might go to press for early publication. - -There it lay on the table in front of her. She read the letter standing, -and remained on her feet, looking down at the unbound book. It had a -queer, half-dressed appearance, lacking covers; and when, after some -minutes of silence, Susy took a step or two closer to it, and, with her -hand on Fanny's arm, looked down on it also, the picture that they made -suggested two sisters looking into the cradle where the first baby of -one of them lay. The expression on Susy's face--a mingling of wonder and -curiosity, with delight not far off--was exactly that which the younger -sister of the picture might be expected to wear, catching a glimpse of -the undressed morsel of humanity in its first cot. - -Susy put her hand down to it, and moved the printed sheets about. She -read the title page down to the last name on the imprint, and then she -flung up her hands, crying: - -“How lovely! how lovely! But it seems wonderful! How did it come into -being? It looks like a real thing now that we see it printed. The copy -that you wrote out in that disguised hand seemed somehow quite different -from this. There is life in this. It feels warm, actually warm, Fanny. -Oh, don't you love it, dear?” - -Fanny, the young mother, shook her head, but with no significance, so -far as Susy could see. - -“'Tis too late now,” said Edward gloomily, taking on himself the burden -of interpreting that head-shake. “You are bound down to go on with it -now. You should have thought of all this before.” - -“What nonsense is this you are talking?” cried Susy, turning upon -him almost indignantly; for his tone suggested an aspersion upon the -offspring. “What do you say is too late now? Do you mean to say that -there's anything to be ashamed of in this? Cannot you see that she did -not put her name to it? Who is there to know that it came from this -house? The name of Burney nowhere appears on it.” - -“That's so much, at any rate,” said he. - -“Do you mean to say that you don't think it quite wonderful, Eddy?” - cried Susy. “And getting twenty pounds for it--twenty pounds! And you -say something about it being too late!” - -“I only judged from the way Fanny shook her head,” said he. - -“Oh, that was not what Fanny was thinking at all--now was it, Fanny?” - said Susy encouragingly to her sister. - -“I don't know quite what I meant or what I mean even now,” replied -Fanny. “It made me feel for the moment somehow as if I had appeared in a -street full of people before I had quite finished dressing!” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Edward. - -“But that is nonsense, dear,” said Susy, still consolatory. “The book is -not yourself.” - -“Not all myself, but part of myself--that is what I feel,” said Fanny. - -“I cannot see that that is so. You are you--you yourself quite apart -from the book. Whatever the book may be, you will still remain Fanny -Burney, the best daughter and the best sister in the world. What does it -matter if people--foolish people who know nothing about it--laugh at it -or say nasty things about it? Do you think that that will make any of us -like you the less?” - -She put her arm about Fanny and kissed her on the cheek, and Fanny's -tears began to fall. The young man standing by felt more uneasy than -he had ever felt in his life. He crossed the room and looked out of the -window, turning his back upon the scene of the sisters. He did not know -what to say to a girl when once she allowed herself to weep. He wished -with all his heart that he had not been dragged into this business. But -Fanny's tears convinced him that his first impression of her reception -of her book was the correct one: she was, like other young mothers he -had heard of, bitterly repentant when it was too late. - -The next sound of which he became aware was of the crinkling of the -stiff paper of the wrapper. One of the girls was folding up the parcel. -He glanced round and saw that it was Fanny herself who was so engaged. -She had dried her tears; the expression on her face was one of -resignation--one of determination to make the best of a bad matter. - -“Ah, that's better,” said he, going to her and picking up the string -from the floor. “There's no use crying over spilt milk, is there, Fanny? -We have all kept your secret loyally, and no one need ever know that -you so far forgot yourself. Certainly the revelation will never come -from my lips.” - -Fanny burst out laughing. - -“Oh, dear Eddy, you are the best cousin that any poor girl could have,” - she said. “Your words have helped me greatly. They have helped to make -me feel what is the aspect of the world in regard to my poor little -story. It has been my constant companion night and day for three years -and more. I worked at it in the cold and I tried how I could improve -pages of it, copying it and recopying it; I practised a duplicity which -was foreign to my nature in writing it--I have deceived my father and my -mother about it--I wasted my eyesight over it--I robbed myself of sleep -so that I might complete it, and when it was completed I lay awake in -anxiety lest no bookseller would look at it, all this trouble I had with -it, so that the world might have of my best, and what is the verdict of -the world after all this? You have pronounced it, dear Eddy--you said -thoughtfully and consolingly--'There's no use crying over spilt milk.' -You are quite right. Not another tear will I shed over this poor little -bantling of mine. 'A Young Lady's Entrance into the World'? Nay, call it -rather a rickety brat that should never have made its entrance into the -world at all.” - -“I should be ashamed of myself if I ever spoke of it in such terms,” - cried Susy, looking indignantly at her cousin as though he had abused -it in that phrase. “'Rickety brat,' indeed! Oh, I should be ashamed. It -looked so much alive--more alive, I think, than if it was in its covers. -Let us sit down and read it together, Fanny.” - -Cousin Edward felt that he was being badly treated between these -sisters. That last remark of Susy was rather more than a suggestion -that he might go as soon as it pleased him. He had not any previous -experience of young women and their offspring. He could not know -that their attitude in such circumstances is one of hostility to the -male--that they resent his appearance as an intrusion. - -“I am glad that you are so pleased,” said he, with only a trace of -irritability in his voice. “And I am glad that I have been of any use to -you, Cousin Fanny. After all, the thing is yours, not Susy's.” - -“That is true, indeed,” cried Fanny. “And it is I who offer you -my gratitude for your help. Believe me, Eddy, I am sensible of the -adroitness you have shown in this matter ever since we let you into our -secret; and if any trouble comes from what we have done you may be quite -sure that I will accept the entire responsibility for it.” - -“Oh, so far as that goes, I do not shrink from taking my share,” said -he magnanimously. “I do not feel quite without blame--I am a man and -I should have warned you at the outset. But you had nearly finished it -before I heard anything of it--you must not forget that.” - -“That is true indeed,” said Fanny. “I was self-willed. I wonder was it -vanity that impelled me. Never mind! It cannot be helped now. It may -never be heard of again.” - -“There's always that to remember,” said he, with the eagerness of a -drowning man grasping at a straw. - -“And I believe that the chances are greatly in favour of that hope being -realized. Thank you again for your encouragement, dear Eddy,” said she. - -“Oh, that's nothing--nothing worth talking about,” said he, picking up -his gloves. “You can command me always, Cousin Fanny. And you have seen -that I can keep a secret. Now mind you don't leave that lying about”--he -pointed to the parcel, the string of which Susy was knotting--“and, be -advised by me, turn the key in the lock when you are working at it.” - -“Yes,” said Susy, “we'll be sure to do our best to prevent anyone from -suspecting that we have a secret, by locking ourselves in.” - -“Caution--nothing like caution,” said he in a whisper, unfastening the -door and putting his head out to glance to right and left of the short -corridor. He held up his finger. “All safe so far,” he whispered; “no -one is in sight.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -|THE moment he disappeared, Susy slipped the knot which she had just -made on the parcel and flung the paper away. - -“Now we can settle down to it properly, Fanny,” she cried, catching -up the bundle of unstitched sheets and throwing herself back upon the -little sofa. “Come beside me, dear, and we shall go through every word -together. Never mind what Eddy said; I think it looks quite lovely, and -how easily it reads--just like poetry--'Evelina'!--how did you think of -that sweet name?--'_or, A Young Lady's Entrance into the World_.' Not -a mistake so far. The printers must surely be careful men! And now that -you come to think of it, this is really the entrance of the Young Lady -into the world. Here she is, smiling, but a little shy--just like her -mamma--your Evelina takes after you, dear--now, confess that there is -something agreeably shy in the italics printing of that line beginning -with '_A Young Lady's Entrance_,' Fanny; it may be wrong to write a -novel, but don't you think that this is worth it? Edward is a goose -to talk as he did about crying over spilt milk. I wonder that you had -patience to listen to him.” - -“Eddy is a dear boy, and he only said what he knew nearly everybody else -would be disposed to say about this business. I started the story, as -you know, half in fun--by way of exercising my hand--but then it got -hold of me, and it became deadly earnest, and now--oh, Susy, what I feel -now about it is just what I said to Edward: it seems as if it were the -best part of myself that I am giving to the world. I wonder if it is -right for anyone who has written a book, if it be only a novel, to look -upon it in that light.” - -“Why should it not be right? Didn't you put all your thoughts into it, -and are not one's thoughts part of oneself?” said Susy. “And although so -many people look down upon novels--all the novels that have been written -since Mr. Richardson died--still--oh, did not Dr. Johnson once write -a novel? Yes, 'Rasselas' was what he called it. I tried to read it -but----” - -“H'sh, Susy. Dr. Johnson might write anything that he pleased. Though -Dr. Johnson wrote a novel, that should be no excuse for such as I having -the audacity to do the like.” - -“I suppose that's what some people will say. But I can't see that if a -good man does an evil thing, it becomes a good thing simply because he -does it.” - -“Stop, Susy: I remember that he confessed to someone, who told it to Mr. -Crisp, that he had written 'Rasselas' in order to get money enough to -pay for his mother's funeral.” - -“Oh, in that case--might he not have written something a good deal -better, Fanny? Oh, I see that you are stricken with horror at my -thinking anything that came from Dr. Johnson to be dull. I daresay I -began reading it too soon: I should have waited until I had learned that -if a great man writes a book it is a great book, but that if a simple -girl writes a novel--well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. Now -that's the last word that I have to say, for I mean to read every word -that's printed here--here--here!” She brought down her open hand on the -topmost sheets of “Evelina” in three crescendo slaps, and then tucked -her feet under her and buried herself in the book. - -Fanny sat laughing beside her; and when Susy paid no attention to her -laughter, she continued sitting there in silence, while Susy read page -after page. - -Several minutes had passed before the authoress asked: - -“How does the thing read, dear?” - -Susy gave a start at the sound of her voice and looked around her as if -she had just been awakened. This should have been enough for Fanny. She -should not have repeated her question: it was already answered. - -“How does the thing read, Susy?” - -“How does it read?” cried Susy. “Oh, Fanny, it reads exactly like a -book--exactly. There is no difference between this and a real book. Oh, -'tis a thousand times nicer to read in print than it was as you wrote -it. It is so good, too!--the best story I ever read! I can't understand -how you ever came to write it. You who have seen nothing of life--how -did such a story ever come to you?” - -“I wish I knew,” replied Fanny. “And do you think that anyone else will -read it now that it is printed?” she asked (she was rapidly acquiring -the most prominent traits of the complete novel writer). - -“Anyone else? Nay, everyone--everyone will read it, and everyone will -love it. How could anyone help--even daddy and mamma? Now please don't -interrupt me again.” - -Down went Susy's face once more among the printed sheets, and Fanny -watched her with delight. She had been quite ready a short time before -to accept the verdict of Cousin Edward as equivalent to that of the -public upon her book; and now she was prepared to accept Susy as the -representative of all readers of taste and discrimination. - -“Edward--psha! What could he know about it?” she was ready to exclaim: -every moment was bringing her nearer to the complete novelist. - -“Surely,” she thought, “there can be no dearer pleasure in life than to -watch the effect of one's own book upon an appreciative reader!” - -(The appreciative reader is always the one who is favourably impressed; -the other sort knows nothing about what constitutes an interesting -book.) - -It was the first draught of which she had ever partaken of this -particular cup of happiness, and it was a bombard. She was draining it -to the very dregs: it was making her intoxicated, even though it was -only offered to her by her younger sister, who had never read half a -dozen novels in all her life, and these surreptitiously. She could know -by the varying changes in expression on Susy's face what place she had -come to in the book: the turning over of the pages was no guide to her, -for she had no idea of the quantity of her writing the printers had -put into a page, but she had no trouble in finding Susy's place, so -exquisitely reflective was the girl's face of the incidents among which -she was wandering. Surely little Susy had always been her favourite -sister (she was smiling at one of the drolleries of characterization -upon which she had come); oh, there could be no doubt that she had -never loved any of her sisters as she loved Susy (Susy's eyes were -now becoming watery, and Fanny knew that she had-reached the first of -Evelina's troubles). - -It was the happiest hour of Fanny's life, and she gave herself up to -it. She did not feel any irresistible desire to judge for herself if the -opinion expressed by Susy respecting the story was correct or otherwise. -She had no impulse to see how her ideas “looked in print.” She was -content to observe the impression they were making upon her first lay -reader. She had a vague suspicion that her own pleasure in reading -the book would be infinitely less than the pleasure she derived from -following the course of the story in her sister's face. - -Half an hour had actually passed before Susy seemed to awaken to the -realities of life. She jumped up from the sofa with an exclamation of -surprise, and then glanced down at Fanny with an inquiring look on her -face--a puzzled look that gave the seal to Fanny's happiness. - -“You are wondering how I come to be here, Susy,” said she smiling. “You -are wondering how I come to be mixed up with the Branghtons and -the Mervains and the rest of them. You would make me out to be an -enchantress carrying you into the midst of a strange society; and I -don't want any more delightful compliments, dear.” - -“Oh, Fanny, 'tis so wonderful--so----” - -“I don't want to hear anything about it beyond what you have already -told me, my dear Susy. I watched your face and it told me all. Give me -a kiss, Susy. You have given me a sensation of pleasure such as I never -knew before, and such as, I fear, I shall never know again.” - -In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, mingling their -tears and then their laughter, but exchanging no word until they had -exhausted every other means of expressing what they felt. - -It was Susy who spoke first. - -“Take it away, Fanny,” she said. “Take the book away, for I know that if -I read any more of it I shall betray your secret to all the house. They -will read it on my face every time I look at you.” - -“I think that the hour has come for me to relieve you of the precious -book,” said Fanny. “There is the letter from Mr. Lowndes asking me to -make out the list of errata as quickly as possible, and I do believe -that I shall have to read the book before I can oblige him.” - -“'Twas thoughtless for me to jump into the middle as I did, when you had -to read it,” cried Susy. “But there is really no mistake on any page, so -far as I could see.” - -“Unless the whole is a mistake,” said Fanny. “But I will not suggest that -now, having seen your face while you were devouring it. Dear Susy, if I -find many such readers I shall be happy.” - -She gathered together the loose sheets and carried them off to the -little room at the top of the house where it was understood she wrote -her long weekly letter to Mr. Crisp, who had made himself a hermit -at Chessington, but who, like some other hermits, looked forward -with impatience to the delightful glimpses of the world which he had -forsaken, afforded to him on every page written by her. - -Susy did not see her again until dinner-time, and by that time the -younger girl felt that she had herself under such complete control -that she could preserve inviolate the secret of the authorship until it -should cease to be a secret. The result of her rigid control of herself -was that her brother James said to her when they were having tea in the -drawing-room: - -“What was the matter with you at dinner, Sue? You looked as if you were -aware that something had happened and you were fearful lest it might be -found out. Have you broken a china ornament, or has the cat been turning -over the leaves of the 'History of Music' with her claws, and left her -signature on the morocco of the cover?” - -“What nonsense!” cried Susan. “Nothing has happened. What was there to -happen, prithee tell me?” - -“Ah, that is beyond my power,” he replied. “I suppose you girls will -have your secrets--ay, ay; until some day you reveal them to another -girl with the strictest of cautions never to let the matter go beyond -her--and so forth--and so forth. Never mind, I'll not be the one to -tempt you to blab. I never yet had a secret told to me that was worth -wasting words over.” - -“If I had a secret of importance I think that you would be a safe person -to tell it to,” said Susy. - -“You are right there,” he assented with a nautical wink. “You could find -in me the safest depository you could wish for; you might safely depend -upon my forgetting all about it within the hour.” - -He did not trouble her any further, but she felt somewhat humiliated -to think that she had had so little control of herself as to cause her -brother's suspicions to be aroused. She thought that it would only be a -matter of minutes when her father or her stepmother would approach her -with further questions. Happily, however, it seemed that James was the -keenest observer in the household, for no one put a question to her -respecting her tell-tale face. - -Still she was glad when she found herself safely and snugly in bed and -so in a position to whisper across the room to her sister Charlotte -the news that Fanny's novel had been printed and that a copy was safely -locked up in Fanny's desk, and that it looked lovely in its new form. - -Charlotte was greatly excited, but thought that Fanny might have told -her the news before dinner. - -“Poor Fanny! she will have to tell the Padre to-morrow and ask his leave -to--to do what she has already done without it. Poor Fanny!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -|A FEW days later Dr. Burney was at the point of setting out for -Chessington to share Mr. Crisp's hermitage until the end of the week. He -had already said good-bye to the household; but Fanny accompanied him to -the door. It was her last chance, she knew. She had long ago made up her -mind that one of her secrets must be told to him, and she had more than -once, since the printed sheets had been brought to her, tried to -screw up her courage to the point of telling him, but she had not yet -succeeded. And now he was going to Chessington for four days, and in -the meantime the book should be returned to the printer. It was the last -chance she would have of discharging the duty which was incumbent on -her. She had been hovering around him in the hall, shaking out his -gloves for him, polishing the gold knob of his cane, picking a scrap of -dust from the collar of his travelling-cloak. In another minute he would -be gone--her opportunity would be gone. - -And then came the relieving thought of further procrastination: - -“I shall write to him at Chessington and confess all.” - -It seemed as though she had uttered her thought aloud, for he turned to -her with his hand on the latch of the hall door, saying: - -“You will write to Chessington to-morrow or the day after, my dear. It -is no trouble to you to write. You enjoy it, do you not?” - -“Oh, it is my chief enjoyment. That is why I have been practising it -so much, just as the others have been practising their music. I have no -music in my soul, so I--I have been writing. Of course, it is not to be -expected that I could do more than write some nonsense--my equivalent to -the strumming of the scales.” - -“It pleases me greatly to hear that,” said he. “But you do yourself an -injustice; Mr. Crisp never ceases to praise your letters.” - -“He is praising his own pupil then,” said she, “for 'twas he who first -taught me how to write, and now I have been putting together some -imaginary letters, and I thought that if he could see them printed in -front of him he would be amused.” - -“Imaginary letters? Why not continue your real ones, my dear? It would -cost a great deal to have your imaginary ones printed.” - -“My dear father,” she cried, “you surely do not think that I would ask -you for money to pay for my whim? But if I could prevail on someone--a -bookseller--to print what I write, I hope you will consent to my doing -so--not putting my name to the thing, of course?” - -“And does my Fanny believe that 'tis all so easy to persuade a -bookseller to pay her printer's bill?” he said, pinching her ear. -“Booksellers are shrewd men of business.” - -“But even men of business have their weak moments,” said she. “And -so if--if--you would not think it too bold of me to let James take my -parcel to a bookseller? You would not forbid me to try to realize my -ambition?” - -“You may be sure that the one to frustrate your aims will not be your -father,” said he, smiling shrewdly. “I will consent if--ah, there is -the fatal if--if your bookseller consents. Now goodbye, my dear child. -I will take your love to your Daddy Crisp, and tell him to await a real -letter from you--not an imaginary one.” - -She stood on tiptoe to kiss him--but even then he had to stoop before -his lips were on her forehead. - -He was gone in another moment. She stood at the inner side of the closed -door and listened to the rattling of the wheels of the chaise over the -cobble-stones. - -So the ordeal that she dreaded had been faced, and how simple a thing it -had turned out after all! Her father had treated the idea which she -had submitted to him as if it were nothing beyond the thought of a -simpleton--a foolish, simple girl who knew nothing of the world of -business and booksellers, and who fancied that a bookseller would print -everything that was sent to him. - -He had delivered that contingent “if” with the shake of the head and the -shrewd smile of one who is acquainted with the seamy side of -business, in the presence of a child who fancies that printing follows -automatically upon the writing of a book and that there are thousands -of buyers eagerly awaiting the chance of securing everything that passes -through a printing-press. She had perceived just what was in his mind; -and his consent, followed by that contingent “if,” to her publishing -what she had written, was given to her with the same freedom that would -have accompanied his permission to appropriate all the gold used in -paving the streets of the City. She could see from the way he smiled -that he felt that she knew as little about the conditions under which -books are printed as a child does about the paving of the streets of the -City. - -She knew that he would never again refer to the subject of those -imaginary letters of hers--he would be too considerate of her feelings -to do so; he would have no desire to humiliate her. He would not even -rally her in a playful way about her literary work, asking her how the -printing was progressing, and if she had made up her mind to start a -coach as grand as that magnificent piece of carved and gilded furniture -which Sir Joshua had just had built for himself--oh, no: her father -had always respected her sensibility. Years ago, when her brothers and -sisters were making their light jests upon her backwardness, he had -stopped them and said that he had no fears for the future of Fanny; and -she was certain that in referring to her, as he so frequently did, as -“poor Fanny,” he meant nothing but kindness to her. To be sure, at -first it grated upon her sensitiveness to be referred to in that kindly -pitying way, but she did not resent it--indeed, she usually thought of -herself as “poor Fanny.” In a household where proficiency in music was -the standard from which every member was judged, it was inevitable that -her incompetence should be impressed upon her; but no one was hard upon -her--the kindly “poor Fanny” of her father represented the attitude -of the household toward her, even when she had confided to some of the -members the fact that she was writing a novel. They had been startled; -but, then, a novel was not a musical composition, and such an -achievement could not be received with the warmth that Esther's playing -received. It was really not until the printed sheets of the book lay -before Susy that she felt that Fanny had, in one leap, brought herself -well-nigh to the level of Esther; and by the time Susy had read the -story to the end she had made up her mind that if it might be possible -to compare the interest of a literary work with that of the playing of -a piece of music, Fanny's work could claim precedence over the best that -Esther had done--she had confessed as much to Fanny in secret, and Fanny -had called her a foolish child. - -Fanny had seated herself in the parlour opening off the little hall, on -the departure of her father, and her memory took her back to the days -she had passed in the house at Poland Street, when she had written her -story of Caroline Evelyn, and had been induced by her stepmother to burn -it, with sundry dramas and literary moralizings after the manner of the -_Tatler_--all the work of her early youth. She recalled her resolution -never again to engage in any such unprofitable practices as were -represented by the smoke which was ascending from the funeral pyre of -her “Caroline Evelyn” and the rest. - -How long had she kept to her resolution? She could not remember. She -could not recall having any sense of guilt when she had begun her -“Evelina”--it seemed to have sprung from the ashes of “Caroline -Evelyn”--nor could she recollect what had been on her mind when she was -spending those long chilly hours of her restricted leisure toiling over -the book. All that she could remember now was her feeling that it had -to be written--that it seemed as if someone in authority had laid on her -the injunction to write it, and she had no choice but to obey. - -Well, she had obeyed--the book had been written and printed and she -meant to send the corrected sheets back to Mr. Lowndes in the course of -the day. Her father's consent to its publication had been obtained and -it would be advertised for sale within some months, and then---- - -Her imagination was not equal to the pursuit of the question of its -future. Sometimes she felt that she never wished to hear of the book -again. She could almost hope that sending the sheets back to Mr. Lowndes -would be the same as dropping them, with a heavy stone in the parcel, -into the deep sea. - -But that was when the trouble of getting her father's permission -to publish it was looming before her. Now that this cloud had been -dispelled she felt less gloomy. She had a roseate dream of hearing -people talk about the book and even wishing to know the name of the -author. She had a dream of Fame herself carrying her away to sublime -heights--to such heights as she had been borne by the singing of “Waft -her, Angels.” Her dream was of sitting on these heights of Fame by the -side of the singer--on the same level--not inferior in the eyes of the -world--not as the beggar maid uplifted in her rags to the side of the -King. - -That had been her dream when listening to the singing, and it returned -to her now, as she sat alone in the little parlour, having just taken -the last step that was necessary before giving to the world the book -which was to do so much for her. Her visions of success showed her no -more entrancing a prospect than that of being by his side with her fame -as a dowry worthy of his acceptance at her hands; so that people might -not say that he had chosen unworthily--he, who had all the world to -choose from. - -And quite naturally there came to her in due sequence the marvellous -thought that he had already chosen her out of all the world--he -had chosen her, believing her to be the dowerless daughter of a -music-teacher--the one uninteresting member of a popular family! - -This was the most delightful thought of the whole train that came -to her. It was worth cherishing above all the rest--close to her -heart--close to her heart. She hugged that thought so close to her that -it became warm with the warmth of her heart. Even though her book should -never be heard of again, even though the world might treat it with -contempt, she would still be consoled by the reflection that he had -chosen her. - -***** - -“Why on earth should you be sitting here in the cold, Fanny?” came the -voice from the opened door--the voice of firm domestic virtue. - -“Cold? cold? Surely 'Tis not cold, mamma,” she said. - -“Not so very cold; but when there is a fire in the work-room it should -not be wasted,” said Mrs. Burney. “But to say the truth you do not look -as if you were cold; your face is quite flushed, child. I hope you do -not feel that you are on the brink of a sickness, my dear.” - -“Dear mamma, I never felt stronger in my life,” cried Fanny with a -laugh. - -“I am glad to hear that. I was saying to Lottie just now that for some -days past you have had alternately a worried look and the look of one -whose brain is over-excited. Is anything the matter, my child?” - -“Nothing--nothing--indeed nothing! I never felt more at ease in all my -life.” - -“Well, well, a little exercise will do you no harm, I am sure; so put on -your hat and accompany me to the fishmonger's. He has not been treating -us at all fairly of late. It is not that I mind the remark made quite -respectfully by James at dinner yesterday--it would be ridiculous to -expect to find fish as fresh in the centre of London as he and his -shipmates were accustomed to in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; but it -would not be unreasonable for us to look for turbot with less of a taint -than that we had yesterday. You will hear the man excuse himself -by asserting that I chose the fish at his stall; but my answer to -that--well, come with me and you shall hear what is my answer.” - -Fanny went with her and heard. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -|THE faithful Cousin Edward had carried the sheets of “Evelina” to Mr. -Lowndes's shop, with her list of errata, sisters Lottie and Susy -giving him ample instructions as to the disguise he should assume in -discharging that duty; it would be terrible, they thought, if the secret -which they had so carefully guarded for so long should be revealed just -when it was most important that it should be kept. Their imagination -was keen enough to suggest to them the possibility of good Mr. -Lowdnes setting a watch upon the people entering his shop, and giving -instructions that the bearer of the parcel of “Evelina” should be -detained and brought into his presence to be questioned. - -They advised that Edward should muffle up his face well before going -into the shop, and then lay down his parcel and fly like the wind--that -would be the best way of defeating the curiosity of the bookseller. - -But Edward was of the opinion that such a course of action might -possibly only stimulate the man's curiosity as well as that of the -people in the street, and the cry of “Stop thief!” might bring his -frantic flight to a standstill. He thought that the most artful course -to adopt would be to hang around the shop until he found that several -customers were within; then he would enter quite casually and wait until -Mr. Lowndes had served one customer and was about to attend to another. -If the parcel were thrust into his hands during this interval, he, -Edward, would have a good chance of getting safely away before Mr. -Lowndes should have time to examine its contents. - -They were rather struck with his idea, and he got permission to put it -into practice; but in any case he must take the greatest care of the -parcel; valuable parcels were snatched out of people's hands every day. - -He smiled. - -In another hour he was back at the house in St. Martin's Street to -report to them the safe delivery of the precious parcel. After all, he -had had nothing more exciting to do than to place it on a counter--the -elderly gentleman with a pen behind his ear had not even taken the -trouble to rise from his stool to receive it. - -“Parcel for Mr. Lowndes? All right. Leave it there”--those were the -exact words with which the parcel was received, Edward reported--the -clerk was buried in his ledger before he had left the shop. - -The girls were not a little disappointed at this very tame conclusion of -what they expected would have been an exciting episode; and to say the -truth, their chagrin was shared by Cousin Edward. - -He had looked for his resources of artfulness to be drawn on in the -transaction--perhaps even his physical qualifications for the defence of -the sacred secret as well. He felt as a strong man might feel on going -forth to meet a giant, to find himself confronted by a dwarf. The -mission was unworthy of his powers. Fanny's thanks heartily given to -him, with the repeated assurance that, but for him, the affair could -never have been carried out, scarcely compensated him for the tameness -of the affair. - -For the next month or two it was a busy household in St. Martin's -Street. Lieutenant Burney was joining his ship for another long voyage, -and he had to be provided with a fresh outfit. The stitching that went -on in the work-room surpassed even that maintained during the months -preceding Esther's marriage; but the labour was lightened upon more -than one occasion by the appearance of Mr. Garrick. Mr. Garrick had the -freedom of the house in St. Martin's Street, as he had had that of the -Poland Street domicile, where he had so often spent hours amusing the -children with his inimitable drolleries. - -But Mrs. Burney thought he went a little too far in taking off their -friends, and even their own father, though his malicious touches were as -light as the pinches of Puck. He had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs. -Kendal, and he convulsed even Mrs. Burney by his acting of the scene of -his reception by them, the lady much more coy than she had ever been at -the Wells, and the gentleman overflowing in his attentions to her; but -both of them esteeming him as their benefactor. - -And they were so well satisfied with the honourable estate to which he -had called them, that they appeared to be spending all their time -trying to bring about matches among their acquaintance. No matter how -unsuitable some of the projected unions seemed, no matter how unlikely -some of the people were to do credit to their discrimination, they -seemed determined that none should escape “the blissful bondage”--that -was Mr. Kendal's neat phrase. Mr. Garrick repeated it with a smile that -made his audience fancy that Mr. Kendal was before them. - -“'The blissful bondage--that's what I term it, sir,'” said Mr. Kendal, -through Mr. Garrick. “'But the worst of the matter is, Mr. Garrick, -that we have nearly exhausted our own circle of friends'--'I can easily -believe that, sir,' interposed Mr. Garrick--' and so we feel it our duty -to fall back upon you.' 'Lud, sir,' cried Mr. Garrick, jumping a step or -two back as if to avoid a heavy impact--'Lud, sir! a little man like me! -I should be crushed as flat as a black beetle.' 'Nay, sir, I mean that -we are compelled to ask you for a list of a few of your friends who, -you think, should be brought together--half a dozen of each sex would be -sufficient to begin with.'” - -“Of course I demurred,” said Garrick, telling his story, “but before -'the blissful bondage' had been repeated more than a score of times I -began to think of all against whom I bore a grudge--here was clearly the -means of getting level with them; the only trouble with me was that -I found myself confounding the people who bore me a grudge with those -against whom I bore a grudge--the former are plentiful, the latter very -meagre in number. With the exception of a few very dear animosities -which I was hoarding up to make old age endurable, I have killed off all -my enemies, and was forced, like Mr. Kendal, to fall back on my friends; -but even among these I could find few that I could honestly say -were deserving of such a fate as I was asked to nominate them for. I -ventured, however, to mention the name of Lieutenant Burney, of His -Majesty's Fleet, coupling it with--I could not at first think of an -appropriate partner for James, but at last I hit upon exactly the right -lady.” - -“What! a splice before I set sail next week?” cried Jim. “That's good -news, sir. And the lady's name, if you please, and her address. Give me -my hat, Susy; there is no time to be lost. A splice in a trice. Come, -Mr. Garrick, her name? Cannot you see that I am hanging in stays until -you tell me who she is?” - -“She is a very pleasant lady, sir. I can assure you of that,” said -Garrick. “Not too tall even with her hair built _à la mode_; a pleasant -smile, and a happy way of conversing. In short, Lieutenant Burney, I can -strongly recommend the lady, for I have known her for the past twenty -years and more, and from the first she was a staid, sensible person--the -very partner for a sailor, sir, being so contrary to him in every -point.” - -“Hark'ee, Mr. Garrick; though I don't quite see myself in tow of such a -state barge, I'll trouble you to relieve my suspense by telling me her -name.” - -“I have more than once thought when I was young that she would make me -an excellent wife,” said Garrick; “but I soon perceived that I was not -good enough for her. She has always been an exemplary sister, and I saw -that, try as I might, I could never become her equal in that respect; -and for married happiness, my boy, there is nothing like----” - -“Her name--her name?” shrieked the girls. - -The actor looked at them with pained surprise on every feature. - -“Her name?” he said. “Surely I have described her very badly if you have -not recognized the portrait. But, for that matter, I have often felt how -inadequate are words to describe character combined with grace--a -nature inclined to seriousness in conjunction with a desire to -attract--loftiness of purpose linked with a certain daintiness----” - -He made a few gestures with his hands, keeping his elbows close to his -side, and then imitated the spreading of a capacious skirt preparatory -to sinking in a curtsey, and in a moment there was a cry from every part -of the room of “Miss Reynolds--Miss Reynolds!” - -“And who has a word to say against Miss Reynolds?” cried the actor. - -“No one--no one,” said Fanny. “Character combined with grace--Miss -Reynolds linked with Lieutenant Burney.” - -“She would make a fine sheet anchor for an Admiral of the Blue,” laughed -Jim. “And with your permission, sir, I will postpone my offer until I -have attained that rank.” - -“I have advised Mr. Kendal to hurry things on,” said Garrick gravely. -“For if you have time to spare before making up your mind, the lady -cannot reasonably be thought equally fortunate. 'Lieutenant Burney, your -attitude is not complimentary to the blissful bondage'”--once more it -was Mr. Kendal who was in the room. - -“Call the roll,” said Jim. “Who comes next on your list, Mr. Garrick?” - -“Well, I was thinking of Dr. Johnson with Mrs. Abington,” said Garrick; -“but perhaps you may quibble even at that.” - -The room rang with laughter, for everyone had seen the beautiful actress -whose lead in dress was followed by all the ladies in the fashionable -world who could afford to do so, and a greater number who could not; and -the worsted hose and scorched wig, two sizes too small, of Dr. Johnson -had been gazed at with awe by the Burney family when he visited the -house in St. Martin's Street. - -“Let the banns be published without delay,” cried Jim. “Next pair, -please.” - -“Well, I was thinking of Signor Rauzzini and Mrs. Montagu,” said -Garrick, “but perhaps that would not be approved of by you any more than -the others.” - -“Nay, Mr. Garrick, I will not have our friends made any longer the -subject of your fooling,” said Mrs. Burney. - -Garrick and Jim had the laugh between them, but it seemed that they -alone saw the jest of coupling the lively Roman with the mature leader -of the bluestockings: the girls bent silently over their work. - -“Madam,” said Garrick apologetically, “I ask your pardon for my -imprudence. May I ask which name I am to withdraw? Was my offence the -introduction of the lady's name or the gentleman's? Oh, I can guess. -Those rosy-tinted faces before me--I vow that you will find yourself -going to sea with a chestful of pink shirts, Lieutenant--those sweet -blushing faces reveal the secret more eloquently than any words could -do.” - -Undoubtedly the three girls were blushing very prettily; but at the -mention of the word “secret” two of them gave a little start, but -without looking up. - -“The secret--oh, I have been feeling for some time that I was well to -the leeward of a secret,” cried Jim, “and I'll not start tack or sheet -until I learn what it is.” - -“What, sir; you a sailor and not able to penetrate the secret of a -pretty girl's blushes!” cried Garrick. - -The brother looked at each of his sisters in turn. They continued -stitching away demurely at his shirts. - -“Helm's a-lee,” he said. “Ready about, and off we go on another tack, -for hang me if I see anything of guilt on their faces, bless 'em! Come, -Mr. Garrick, you shall interpret them for me. Let me into the secret -which you say you have read as if it was a book.” - -Susy gave a sharp cry. - -“The needle!” she said. “That is the third time it has pricked me since -morning.” - -“Pay no attention to her, sir,” cried Garrick. “It was a feint on her -part to put us off the scent of the secret.” - -“In heaven's name, then, let us have it,” cried Jim. - -“If you will have it, here it is,” said Garrick. “Your three sisters, -Mr. Burney, are contemplating applying to Mrs. Montagu to be admitted to -the freedom and the livery of the Society of Bluestockings. That is why -they thought it akin to sacrilege for me to introduce the lady's name -into a jest. Their blush was but a reflex of their guilty intention.” - -“Indeed, Mr. Garrick, you go too far sometimes,” said Mrs. Burney. “Mrs. -Montagu is a worthy lady, and our girls respect her too highly to fancy -that they have any qualification to be received into her literary set.” - -“Faith, Madam, I know my duty too well, I hope, to accuse any of the -Miss Burneys of possessing literary qualities,” said Garrick. “But what -I do say is that if such qualities as they possess were to be introduced -into Mrs. Montagu's set, it would quickly become the most popular -drawing-room in town. The idea of thinking that any young woman would go -to the trouble of writing a book when she can reach the heart of mankind -so much more easily by blushing over the breast of a shirt! Continue -stitching and doing your own blushing, dear children, and you will never -give anyone cause to blush for you.” - -He bowed elaborately to each of them in turn and afterward to Mrs. -Burney, and made a most effective exit. He always knew when he should -go, and never failed to leave a few fragrant phrases behind him, as -though he had dropped a bunch of roses for the girls to cherish. - -“Where should we be without Mr. Garrick?” said James, when he had seen -the actor to the door and returned to the work-room. - -“If only he would not go too far in his jesting,” remarked Mrs. Burney, -shaking her head. “Mr. Garrick sometimes forgets himself.” - -“That is how it comes that he is the greatest actor in the world,” said -James. “It is only when a man has learned to forget himself completely -that he causes everyone else to remember him. Now there's the text for a -homily that you can write to your Daddy Crisp, Fanny.” - -“I'll note it, Jim, and if Mr. Crisp breaks off correspondence with me -you shall bear the blame,” said Fanny. - -“Mercy on us!” whispered Susy when she was alone with her sister a -little later. “I never got such a fright as when Mr. Garrick pretended -to read your secret. Thank goodness! he failed to get the least inkling -of it.” - -“Thank goodness, indeed!” whispered Fanny. But she was thinking of quite -a different secret when she spoke. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -|HE was beside her before she was aware of it, in the great music-room -at Lady Hales's house. She had not seen him approach her--she could -not have done so without turning round, for he had approached her from -behind, and slipped into the chair that Esther had vacated in order to -play to the company. Esther's husband, who had been in the seat beyond -her, had been led away some time earlier by Mr. Linley's clever son in -order that he might give an opinion respecting one of the songs in a -piece named _The Duenna_, which was about to be produced at Drury Lane. - -He was beside her and whispering in her ear, though she had not even -known that he was to be present. - -Of course he went through the pantomimic form of inquiring how it was -that she was alone--this was, she knew, for the benefit of anyone who -might be watching them and suspect an assignation. The idea of anyone -seriously fancying that Dr. Burney's daughter would have an assignation -with Signor Rauzzini in such a place and in the midst of such a company! -But Signor Rauzzini came from a land of intrigue, and his experience of -England led him to believe that he had come to another; and so he made -those gestures of inquiry, and she gave him a few words of explanation, -so that no one might suspect! But, for that matter, their chairs were -in the least conspicuous place in the room, and the shadow of the heavy -hangings of a window fell half across them both. - -“And we have not met for months,” said he in French. - -“Nay, have you forgotten our evening at the Pantheon?” she asked. - -“Forgotten it? But that is months ago--ages. And it was all -unfinished--broken off when at its best--mutilated. That hour we had! -Oh, was it a melody suddenly interrupted when it was approaching its -best? Was it a poem snatched away by some ruthless hand just when we had -begun a deathless line?” - -“What I remember best is your singing of 'Waft her.' I am not quite sure -that I have yet returned to the earth from those regions whither I felt -myself wafted. Are you conscious of having any part in _Dido_ into which -you can throw yourself with the same spirit?” - -“_Dido!_ pah! _Dido_ is a paltry playhouse--Maestro Handel's work is a -Sistine Chapel--ah, more--more--a noble cathedral. When other composers -built their garden houses in imitation of Greek temples, he -spent all his time raising cathedrals. His genius is his -own--mighty--overpowering! Every time I approach the great _maestro_ I -feel that I should put off my shoes from my feet. It is holy ground--it -is--ah, mademoiselle, it was you who led me to chatter of myself and my -music when we were last together, and I had no wish to do so; I meant to -talk of yourself alone, but we had parted before I had the chance again. -I have been wondering ever since if such a chance would return--if I -had not thrown it away; and now you have lured me once more toward the -golden net of music; but I have seen it spread: I will not step into it. -I want to talk to you of love--love and you--and--me.” - -He had restrained his voice so that it was no more than a whisper, and -he had chastened his gestures until he seemed rigid. Fanny knew that -even if their chairs had not been far away from the next that were -occupied, his words could reach no ears but her own; but the effort that -he was making to restrain his gestures--oh, was it not more significant -to any observant eye than his most florid action would have been? With -bent head she was conscious of the quivering of the muscles of his -clenched hands--of the tremulous earnestness of his expressive face. -Surely everyone who so much as glanced at him would know what was the -subject of his discourse--and hers--hers--but what should hers be? What -answer was she to make to such a man whispering such a word as love? - -“I am afraid,” she said. “You make me afraid. Is this the place? Is this -the time? Am I the one?” - -“Every place is the place--every time is the time--and you--you are the -only one,” said he, becoming more fervent every moment. “If you and I -were alone--but we are alone--our love isolates us--we are alone in the -splendid isolation of our love. What are these people who are about -us? They are nothing to us--less than nothing, What are the people in -a church to the devout one who enters and keeps his eyes fixed upon -the lovely face of the saint to whom he prays. The saint and he are in -communion together, and their communion isolates them though the church -is crowded? I keep my eyes of devotion upon your face, my beautiful -saint, and I am rapt with the glory of this hour--we are carried away -on the wings of our love until the world is too far beneath us to be -seen--only the heaven is revealed to us--to me--I look into your face -and I have a glimpse of heaven itself! Ah, gentle saint, you will not -deny me a response--one word--only lift up your eyes--let our eyes meet -and it will be as if our lips had met. I am but a mortal, but I feel, -gazing into the face of my saint, as if I were immortal--immortal and -crossing the threshold of the heaven that is hers--I feel that we are -equal----” - -She drew in her breath--the sound was something like a gasp--the gasp -of one who has been swept away into the midst of a swirling sea and made -breathless. She had been swept away on the amazing flood of his words; -it was not until he had said that word “equal” that she felt herself -swirled into the air once more, so to speak, and gave that gasp for -breath: he, too, was breathless after his long and fervid outburst, -repressed as to tone, but sounding therefore all the more passionate. -Her gasp sounded like a sigh; his like a sob. - -“Not yet--not yet,” she said in a whisper--disjointed and staccato. “I -cannot listen to you yet. I dare not--I have my pride.” - -“Pride? What is pride? How have I wounded your pride?” he said. “Ah, -my God! you cannot think that I would propose anything that is not -honourable? You do not look on me as such a wretch? Ah, you cannot.” - -“Oh, no, no,” she said quickly. “I would trust you. I have looked into -your face. I have heard you sing.” - -“You place your faith in me? But you cannot do that unless you love me. -And if you love me--have I been too headlong? Have I startled you? But -surely you must have seen that on the very first day we met, before I -had been an hour in your presence, my life was yours. I tell you that -I knew it--not an hour--one glance was enough to tell me that I was -all yours, and that for me no other one lived or would ever live in the -world. What have you to say? Do not you believe me? What did you mean -by that word 'pride'? It does not seem to me that it had any connection -with you or me.” - -“Do not ask me to explain anything just now,” she said. “You would not -like to be asked to explain how you came to--to--think of me--to feel in -regard to me as you have said you do----” - -“Why should I shrink from it?” he asked. “But no one who has seen you -would put such a question to me. I loved you because you were--_you_. Is -not that enough? It would be sufficient for anyone who knew you. I saw -you sitting there--so sweetly timid--a little flower that is so startled -to find itself awakened into life in the spring, that it would fain -ask the earth to hide it again. I thought of you as that modest little -flower--a violet trying to obscure its own charm by the leaves that -surround it; but all in vain--in vain, for its presence has given a -subtle perfume to the air, and all who breathe of its delicate sweetness -take the spirit of the spring into their souls and know that a violet -is there, though hidden from their view. That is how I saw you. I have -always loved the violet, and felt that shyness and sweetness were ever -one; and am I to be reproached if I have a longing to pluck my violet -and have her ever with me?” - -“This is madness--the poetry of madness,” she cried, and there was -really a piteous note in her voice. “But if I did not believe that you -feel every word that you have spoken, I would let you continue, and -drink in the sweetness of every word that falls from your lips. It is -because I know that you are speaking from your heart and because I also -know my own unworthiness that I pray of you to say no more--yet.” - -“Why should I not tell you the truth, if you confess that you believe I -am speaking sincerely?” - -“Sincerely, but in a dream.” - -“Is all love a dream, then?--is that what is in your thought?” - -“I do not want it to be a dream. I wish the love to continue with your -eyes open, and therefore I say--not yet.” - -“You wish my love to continue? Oh, never doubt that your wish shall be -granted. But why that 'not yet '? I am weary of this mystery.” - -She was perplexed. Why should she hold out any longer against this -impetuous Prince of the land of King Cophetua? Why should she not be as -other girls who allow themselves to be lifted out of insignificance by -the man who loves them. Why should that gift of being able to see more -closely into the truth of things that most others accept without a -question, be laid upon her as a burden? - -She had a strong impulse to let her resolution go down the wind, and to -put her hand in his, no matter who might be looking on, and say the word -to him that would give him happiness. Who was she to suggest that his -happiness would not endure--that her happiness would not endure? - -She was perplexed. She had more than once been called prim; but that -only meant that it was her nature to weigh everything in a mental -balance, as it were, and her imagination was equal (she thought) to the -task of assigning their relative value to the many constituents of human -happiness. If she had been told that this meant that she had not yet -been in love, and that she was not now in love, she would not have felt -uneasy in her mind. She did not mistrust the feeling she had for the man -who was beside her. Surely this was the very spirit of truth in loving, -to be ready to sacrifice everything, so that unhappiness should not -overtake him; and she had long ago felt that unhappiness only could -result from his linking his life with one who was rather less than a -mere nobody. The thought never once left her mind of what would be -said when it was known that she had married him. A dunce's triumph, the -incident would be styled by the wits, and (assuming that the wits were -masculine) how would it be styled by the opposite sex? She could see -uplifted hands--incredulous eyebrows raised, while they discussed it, -and she knew that the conclusion that everyone would come to was that to -be the most divine singer in the world did not save a man from being the -greatest fool in the world. - -Was her love the less true because her intelligence insisted on her -perceiving that such a man as Signor Rauzzini would not be happy if -married to a nonentity like herself? “Surely not,” she would have -cried. “Surely it is only the truest of all loves that would be ready -to relinquish its object rather than bring unhappiness upon him! Is -intelligence never to be found in association with true love? Must true -love and folly ever be regarded as allies?” - -Her intellect was quick in apprehending the strength of the position -taken up by two combatants in an argument; but the juxtaposition of the -Prim and the Passionate was too much for her. She was all intellect; he -was all passion. Her mental outlook on the situation was acute; but his -was non-existent. His passion blinded him; her intellect had a thousand -eyes. - -And there he was by her side; she could almost hear the strong beating -of his heart in the pause that followed his question. - -“What is this mystery?” - -It was her feeling of this tumultuous beating of his heart that all but -made her lose her intellectual foothold. His heart beating close to hers -swayed her as the moon sways the tides, until for some moments she -could not have told whether it was her heart or his that was beating -so wildly--only for some moments, however; only long enough for that -madness to suggest itself to her--to let her resolution fly to the -winds--what did anything matter so long as she could lay her hand in -his, and feel his fingers warm over hers? It was her first acquaintance -with the tyranny of a heart aflame, and for a moment she bent her -head before it. He thought that he had got the better of her scruples, -whatever they were, by the way her voice broke as she said: - -“Madness--it would be madness!” - -He was not acute enough to perceive that she was talking to -herself--trying to bring her reason to help her to hold out against the -throbbing of her heart--_his_ heart. - -“It would indeed be madness for us to turn our backs upon happiness when -it is within our reach,” said he. “That is what you would say, sweet -saint?” - -But she had now recovered herself. - -“Indeed it is because I have no thought except for your happiness that I -entreat of you to listen to me,” said Fanny. - -“I will listen to you if you tell me in one word that you love me,” said -he. - -There was no pause before she turned her eyes upon him saying: - -“You know it. You have never doubted it. It is because I love you so -truly I wish to save you from unhappiness. I want to hold your love for -ever and ever.” - -“My sweet saint! You have heard my prayers. You are to make me happy.” - -“All that I can promise as yet is to save you from supreme unhappiness. -I am strong enough to do so, I think.” - -“You can save me from every unhappiness if you will come to me--and you -are coming, I know.” - -“I hope that if you ask me three months hence I shall be able to say -'yes'; but now--at this moment--I dare not. It is not so long to ask you -to wait, seeing that I have let you have a glimpse of my heart, and told -you that as you feel for me, so I feel for you.” - -“Three months is an eternity! Why should it be in three months? Why not -now?” - -She shook her head. - -“I cannot tell you. It is my little secret,” she said. “Ah, is it not -enough that I have told you I love you? I shall never cease to love -you.” - -“Oh, this accursed place! These accursed people!” he murmured. “Why are -we fated to meet only surrounded by these wretches? Why cannot we meet -where I can have you in _my_ arms, and kiss your lips that were made for -kissing?” - -There was something terrifying to her in that low whisper of his. He had -put his head down to her until his lips were close to her ear. She felt -the warmth of his face; it made her own burn. But she could not move her -face away to the extent of an inch. Her feminine instinct of flight was -succeeded by the equally feminine instinct of surrender. If it had been -his intention--and it certainly seemed that it was--to kiss her in the -presence of all the company, she would still have been incapable of -avoiding such a caress. - -He swore again in her ear, and Fanny, for all her primness, felt a -regret deep down in her heart that her training would not allow of her -expressing herself through the same medium. - -But he did not come any nearer to her than that. He changed his phrases -of abuse of their entourage to words of delight at her presence so close -to him--alternately passionate and tender. His voice became a song in -her ears, containing all such variations. His vocalism was equal to the -demand put upon it. It was his _métier_ to interpret such emotions, and -now he did justice to his training, even if he fell short--and he was -conscious of doing so--of dealing adequately with his own feelings. -He called her once again his sweet saint who had heard his prayer; his -cherished flower, whose fragrance was more grateful to him than all the -incense burned in all the temples of the world was to the Powers above. - -It was, he repeated, her violet modesty that had first made him adore -her. Her humility brought before his eyes the picture painted by Guido -Reni--the Madonna saying: _Ecce ancilla Domini_. - -Ah, her humility was divine. And she was so like his mother--his dear -mother who had died when he was a boy and who had taught him to sing. -Ah, she was herself now singing in Paradise, and she would look down -and approve his choice. She, too, had been as meek as a flower, and had -never been so happy as when they had been together at a little farm in -Tuscany with him by her side among the olives. Oh, she would approve -his choice. And quite simply he addressed his dead mother, as though -she were beside him, asking her if she could desire to have a daughter -sweeter or more gentle. He had lapsed into his native Italian in this; -but Fanny could follow his slow, devout words, and her eyes were full of -tears, her heart of love. - -She now perceived how simple and gentle a nature was that of the young -Roman. He remained unspoilt by the adulation which he had received -both in his own country and in England. Seeing him thus revealing a -simplicity which she had not associated with him before, she was led to -ask herself if there was, after all, so great a difference between them -as she had believed to exist. She had forgotten all about his singing, -and he was now in her eyes nothing more than a man--the man who loved -her. Ah, that was enough. He loved her, and therefore she was bound to -save him from the mortification of hearing the whispers of the people -around them asking how he could ever have been stupid enough to marry a -girl like herself, who was a nobody and without a fortune, when he might -have chosen any girl in the world. - -Her resolution came back to her with greater force than ever. Since -he had made his nature plain to her, it would, she felt, be taking -advantage of his simplicity to engage herself to him just as she was. -She knew more of the world than he did. She knew how the world talked, -and how it would talk regarding herself as well as regarding him in such -a matter. He was simple and generous; it was necessary for her to take -thought for both of them. - -“Have you heard me?” he asked of her in a whisper. - -“The tears are still in my eyes,” she replied. “Oh, my dear friend, -cannot you see how bitter it is for me to be compelled to ask you to -wait for these months that I spoke of? Cannot you see that it is a -matter of conscience and honour? Ah, I should never forgive myself if I -were to do other than I have done! If you----” - -“Dear one,” said he, “I ask for nothing more than to hear you tell me -that you love me. Who am I, that I should demand your secret? So long as -you do not conceal your love from me, I do not mind if you have a score -of secrets locked away in your white bosom. Tell me again that you love -me and all must be well.” - -She looked at him, but he knew that she could not see a feature of his -face by reason of the tears that were still in her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -|IT was on one of the last mornings in January that Mrs. Burney was -reading out of the newly-arrived _London Chronicle_ such paragraphs as -she thought would appeal to the varied interests of the breakfast-table. -There were a few announcements of marriages about to take place between -people whose names they knew, the amount of the bride's dowry being -stated in each in plain figures, though Mrs. Burney took it upon her to -affirm in one or two cases that the sum was exaggerated, or to suggest -that if the father of the bride were just enough to pay his debts first, -the portion of his daughter would be considerably reduced. In the case -of one of the gentlemen, who was marrying thirty thousand pounds, she -ventured to express the hope that he would now pay at least some of his -creditors. - -These were, of course, the most interesting items of news, though their -attractiveness was not greatly superior to that of the gossip respecting -Mr. F------, who had been noticed in high dudgeon because of Lady -P------'s dancing three times with Sir Julian Y------; or that which -suggested that a reconcilement must have taken place between the -beautiful Mrs. G------ and her husband, for they had been seen taking -the air together in the Park. - -It was also pleasant to learn that His Majesty had given great -encouragement to Mrs. Delany in the production of her ingenious mosaic -flowers, in which she was so skilled as to excite the wonder of several -criticks in the Royal circle; and also that His Royal Highness the -Prince of Wales had been graciously pleased to say in publick that he -had always admired the Perdita of the beautiful Mrs. Robinson, though he -considered Mrs. Abington, on the whole, the most tasteful dresser in the -Drury Lane company. - -It was only when Mrs. Burney had folded the newspaper and was about to -put it away, that a few lines of an advertisement caught her eye--she -commented before she read, as though she had been a fully qualified -critic: - -“More novels! More stuff for the circulating libraries! Enough to make -poor Mr. Richardson feel uncomfortable in his grave! Could he but have -known that he was turning all England into novel readers he would never -have put pen to paper. Here is another imitator in the field. 'Evelina; -or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World,' published to-day by Mr. -Lowndes--three volumes, seven and sixpence sewed, nine shillings in -covers. 'Evelina,' a distant cousin to 'Clarissa' and 'Pamela' I doubt -not. I hope your father will not bring anyone here to dinner to-day. -Hashed mutton is a wholesome dish, to be sure, but some visitors are -fastidious. He may bring as many as he pleases to-morrow, for Mr. -Greville's gift of pheasants will be on the table. Why are you staring -so at your sister, Lottie?” - -Lottie was becoming a hardened dissembler: she scarcely started when -asked to interpret certain furtive glances she cast at Fanny. - -“I was wondering if Fanny would make a face: she never was fond of -hashed mutton,” said Lottie glibly. “If she had gone to school in France -she would soon have got a liking for it, cooked as it is there.” - -“I am not partial to French kickshaws,” said Mrs. Burney. “There's -nothing like good English fare. To my thinking, the principle of making -food tasty when in ordinary circumstances it should not be so, is a bad -one. Hash of mutton is wholesome food, and it should be eaten as such -without further question. If Providence had meant it to be tasty as -well, He would have made His intentions as plain as in the case of roast -pheasant.” - -“Lottie will tell you that I made no face at the mention of hash of -mutton,” said Fanny. “What does it signify whether one sits down to a -simple platter of mutton hash or a great dinner such as father gets at -Mr. Thrale's? A pair of geese, a leg of mutton, a tongue, a rib of roast -beef and a brace of pheasants, with two or three dishes of fish, and for -Dr. Johnson a veal pie or a piece of pork--those were on the table at -one time. What is the benefit of such abundance, when all that one can -eat is a single slice of beef?” - -She spoke rapidly, for she, too, had been a great dissembler. She meant -to take away her stepmother's attention from those questionable glances -which she had exchanged with Lottie; and she succeeded very well. - -“It would make no difference to us whether we had one dish or ten; but -it makes all the difference in the world to Mr. Thrale. They say he has -a prodigious appetite, and eats of at least six heavy dishes of meat at -dinner.” - -“Mr. Baretti affirms that some day he will not awake from the stupor -into which he falls after one of his heavy meals,” said Susy. - -“And all the time Mrs. Thrale is entreating him to be more moderate,” - cried Lottie. - -“A humiliating duty for such as Mrs. Thrale,” said her mother. “That -shows how true is all that Fanny has remarked: a simple dish should be -enough for any reasonable person. I have often wondered how the converse -at the Streatham table could be so wise and witty if the master of -the house eats like a hog, and Dr. Johnson, suffering from ill-health, -expends so much energy over his pork that the veins stand out on his -forehead and his face is bathed in perspiration.” - -“I am sure that Mrs. Thrale has wit and liveliness enough to serve for -the whole company,” said Fanny. - -“She is chatty enough, I doubt not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “There are -those who think she talks over-much for a woman.” - -“Not for a woman of fashion,” suggested Lottie with some pertness, when -their stepmother had left the room. “It is long since Mrs. Thrale has -invited mother to one of the Streatham dinners,” she added under her -breath. - -And then the three fell upon the _Chronicle_ for the announcement of the -book. - -They read it in whispers, each following the other, as though it were -the _piano_ part of a catch or a glee, and glancing fearfully toward the -door now and again, lest it should open and Mrs. Burney reappear. - -“How amazing it is!” said Susy. “This is the announcement of the birth -of a baby--and such a baby!” - -“The birth and the christening and all,” said Lottie. “Oh, Fanny, I -had no idea that it would be in the papers--I forgot that it would be -advertised; and when mamma read this out I thought I should sink through -the floor. So did you, I know.” - -“I only wish that it had been possible,” said Fanny. “I could feel -myself getting hot all over my body. And then you gave me that look, -Lottie!” - -“Could I help it?” asked Lottie. “You cannot blame me. I really thought -that it was you who gave me a look, as much as to say: 'If you let the -cat out of the bag I will never forgive you--no, never! '” - -“Never mind! Among us we managed to get out of the difficulty very well, -I think. Were we not clever, guiding the conversation away from Mr. -Lowndes's shop on to the high road to Streatham?” cried Susy. - -“'Twas the hash that saved us,” said Lottie. “Have you not heard dear -Jim applying the sailors' expression, to make a hash of something? But -we didn't make a hash of our matter, did we, Fanny?” said Susan. - -“We have become adroit dissemblers, and I am growing more ashamed of it -every day,” cried Fanny. “I have reached the condition of a man of whom -I read in a volume of history: he had committed a crime, and the effort -that it cost him to keep it hidden so preyed upon his mind that he could -stand the strain no longer, so he confessed it and was relieved.” - -“But he could not have been really happy until they hanged him,” said -Susy. “And do you intend to confess and be hanged, Fanny? Please do not. -I think it is the most exciting thing in the world to share a secret -like this. I would not have missed the enjoyment for anything. Think, -Fan, if you were to confess, you would draw us into it too--you would -make us out to be as guilty as yourself.” - -“I will not confess,” said Fanny. “No; it would not be honourable of me. -But I do feel that the secret is having a bad effect upon us all. It has -made us all such--such--dissemblers.” - -“Psha!” said Lottie with a sniff. “That's only another way of saying -that we are ladies of quality at an early age.” - -Fanny shook her head. She thought that if any proof were needed of the -ill effects of their treasuring their secret from their parents, this -cynical pertness of Lottie supplied it. She shook her head. - -“I should like 'Evelina' to come into mamma's hands,” continued Lottie. -“She will go through the three volumes at a hand gallop, even though she -did take it upon her to condemn it as being on a level with the odious -stuff that comes to us nowadays.” - -“And if she condemns it so heartily before she has read it, what will -she say about it when she has finished the last chapter?” asked Fanny. - -“She will say that it is the prettiest story that has been written since -her dear Mr. Richardson died,” said Susy. - -“I doubt it, my dear,” said Fanny. - -“Well, let the worst come, she will never guess that you wrote it,” - laughed Lottie. - -“It is the padre whom I fear,” said Fanny. “Surely he will not need to -go beyond the Ode on the first leaf to know that it is he himself whom I -address.” - -“And if he should--smoke it?” asked Susy, lapsing into slang which she -had acquired from her sailor brother, who was in no sense a purist. - -“If he should--well, either of two things will happen,” replied the -authoress. “He will either think me the most double-dealing wretch in -the world or the most dutiful of daughters.” - -“And which will be right?” asked Lottie. - -“Both views will be right,” said Fanny. “Although I meant every word -of the Ode, I really think now that the idea of writing it before the -dedication came to me only when I felt that I had behaved badly in -sending the book to the printer without his consent.” - -“You wished the Ode to be a sort of peace-offering?” said Susy. “You -hoped that when he read it he would forget to be angry? Well, that was -cunning of you, Fanny!” - -“I tell you that the whole affair has had a bad effect upon us all,” - said Fanny gently. - -Once again she was conscious of someone telling her that there was no -use crying over spilt milk, and this impression was followed by one that -took the form of a resolution to be more careful in future. If she -had spilt some milk once, that was no reason why she should not, by -exercising proper forethought, refrain from doing so again. - -But the book was now given to the world, if the world would have it, but -as yet a copy had not come into her hand. She wondered if she would -have to spend seven and sixpence in buying a copy. Seven shillings and -sixpence, sewed. It was a great deal of money. Was it possible that -there were five hundred people in the world ready to pay seven and -sixpence for a novel with the name of no author on the title page? -(She thought it best to leave out of her consideration altogether the -possible purchasers of the nine shilling set of bound volumes.) - -Who were the people that ever laid out so much money upon books which -could be read through between the rising and the setting of the sun? -She had never met such liberal enthusiasts. Of course, it was only -reasonable that so splendid a work as the “History of Music” should be -in the library of every house wherein people of taste resided, but that -was not a book to be galloped through; some people might not be able to -read it within a month. Besides, it bore the honoured name of Dr. Burney -on the title page, and the fame of Dr. Burney was great. But as for that -poor little seven-and-sixpenny sewed “Evelina,” how should anyone take -an interest in her without reading her story? How would anyone read her -story without feeling afterwards that seven-and-sixpence (leaving the -nine shilling expenditure out of the question) was a ridiculous price to -pay for such an entertainment? - -She felt that people would come to look on her as the instigator of a -fraud if they paid their money and read the book and then found out -that she had written it. The wisdom of concealing her name even from the -bookseller was now more apparent to her than it had ever been. She had -visions of indignant purchasers railing against Mr. Lowndes, and Mr. -Lowndes searching for her, so that he might rail against her; and so her -speculations ended in laughter; but even her laughter grated upon her -sensitive ears: she felt that it was the malicious jeering of a clever -cheat at the thought of having got the better of a worthy man. - -Her precious “Evelina” was leading her a pretty dance. If it had not -been able to do so it would have been a paltry sort of book and she -would have been a paltry sort of author. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -|TWO or three weeks passed without her hearing anything of the book, and -it seemed as if it had fallen, as she had at some moments hoped it would -fall, like a dull stone into the depths of the sea. She heard nothing of -it, and soon she perceived that her sisters felt grievously disappointed -at its failure to produce any impression upon the town. Even a dull -stone, if dropped into the deep, creates a little fuss on the surface -before it sinks out of sight; but Fanny's book did not, so far as they -could see, produce even so superficial an impression. What they expected -of it they might have had some trouble explaining; but as it was, they -could not conceal their disappointment from Fanny; and they showed it -after a short time in a very delicate way: they never alluded to the -book in her presence. She perceived that what was in their minds was -that it would show very bad taste on their part to refer to it in any -way. She was grateful for their consideration; and she resolved to -accept their decision on this point as final; she would never allude to -the horrid thing in their hearing. - -It so happened, however, that she was left alone with Susy in the house -one evening. Dr. Burney and his wife had gone to a concert at Esther's, -and Lottie was staying for a day or two in the country. Susy was -practising her part of a new duet on the piano, and Fanny was at her -sewing. So far as conversation between the two sisters was concerned, -the evening had been a very silent one. Indeed, during the whole week a -constrained silence had marked the intercourse of the three girls. - -Susy hammered away at the music for half an hour; then her playing -became more fitful, and at last it ceased altogether. - -There was a long silence before Fanny heard a little sound that caused -her to raise her head. It was the sound of a sob, and when she looked up -she saw that Susy was leaning her forehead upon the bottom of the music -rest, weeping bitterly. - -Fanny was by her side in a moment. - -“Dearest Susy, what is the matter?” she said soothingly. “Tell me, dear; -has anything happened? Has anyone been unkind to you? Have I unwittingly -done or said anything that seemed to you unkind? Tell me all, Susy.” - -But Susy continued crying with her face hidden, though she yielded one -of her hands to Fanny. - -“Come, my dear, I have helped you before now, and I may be able to help -you now. Prithee, what is your trouble?” said Fanny, putting her arm -round the girl's shoulders. - -Still Susy remained silent, except for her sobs. - -“Tell me,” said Fanny, in a whisper. “Is it that you think that I am -chagrined about--about--the book?” - -In an instant Susy had whirled round on her seat and flung her arms -round her sister's neck, laying her head on her shoulder. - -“Oh, Fanny, Fanny, 'tis too cruel!” she sobbed. “We were sure that so -much would come of it--it seemed so splendid to read, even before it -was printed--so much better than any other story that ever came into our -hands--and you worked so hard at it--every spare moment when you might -have been enjoying yourself--in the cold of last winter up in that -room--and at Lynn too--and Chessington--and now, when we think that your -cleverness, your patience, your genius, is to be rewarded, nothing comes -of it--all your trouble has gone for nothing--all our secrecy! Oh, it is -too cruel!” - -“You dear child,” said Fanny. “It is only cruel if it sets you crying in -this way. What does it matter to anyone if the book has gone and nothing -has come of it? I have been thinking that writing a book and publishing -it is like throwing a stone into the sea. It may fall so that it sinks -down plumb, or it may fall so that it makes a splash for a while, but -it sinks to the bottom all the same. Success or failure is only the -difference between a splash and a ripple. We were fools to fancy that -our little stone would float.” - -“But it was not a stone, it was full of life and it should have--it -should have--swum! Oh, the people who buy books are so stupid!” - -“They are--that was the hope that I builded on. They are stupid, but not -stupid enough to buy my book.” - -“Oh, Fanny!” - -“That is really the frame of mind that I find myself in to-day. I tell -you truly, Susy, that after the first week, I schooled myself to think -of the business in this way; and I am certain that in another month I -shall even feel delighted that my little pebble made no splash. Look at -the matter philosophically, Susy.” - -“Oh, philosophically!” - -“Well, reasonably. Are we in a different position to-day from that we -were in before the book was published? We are not. We are just the same -as we were before. It has not injured us in any way. Nay, if you think -of it, we are--I, at least, am--all the better for having failed, for I -have learned my lesson. I was beginning to feel cleverer than I had any -right to think myself, and this has come as a chastening--to make me -know my right place. These rebukes do not come by chance, Susy. I know -now that I was inclined to hold my head too high. I don't think that I -will do so again.” - -“You never held your head too high--just the opposite. And I think it -very cruel that you should be rebuked for nothing. But I do not blame -_anyone_ except the wretched people who refused to buy your nice book, -but spent their seven and sixpence at Vauxhall or Ranelagh--perhaps -watching Mr. Foote and his puppets at the Haymarket. Oh, I have no -patience with them! Why, it only needed a thousand people to buy the -book and it would have been accounted a success!” - -“Then we shall put the blame on the shoulders of that thousand, -wheresoever they may be found, and for my part I shall not hold a second -thousand altogether blameless--my indignation may even extend to a -third. Now, that's the last word I mean to speak about the book. It -has by this time reached the bottom of the sea on which I threw it; and -there let it lie!” - -“You are an angel--I see that plainly now.” - -“Ah, there you see, what I said was true: I am much better for the -rebuke I talked about; you never perceived before that I was an angel. -Now let that be the last word between us on the subject of my poor -little 'Evelina.' Her entrance into the world has proved fatal. Oh, -Susy, she was stillborn, but her parent is making a rapid recovery.” - -“That may be; but cannot you join with me in----” - -“I will join with you in maintaining silence on the subject of the little -one. I cannot bear to hear her name mentioned. I refuse to say another -word about her or her fate. She must have been greatly beloved of -the gods to die so young. Let that be 'Evelina's' epitaph. I will say -nothing more about her.” - -It so happened, however, that she was compelled to say a good deal more -on the subject, for within half an hour Cousin Edward had called, and he -began to talk of “Evelina” at once. - -“I went to Hill's library in the Strand yesterday, to get a book for -mother, and there, sure enough, I saw your 'Evelina,'” said he. “I asked -the man in charge what it was about, and he replied that he didn't know; -it was bad enough, he thought, to be compelled to hand out books all day -to readers without being forced to read them for himself; but he -supposed that 'Evelina' was a novel of the usual sort.” - -“That was not extravagant praise,” remarked Susy. - -“He didn't mean to praise it,” said Edward. “But when I asked him if -anyone who had read it had recommended it, he admitted that every one -of the five ladies who had read it was ready to speak well of it--one of -them had taken it away a second time; and--would you believe it?--while -I was standing at the counter a footman entered the shop with a demand -for 'Eveliena,' as he called it; and he carried off the copy that was -already on the desk.” - -“For the delectation of the servants' hall?” suggested Fanny. - -“Not at all--it had been recommended to her ladyship, he said, and he -had been commanded on no account to return without it; her ladyship -was liberal; she would not mind paying sixpence for it, instead of the -ordinary fourpence.” - -“That was more than liberal, it was generous to a degree,” said Fanny. - -“Don't interrupt him,” cried Susy. “Continue your narrative, Eddy. I am -dying to hear the rest.” - -“I asked the library man if he knew who wrote the book, and he -replied that he had heard the name, but had forgotten it; so far as he -remembered the author was a peer of high rank but eccentric habits,” - said Edward. - -“The book represented his eccentric habits, I suppose,” remarked Fanny. - -“I ran out of the place roaring,” said Edward. “'A peer of high rank but -eccentric habits'--describes you to a T, doesn't it, Cousin Fanny? Pray -what is your lordship's next work to be, and when will it be given to an -eager world?” - -“Is that all you have to tell?” asked Susy. - -“By no means. When I heard that the book was thought well of in -the Strand, I thought I would try to get at the opinion of Stanhope -Street--you know Masterman's circulating library there? Well, I boldly -entered, and there, sure enough, was a well-thumbed 'Evelina' in front -of the librarian. I asked for some book that no one had ever heard of, -and when the librarian had told me that he had never been asked for that -book before, I pointed to 'Evelina,' inquiring if it was any good. 'I'm -dead tired on account of its goodness, for I was fool enough to take -it to bed with me last night, and I never closed my eyes in sleep,' -he replied. 'I had it praised to me by a lady of quality, and so too -hastily concluded that it would either send me asleep with its dullness, -or shock me with its ribaldry; but it did neither, unhappily.' Just then -a chariot stopped at the door and another footman entered with the name -'Evelina' written on a sheet of paper, and off he popped with the full -three volumes under his arm. I waited no longer; but hurried hither -to give you my news. I did not get so far, however, for I was unlucky -enough to be overtaken by that vile downpour of rain, and it did not -blow over until your dinner hour was at hand.” - -“You are my good angel,” cried Fanny, her cheeks glowing. “We have heard -nothing of all this respecting the book, and, hearing nothing, we took -it for granted that it was dead--dead before it was ever alive. Oh, this -is good news you have brought us, Eddy!” - -“The best news that has come to us for months!” said Susy. She had -turned her head away and was furtively wiping her eyes. The good news -affected the sympathetic Susy almost as deeply as her disappointment had -done. - -“But I have only told you of my adventures of yesterday,” said -Edward. “To-day I tried the booksellers, beginning with Mr. Davies and -working-round to the Dillys in the Poultry--it cost me three shillings, -for I had to buy something that I did not particularly want in every -shop to excuse my inquiries--and I found 'Evelina' on every counter. I -cannot say that any customer came in to buy it while I was in any shop, -but you may be sure that the book would not be on the counter unless it -was highly thought of. Of course I had need to be very discreet among -the booksellers; I dared not ask who was the author, but I longed to do -so, if only to hear what new story had been made up about it.” - -“You heard quite enough to make us glad,” cried Susy. “Oh, how foolish -we were to take it for granted that because we had no news of the book, -it was dead! It is alive--greatly alive, it would appear! How could any -news of it have come to us here? We should have gone forth in search of -it.” - -“I knew that we could depend on your discretion,” said Fanny, laying a -hand on each of his shoulders. “I do not think that I ever thanked you -as I should for the wise way in which you managed the business with Mr. -Lowndes, and now I must not neglect to do so for having acted the part -of a benevolent agent in bringing us such good news about the book.” - -“Psha! there should be no talk of gratitude and the like between us,” - said he. “There are family ties--I think of the honour of our family. -People already talk of the clever Burneys, but they left you out of the -question, Cousin Fanny, since they only thought of music. But now -that you have shown what you can do in another direction, you must be -reckoned with alongside the others.” - -“And what about the other branch of the clever Burneys?” said Fanny. -“Don't you think that people will some of these days begin to ask if -Edward Burney, the great painter, is really a brother of the musical -Burneys? I hope they will, dear Edward; I hope that the fame of Edward -Burney, the painter, will go far beyond that of the musical Burneys, as -well as poor Fanny Burney who once wrote a novel.” - -The young man blushed as Fanny herself would certainly have done if -confronted with the least little compliment. But there was no false -shame about his acceptance of her suggestion. - -“I mean to become as good a painter as I can, in order to be worthy of -the name of Burney,” said he. “I feel proud of being a Burney--more so -to-day than ever before, and I hope that the rest of the Burney's will -some day look on me as doing credit to our name.” - -“I am sure that they will have every reason to do so,” said Fanny. - -When he had gone, Susy gave way to her delight at the news which he had -brought. She was a good deal taller than Fanny, and catching her round -the waist after the manner of the Elizabethan dancer with his partner, -she danced round the table with her, lilting a somewhat breathless pæan. -Fanny herself needed no coaxing to be her partner in this revel. In -her jubilant moments she got rid of the primness which most people -associated with her. She had a wild jig known as “Nancy Dawson,” and -she had more than once found it necessary to get rid of her superfluous -spirits through this medium. She joined in her sister's little whoop -at the completion of the third “lap” of the table, and they both threw -themselves breathless on the sofa. - -“I knew it,” said Susy between her gasps. “I knew that I could not be -mistaken in believing 'Evelina' to be good--I knew that she would make -her way in the affections of her readers, and I was right--you see I was -right.” - -“You were right, dear Susy--quite right,” said Fanny. “I do not like -to be too sanguine, but I do believe, from the reports Eddy brought us, -that the book will find plenty of readers. Now that we can think over -the matter in a reasonable way, we must see how foolish we were to -expect that the very day after the book was published people would crowd -to buy it; but now, after six weeks, when Eddy goes in search of news -about it, he brings back a report which is--we had best say for the -present no more than 'quite satisfactory'--that was the bookseller's -report about the sales of the first volume of the padre's -'History'--'quite satisfactory'--that should be quite satisfactory for -the author of 'Evelina' and her sisters. There is nothing in the book to -stir people as it would if written by Mr. Wilkes, but in its humble way -it will, I am now persuaded, be pronounced 'quite satisfactory.' At any -rate, there goes my sewing for the evening.” - -She rolled up the strip of linen into a ball and used her hand, after -two false starts, as a battledore, to send it flying across the room -within reach of Susy, who, being more adroit, was able at the first -attempt to return it with both force and precision. Once more Fanny -struck it, and her sister sent it back, but by this time the unequal -ball had opened out, so that it was only by her foot that Fanny could -deal with it effectively. Then, daintily holding up their petticoats, -the author of “Evelina” and Susy Burney played with the thing until once -more they were panting and laughing joyously. - -Perhaps Fanny had a faint inkling of the symbolism implied by this -treatment of the discarded needlework. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -|BUT little Miss Burney had recovered all her primness on the evening -when, a week later, she accompanied her stepmother to partake of tea at -the home of the Barlowes in the Poultry. - -Young Mr. Barlowe had, for some time after his visit to St. Martin's -Street, brooded over his indiscretion in allowing his impulse at the -moment of saying good night to carry him away so that he pressed Miss -Burney's hand, looking into her eyes with an expression in his own of -the deepest sympathy--rather more than sympathy. He felt that he had -been unduly and indiscreetly hasty in his action. It had been purely -impulsive. He had by no means made up his mind that Miss Burney would -make him a satisfactory wife. His father and mother had, for a long -time, thought very highly of Mrs. Burney, looking on her as a most -thrifty and excellent manager of a household. She had shown herself -to be all this and more when her first husband was alive and they had -visited her at Lynn; and she had proved her capabilities in the same -direction since she had married Dr. Burney. Unfortunately, however, -the virtues of a stepmother could not be depended on to descend to the -children of her husband's family, and it was by no means certain that -Miss Burney had made full use of her opportunities of modelling herself -upon her father's second wife. - -No, he had not quite made up his mind on this subject--the gravest that -had ever occupied his attention, and he remained sleepless for hours, -fearful that he had gone too far in that look and that squeeze. He had -heard of fathers and even brothers waiting upon young men who had acted -toward a daughter or a sister pretty much as he had in regard to Miss -Burney. He had rather a dread of being visited by Miss Burney's brother, -that young naval officer who had boasted of having been educated by a -murderer. Mr. Barlowe thought that a visit from such a young man would -be most undesirable, and for several days he went about his business -with great uneasiness. - -But when a week had gone by and neither father nor brother had waited -upon him, he began to review his position more indulgently than when he -had previously given it his consideration. He thought more hopefully of -Miss Burney as a wife. Perhaps she might have profited more largely than -he had thought by her daily intercourse with so capable a woman as Mrs. -Burney. At any rate, she was not musical, and that was something in her -favour. Then her stepmother had praised her needlework, and everyone -knows that to be a good sempstress is next to being a good housekeeper. - -He thought that on the whole she would do. Her brother, Lieutenant -Burney, would naturally spend most of his time at sea. That was a good -thing. Thomas felt that he should hesitate to make any change in his -life that involved a liability of frequent visits from a young man who -had been taught by a murderer. Who could tell what might happen in the -case of such a young man? As for Miss Burney herself, she was, -quite apart from her housewifely qualities, a most estimable young -lady--modest and retiring, as a young woman should be, and very -beautiful. To be sure, he had often heard that beauty was only skin -deep, but even assuming that it did not go any deeper, it had always -been highly esteemed by men--none of them seemed to wish it to be of any -greater depth; and it was certain that a man with a handsome wife was -greatly envied--more so even than a man who was married to a plain woman -but a good housewife. Oh, undoubtedly her beauty commended her to his -most indulgent consideration. He had no objection in the world to be -widely envied, if only on account of his wife's good looks. It never -occurred to him that it might be that some people would think very -ordinary a face that seemed to one who was in love with it extremely -lovely. He preserved the precious privilege of a man to raise up his own -standard of beauty and expect all the rest of the world to acknowledge -its supremacy. - -Yes, he thought that Miss Burney, beauty and all, would suit him, but -still he hesitated in making another call. - -This was when Mr. Kendal had the honour of waiting upon Mrs. Burney, and -his visit only preceded by a day or two Mrs. Burney's call upon her old -friend, Mrs. Barlowe, in the Poultry; this interchange of courtesies -being speedily followed by an invitation for Mrs. Burney and a -stepdaughter to drink tea with the Barlowe family. - -“I am taking you with me, Fanny, because you are the eldest and, as -should be, the most sensible of the household,” said Mrs. Burney, -explaining--so far as she thought wise--the invitation on the morning it -was received. “There will be no music at Mrs. Barlowe's, I think, and -so you will have no distracting influence to prevent your forming a just -opinion of my old friends.” - -“I do not mind in the least the absence of music for one night,” said -Fanny. - -“I am sure of that,” said Mrs. Burney. “Goodness knows we have music -enough here during any day to last us over a whole week. The -others could not live without it, even if it were not your father's -profession.” - -“Without which none of us could live,” remarked Fanny, who had no -wish to be forced into the position of the opponent of music in the -household. - -“Quite right, my dear,” acquiesced the elder lady. “It is a precarious -way of making a living. To my mind there is nothing so satisfactory as a -good commercial business--a merchant with a shop at his back can afford -to laugh at all the world.” - -“But he usually refrains,” said Fanny. - -“True; he looks at life with proper seriousness, and without levity. -Great fortunes are the result of serious attention to business. Levity -leads to poverty.” - -“Except in the case of Mr. Garrick and a few others.” - -“Mr. Garrick is certainly an exception. But, then, you must remember -that he was a merchant before he became an actor, and his business -habits never left him. I have heard it said that he got more out of his -company for the salaries he paid than any theatre manager in Europe. -But I did not come to you to talk about Mr. Garrick. I only meant to say -that I know you are an observant girl. You do not merely glance at the -surface of things, so I am sure that you will perceive much to respect -in all the members of Mrs. Barlowe's family.” - -“I am sure they are eminently--respectable, mamma; and I am glad that -you have chosen me to be your companion this evening. I like going among -such people--it is useful.” - -She stopped short in a way that should have aroused the suspicions of -Mrs. Burney, but that lady was unsuspecting, she was only puzzled. - -“Useful?” she said interrogatively. - -Fanny had no mind to explain that she thought herself rather good at -describing people of the Barlowe type, and was ready to submit herself -to more experience of them in case she might be encouraged to write -another novel. But she knew that she would have some difficulty in -explaining this to her stepmother, who herself was an excellent type. - -“Useful--perhaps I should rather have said 'instructive,'” she replied, -after a little pause. - -“Instructive, yes; I am glad that you look at our visit so sensibly--I -knew you would do so. Yes, you should learn much of the excellence of -these people even in the short time that we shall be with them. And it -is well that you should remember, my dear Fanny, that you are now quite -old enough to have a house of your own to look after.” - -It was now Fanny's turn to seem puzzled. - -“I do not quite see how--I mean why--why--that is, the connection--is -there any connection between----?” - -“What I mean to say is that if at some time a suitor for your hand -should appear, belonging to a respectable mercantile family, you will -know, without the need of any telling, that your chances of happiness -with such a man are far greater than they would be were you to wed -someone whose means of getting a living were solely the practice of some -of the arts, as they are called--music or painting or the rest.” - -“I do not doubt that, mamma,” said Fanny demurely. She was beginning to -think that her stepmother was a far better type than she had fancied. - -And her stepmother was beginning to think that she had never given Fanny -credit for all the good sense she possessed. - -The six o'clock tea-party in the Poultry was a function that Fanny -Burney's quick pen only could describe as it deserved to be described. -All the time that it was proceeding her fingers were itching to start -on it. She could see Mr. Crisp smiling in that appreciative way that he -had, as he read her smart sentences, every one of them with its little -acid flavour, that remained on the palate of his memory. She was an -artist in character drawing, and she was one of the first to perceive -how excellent was the material for artistic treatment that might be -found in the house of the English tradesman--the superior tradesman -who aspired to be called a merchant. She neglected no opportunity of -observing such houses; it was only when she was daily consorting with -people of the highest rank that she became alarmed lest her descriptions -should be accepted as proof that she was in the habit of meeting on -terms of intimacy the types of English bourgeois which she had drawn. - -The ground-floor of Mr. Barlowe's house in the Poultry was given over to -his business, which, as has already been mentioned, was that of a -vendor of gold and silver lace. The walls carried shelves from floor to -ceiling, and every shelf had its line of boxes enclosing samples of an -abundant and valuable stock. The large room at the back was a sort of -counting-house parlour, where Mr. Barlowe sat during the day with his -son and an elderly clerk, ready for the customers, whose arrival was -announced by the ringing of a spring.-bell. The scales for the weighing -of the bullion and the worked gold and silver wire were suspended above, -the broad counter in the shop, and from a hook between the shelves there -hung a number of ruled forms with spaces for oz., dwt. and grs. On these -were entered the particulars of the material supplied to the workmen who -made up the lace as required. The upper part of the house was the home -of the family, the spacious dining-room being in the front, its convex -windows overhanging the busy thoroughfare. Opening off this apartment -was an equally large drawingroom, and the furniture of both was of -walnut made in the reign of Queen Anne, with an occasional piece of -Dutch marqueterie of the heavier character favoured by the craftsmen of -the previous sovereigns. The rooms themselves were panelled with oak and -lighted by candles in brass sconces. - -It seemed to Fanny, on entering the diningroom, that every seat was -occupied. But she soon saw that there were several vacant chairs. It -was the imposing row of figures confronting her that made the room seem -full, although only six persons were present besides young Mr. Barlowe -and his parents, who met Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughter at the door. -Fanny greeted Thomas at once, and she could see that his eyes were -beaming, but with a rather more subdued light than shone in them on that -night when he had pressed her hand. - -She was conscious, at the same time, of the approach of a big elderly -gentleman, wearing a well-ordered wig, evidently newly curled, with a -small lady clad in expensive and expansive black silk by his side. He -was holding the tips of her fingers and they advanced in step as though -they were starting to dance a minuet. - -They stood in front of her and her mother, while Thomas, moving to one -side, said, making a low bow: - -“Miss Burney, I have the honour to present to you my father, Mr. -Barlowe, and my mother, Mrs. Barlowe. Mrs. Burney, madam, you are, I -know, already acquainted with my parents.” - -The little lady curtsied and her husband made a fine shopkeeper's bow, -first to Fanny, then to Mrs. Burney. - -The formality of the presentation was overwhelming to poor Fanny. She -could feel herself blushing, and she certainly was more overcome than -she had been when Count Orloff, the Russian, visited the house in St. -Martin's Street and she gazed with awe upon the thumb that had, it was -rumoured, pressed too rigidly the wind-pipe of the unfortunate Peter. -All that she could do was to try to hide her confusion by the deepest of -curtsies. - -“We are sensible of the honour you have done us, madam,” said Mr. -Barlowe when he had recovered himself--he was addressing Fanny, ignoring -for the moment the presence of Mrs. Burney. - -“Our son has spoken to us of you with great admiration, Miss Burney,” - said the little lady. “But I protest that when I look at you I feel as -King Solomon did when he saw the Queen of Sheba, the half has not been -told.” - -“Oh, madam, you flatter me,” said Fanny, trying to put some force into a -voice that her shyness had rendered scarcely audible. - -Her stepmother, perceiving how she was suffering, hastened to greet in -a much less formal way their host and hostess; but she had considerable -difficulty in bringing them down to her level. It seemed that they had -prepared some high phrases of welcome for their younger visitor only, -and they had no mind that they should be wasted. - -“My stepdaughter is of a retiring nature,” said Mrs. Burney. “She is -quite unused to such ceremony as you honour her with. Well, Martha, how -is the rheumatism?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -|MRS. BARLOWE did not seem half pleased to be brought down so from the -high parallels of etiquette among which she had been soaring. But she -had lost her place, and before she could recover herself, Fanny had -slipped behind her stepmother. - -“Ask me all about her rheumatism, madam, for 'tis me that knows more -about it than her,” said Mr. Barlowe, with a jerk of his thumb and a -wink in the direction of his wife. The homely enquiry of Mrs. Burney had -clearly forced him to throw off all ceremony and treat the visit of Miss -Burney as an ordinary domestic incident. - -His wife would have none of this, however; she said in tones of stiff -reproof: - -“Mr. Barlowe, you forget that the young lady has not been presented to -Brother Jonathan or the Alderman. Thomas, it is for you to usher the -lady into the presence of your uncles and aunts. Pray be not remiss, -Thomas. There is no excuse for such an omission.” - -“I was only waiting until you had finished, ma'am,” said Thomas. - -“I have finished,” she replied, with a stiff nod. “To be sure, 'twas my -intention to express, in what I trust would be appropriate terms, our -happiness in welcoming Miss Burney to our humble home; a few phrases of -this sort were not thought out of place when I was young; but it appears -that your father knows better what is _comme il faut_ and _haut ton_ -than me. Bring the young lady forward, Thomas.” - -The younger Thomas looked dubiously from his mother to his father. -He was uncommonly like an actor who had forgotten his part, Fanny -thought--he had no initiative. Fanny herself was more at home than any -of the household. While the young man hesitated, she walked up the room -as if she meant to present herself to the six figures that sat in a row -at the farther end. - -Thomas was beside her in a moment. - -“I ask your pardon, Miss Burney,” he said. “But I knew that mamma had at -least two more welcomes for your ear, and I feared that she had forgot -them. Do not you think that mamma speaks well? Perhaps it would be -unjust to judge her by what she said--she only made a beginning. You -will be delighted when you are going away.” - -Fanny felt that this prediction was certain to be realized. - -“Yes, mamma's good-byes are as well worded as her greetings,” he -continued; “a clergyman could scarcely better them; and I hope----” - -But now they were face to face with the six figures sitting in a row, -and as his conversation was only designed as an accompaniment to the -march of Fanny to this position, there was no reason to continue it. - -The figures were of two men and four ladies. The former were middle-aged -and bore an expression of gravity that a judge might have envied. Their -dress was sombre, but of the finest material possible to buy, and each -of them was painfully conscious of being in unusual garments. Of course, -Fanny saw in a moment that they were merchants wearing the garments in -which they attended church. - -Of the four ladies, three were elderly and the fourth much younger. They -wore their hair built up in a way that suggested that they desired to -follow the fashion but had not the courage to complete the scheme with -which they had started. The long and thin and highly-coloured feathers -which crowned the stunted structures on their heads gave them the -appearance of a picture of unfamiliar birds. Their dresses were -extremely glossy and of an expensive material, but there was an -eccentric note about all that made them seem not impressive as they -should have been, but almost ludicrous. The youngest lady in the row -showed unmistakable signs of being given to simpering. She had gone much -further than the others of the party in the architecture of her hair, -but that was possibly because the material at her command was more -abundant. The dressing of her hair, however, was by no means in sympathy -with the style of her garments, the latter being simple and indeed -rather too girlish for the wearer, who looked between twenty-five and -thirty. - -It was an extraordinary ordeal that confronted Miss Burney, for young -Mr. Barlowe began presenting her to the group, starting from his left -and working slowly to the last of the row on the right. There was -she with the young man standing close to her, but sideways, doing the -formalities of presenting her, while his father and mother stood behind -to see that he omitted nothing. Mrs. Burney, a little way apart, was -alternately smiling and frowning at the ceremonial. She could see, from -observing the effect that the whole business was producing upon Fanny, -that the Barlowes were defeating their own ends, assuming that -they desired Fanny to become a member of their family. These absurd -formalities were, Mrs. Burney knew, quite out of place in a private -house. But what could she do to cut them short? She had made an attempt -before, and it was received in anything but a friendly spirit by their -hostess, so that she did not feel inclined to interfere again: the thing -must run its course, she felt, reflecting upon it as though it were a -malady. There was no means of curtailing it. - -And its course was a slow one for the unhappy victim. - -“Miss Burney, I have the honour to present my aunt on my mother's -side--Mrs. Alderman Kensit,” droned Thomas, and the lady on the extreme -left rose at the mention of her name and made a carefully prepared -curtsey, while the sky-blue feather in her hair jerked awkwardly forward -until the end almost touched her nose. - -“Proud to meet Miss Burney, I vow,” said she as she rose; and anyone -could see from the expression on her face that she was satisfied that -she had gone far in proving her claim to be looked on as a lady of -fashion. She had never said “I vow” before, and she knew that it had -startled her relations. She felt that she could not help that. Miss -Burney would understand that she was face to face with someone who had -mingled with the best. - -“And this is Aunt Maria, father's sister, Mrs. Hutchings,” came the -voice of Thomas, and the second lady bobbed up with quivering feathers -and made a well-practised curtsey. She did not trust herself to speak. -Having heard her neighbour's “I vow,” she knew that she could not go -farther. She would not compete with such an exponent of the mysteries of -_haut ton_. - -“And this is Alderman Kensit of the Common Council; he is my uncle on my -mother's side--mother is a Kensit, you know,” resumed Thomas. “And -this is Aunt Jelicoe. My mother's sister married Mr. Jelicoe, of Tooley -Street. And this is my cousin, Miss Jelicoe. I am sure that you will -like Miss Jelicoe, Miss Burney, she is so young.” - -The youngest lady of the group simpered with great shyness, concealing -half her face with her fan and holding her head to one side, and then -pretending to be terribly fluttered. Her curtsey was made in a flurry, -and with a little exclamation of “Oh, la!” - -Another uncle only remained to be presented; he turned out to be Mr. -Jonathan Barlowe, and he was, Thomas whispered half audibly to Fanny, in -trade in the Indies. - -It was all over, curtsies and bows and exclamations--echoes of the world -of fashion and elsewhere--she had been presented to every member of the -row and they had resumed their seats, while she hastened to the side of -her stepmother, hot and breathless. She had never before been subjected -to such an ordeal. She had gladly agreed to accompany her stepmother to -this house, for she hoped thereby to increase her observation of a class -of people who repaid her study of them; but she had no notion that she -should have to vacate her place as an Observer and take up that of a -Participator. She was to pay dearly for her experience. - -She was burning, her stepmother could see; and she believed that this -was due to her mortification on noticing that the dress of the ladies -was infinitely more expensive than hers. That would be enough to make -any young woman with ordinary susceptibilities indignant, she felt; and -she herself, having had an opportunity of giving some attention to -the expensive silks--she could appraise their value to a penny--was -conscious of some chagrin on this account. She was almost out of -patience with her old friend, Martha Barlowe, for making all this -parade. The foolish woman had done so, she knew, in order to impress -Miss Burney and to give her to understand that she was becoming -associated with no ordinary family. But Mrs. Burney had seen enough -since she had left Lynn for London to know that Fanny would not be the -least impressed except in the direction of boredom by such an excess of -ceremony in the house of a tradesman. She had heard Fanny's comment upon -the gorgeous chariot which Sir Joshua Reynolds had set up, and she could -not doubt what Fanny's opinion would be regarding this simple tea to -which she had consented to go at the Barlowes' house. - -Fanny had hurried to her side as soon as she had passed the row of -uncles and aunts. She thought that the girl seemed overcome by the -tedium of the formalities; but in a few minutes she saw that Fanny was -on the verge of laughter. - -Mrs. Burney could not say whether she would rather that her charge -became moody or hilarious. - -“Eight separate curtsies,” murmured Fanny. “If there are to be the same -number going away we should begin at once.” - -Mrs. Burney thought it better not to reprove her for her flippancy just -at that moment. She condoned it with a smile. - -Only a minute were the Burneys left to themselves. Mr. Barlowe, the -elder, walked solemnly up to them. - -“Going on nicely, eh?” he said in a confidential way to Mrs. Burney. -“Everything being done decently and in order, madam. There has been no -cause of offence up to the present, though there are three persons in -that row who are as ready to see an offence where none is meant as a -bunch of flax to break into flame when a spark falls on it. The young -lady is discreet; if she had spoken to any one of them and not to the -others, there would have been a flare-up. The touchy ones belong to my -wife's family. She was a Kensit, you know.” - -He made this explanation behind his hand and in a whisper; he saw that -his wife and son had been in earnest consultation together over some -vexed question, and now they were hovering about, waiting to catch his -eye. - -“I spoke too soon,” he said. “Something has gone astray, and the blame -will fall on me.” - -They hovered still nearer, and when he caught his eye, Thomas, the -younger, stepped up to his father, saying something in his ear. Mrs. -Barlowe went on hovering a yard or two away. - -“That would never do,” said her husband, evidently in reply to some -remonstrance offered by young Thomas. “Never. The whole of the Kensits -would take offence.” Then he turned again to Mrs. Burney, saying: - -“Mrs. Burney, madam, my son has just reminded me that I have been remiss -in doing my duty. It was left to me to present you to our relations at -the head of the room, but I failed to do so, my mind being too full of -the pretty curtsies of Miss. But I am ready to make amends now.” - -But Mrs. Burney had observed a little twinkle in Fanny's eye; she had -no notion of going through the ordeal to which Fanny had been subjected, -though the spectacle would doubtless have diverted Fanny hugely. - -“Nay, sir,” she said quickly to the waiting gentleman, “Nay, sir; you -have forgotten that the presentation of a lady's daughter is equivalent -to the presentation of the lady herself.” - -“What, is that so?” said he. - -“Rest assured that it is,” said she, “and an excellent rule it is. It -saves a repetition of a formality that is now frequently omitted in the -private houses of simple folk like ourselves. Lend me your arm, sir. I -shall soon make myself at home with Martha's relations.” - -She did not give him a chance of discussing the point with her; she saw -that he was about to state his objections to the rule she had invented -for her own saving, and she was already in advance of him in approaching -the row of figures on the chairs against the wall. Fanny heard her -greeting them in turn without any formality, and once again Thomas, the -younger, was by her side. - -His mother was still hovering, glancing suspiciously, first at the young -couple, and then at the hasty proceedings of her friend, Mrs. Burney. - -“It was unlike father to make so grave an omission, Miss Burney,” he -said, apologetically. - -“I hope that no harm will come of it,” said Fanny. “I am afraid that you -found us very homely folk at our little house when you did us the honour -of visiting us,” she added. - -He waved his hand indulgently, smiling over her head. - -“I am always ready to take my place in such a circle,” said he, -“though all the time I have a pretty full knowledge of the exchange of -courtesies which should mark the introduction of a stranger. Oh, yes, I -do not mind meeting some people as an equal, if they do not presume upon -me afterwards. Your brother has gone back to sea, I hear?” he added. - -“Yes, we shall not see him again for two years,” she replied. “Did he -presume upon you, sir? If so, I will take it upon me to offer you a -humble apology.” - -“I was considering if it might be possible that he was himself mistaken -in regard to the ear-trumpet,” said Thomas. - -“Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet? What of that?” - -“Lieutenant Burney told me that it was a newly invented musical -instrument, blown by the ear instead of the mouth. It was not until I -had spoken of it to my father that I learned that the instrument was an -ear-trumpet used by the deaf. I had never seen one before. I wonder if -your brother intentionally deceived me.” - -“My brother is an officer in His Majesty's Fleet, sir.” - -“What does that mean, miss?” - -“It means that he would resent an accusation of falsehood, sir.” - -“Pray do not misunderstand me; I would shrink from accusing him of any -conduct unworthy of an officer and a gentleman. But I was certainly -deceived in fancying that the ear-trumpet was a musical instrument.” - -Fanny made no reply. Her attention was directed to the entrance of two -servants, one bearing a large urn, the other a dish on which lay an -immense ham. - -“I hope you have an appetite, Miss Burney,” said young Thomas. “If so, -you will be able to stay it at that table, I'll warrant. Tea and cake -may be well enough for such as dine at four, but for us, who are three -hours earlier, something more substantial is needed. You will find that -there is no stint in this house.” - -Fanny had an idea that the young man meant to suggest that she would -find the tea-table at the Poultry to make a striking contrast to that of -St. Martin's Street; and she was not mistaken. - -Neither was he. A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined. When -Fanny was formally conducted to a seat at the table by the side of young -Mr. Barlowe, she found herself confronting such a variety of eatables as -was absolutely bewildering. The first glance that she had at the dishes -had a stunning effect upon her. Her impression was one of repletion; she -felt that that glance was by itself equivalent to a hearty meal--a heavy -meal. She felt inclined to turn her head away. - -But a moment afterwards she became alert. Here was food--ample food for -an amusing letter to Mr. Crisp, and, later, for a chapter in a possible -novel. She would let nothing escape her notice. - -She settled down to observe everything; and her stepmother, sitting -opposite to her, knew from the twinkle in her eyes, that Thomas's suit -was hopeless. She had heard that music is the food of love. She was not -sure of this; but she was convinced that butcher's meat was not. That -was where she saw that Thomas had made his mistake. He had placed too -much dependence upon that great ham. He carved that ham with all the -solemnity that should accompany such a rite, not knowing that he was -slicing away all his chances of commending himself to Fanny. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -|IT was an interesting experience for Miss Burney, the writer of novels -and the writer of letters. She had never sat down with such a company. -They all had their table peculiarities. One uncle took ale for his -tea, and drained a tankard before eating anything. The other claimed a -particular cup on account of its capacity, and he held it to his mouth -with one hand, while he passed a second down the table to Miss Burney, -only spilling a spoonful or two in effecting the transit. One of the -aunts refused to eat anything except cake, explaining, in order to -relieve the anxiety of the company, the details of an acute attack of -spleen from which she had recently suffered. The spleen and its humours -formed the subject of a fitful conversation at her end of the table. - -But it was plain that everyone understood that the company had not come -to the table for conversation, but for food. They did not converse, -but that was not the same as saying the room was silent. There was a -constant clanging of cups, a constant clatter of platters, a loud and -insistent demand on the part of Thomas, the elder, and Thomas, the -younger, for their guests to say what they would like to eat. This was -followed by the handing of plates up and down the table, the sound of -steel knives being sharpened, and the jingle of spoons in saucers. The -Alderman, who was, of course, an authority on the etiquette of banquets, -was formulating an elaborate explanation of the mistake that had been -made in the service of the cold sirloin in advance of the venison pasty; -and all the time his neighbour was striking the haft of his knife upon -the table with a request for someone to pass him the pickles. - -All the ceremonial veneer had plainly left the company the moment they -seated themselves, and they addressed themselves to the business of -feeding. They had healthy appetites--even the lady who had had a recent -attack of the spleen. She would eat nothing but cake, but she did eat -cake with confidence. There was no sort of cake that she did not try, -and her cup was kept in constant circulation from the tea-maker to -herself--four times she had it refilled, Fanny could not help noticing, -and she wondered what effect such a diet would have upon her capricious -spleen. Fanny had an inward hint or two that she had observed quite -enough of the party to serve her purpose, and she began to count the -moments until she might be able to steal away without offending the -susceptibilities of her over-hospitable host and hostess. She hoped that -her stepmother would listen to her plea of weariness and take her back -to St. Martin's Street--to the music of St. Martin's Street--to the -quiet of St. Martin's Street. - -The most solid hour of her life had, however, to elapse before her -fellow-guests pushed their plates (empty) away from them, and Mrs. -Barlowe said: - -“I am afraid you have made a poor tea, Miss Burney; but if you cannot be -persuaded to have a slice of ham--my son's ham, I call it, for 'tis he -who picks it out of the curer's stock whenever we have a party--if you -still refuse it, we might go to the drawing-room.” - -Fanny was on her feet in an instant. But not sooner than Alderman -Kensit. That gentleman, rapping with the haft of his knife on the table, -stood with a sheaf of notes in his hand and clearing his throat with -great deliberation, started upon a speech in eulogy of Mr. Barlowe's -merits as a host and as a merchant, and droned away for a good -half-hour in praise of the virtue of hospitality, his text being on -the possibility of entertaining angels unawares. Of course, it was only -natural that, having got upon this track and with the word “angels” - in his mind, he should go on to say that it was quite possible for a -hospitably-inclined person to entertain an angel and be fully cognizant -of the fact, and so forth: in a speech of well-worn platitudes such a -suggestion seemed inevitable; and all eyes were directed to poor -Fanny when it seemed impending. It was a great disappointment to -everybody--except Fanny and her stepmother--when the orator skipped the -expected phrases, and went on to describe a business visit which he had -once made to Spain, apropos of nothing in particular. His account of -this feat was familiar to all his relations, but they listened to him -without a murmur, only wondering when he would come to the angel and -Miss Burney. - -He never came to the angel and Miss Burney, for it so happened that he -had turned over two pages of his notes when he should have only turned -over one. The omitted platitude was on the first, and he failed to -notice the absence of a platitudinal sequence in the heads of his -discourse which he had jotted down during the day. - -When he had seated himself, Mr. Barlowe, the elder, got upon his feet, -but he had no notes, and not being a member of the Common Council, he -was not a past-master of commonplaces. He was only dull for about five -minutes instead of half an hour. He had risen with a view to repair his -relative's omission of that obvious point about entertaining an angel by -appointment in the shape of Miss Burney, but he lost himself before he -managed to deliver it; it swam out of his ken with several other points -the moment he got upon his legs. - -Fully recognizing how narrow was the escape she had had, Fanny was -resolved not to run any further chances. She was looking imploringly -toward Mrs. Burney, trying to catch that lady's eye, but without -success, and she was about to walk round the table to her side and to -beg her to come away, when Mrs. Barlowe moved up to her. - -“Miss Burney,” she said, “I am afraid you did not get anything you liked -at the table: I saw that you scarce ate more than a morsel of cake.” - -“I assure you, madam, I had enough,” said Fanny. “Your cake was so tasty -I had no mind to go away from it in search of other delicacies.” - -“I am glad you liked it. I made it with my own hands,” said the hostess. -“That cake was ever a favourite with Mr. Barlowe and my son. It pleases -me to know that you and my son have tastes in common. He is a good son, -is Thomas, though I say it that shouldn't; and he is making his way to -the front by treading in his father's footsteps. Mr. Barlowe is not a -Common Councilman, but his father, Thomas's grandfather, was for a year -Deputy-Master of the Wyre Drawers' Company--his certificate still hangs -on the wall of the drawing-room. You must see it. Thomas, you will show -Miss Burney your grandfather's certificate as Deputy-Master.” - -“I should like very much to see it,” said Fanny quickly, “but I fear -that mamma will wish me to accompany her home at once. My sisters are -alone to-night and they will feel lonely: we promised to return early.” - -“I will get Mrs. Burney's permission for you--so good an opportunity -should not be thrown away,” said Mrs. Barlowe, giving the latter part of -her sentence an unmistakable inflection as she looked toward her son and -smiled. - -She had gone round the table before Fanny could think of another excuse -for evading the visit to the drawing-room in the company of Mr. Barlowe, -the younger. - -And Mr. Barlowe, the younger, was still by her side. - -“Doesn't Uncle Kensit make a fine speech?” he inquired. “He is always -ready. I have heard it said that he speaks longer than any Alderman in -the Council.” - -“I can quite believe it,” replied Fanny. - -“Tis a wonderful gift,” said he--“to be always ready to say what one is -expected to say. Though I did think that when he referred to the angels -he meant to--to--go farther--I mean nearer-nearer home.” - -Thomas might himself have gone farther had his mother not returned at -that moment from her diplomatic errand. - -“I have prevailed upon Mrs. Burney to let you stay to see the -certificate,” said she. “Thomas, you will conduct Miss Burney to the -drawing-room.” - -“I am sure that mamma would wish to see the certificate also,” said -Fanny. “I will ask her.” - -“There is no need, Miss Burney: we shall all join you later,” said Mrs. -Barlowe. - -Poor Fanny saw that there was no use trying to evade the attentions of -Thomas, and as she walked toward the folding doors by his side she was -conscious of a silence in the room and of all eyes being turned upon -her--smiles--such knowing smiles--and a smirk from the young lady. Fanny -was aware of all, and what she was too short-sighted to see she was able -to imagine. She was burning at the thought of all those people gazing at -her in silence. It was the most trying moment of her life. - -She passed through the door which Thomas opened for her and closed -behind her. - -“I am glad to have this opportunity, Miss Burney,” said he, when they -were alone in the big half-lighted room. - -“You must hold your grandfather's certificate in high esteem, sir,” said -she. “I suppose so high a place as he reached is but rarely attained -by mortals. You will have to guide me to the document: I have very poor -eyesight, as you must have noticed.” - -“It is a great drawback,” said he. “But we will not talk about -grandfather's certificate just yet, if you please: I have something to -say to you that will, I hope, interest you even more than that.” - -“You surprise me, sir,” said Fanny icily. - -“Nay, I hope that you know me well enough not to be surprised by all -that I have to reveal to you now that the opportunity has been given to -me. Have you no inkling of what I am about to say, Miss Burney?” - -“Not the least, sir. I expected only to see that relic of your -grandfather's honourable career.” - -“What, after meeting Uncle Kensit and Aunt Jelicoe, you do not feel -interested in their families?” said he, in a tone of genuine surprise. - -Fanny looked at him before she spoke, and there certainly was more than -a note of casual interest in her voice as she said: - -“Their families? Oh, I should like above all things to hear about their -families.” - -“I knew that you would,” said he, apparently much relieved. (She -wondered if the relief that she felt was as apparent as his.) “Yes, -I felt certain that you would welcome this opportunity of learning -something about the Kensits and the Jelicoes. They are remarkable -people, as you cannot have failed to perceive.” - -He made a pause---a pause that somehow had an interrogative tendency. -She felt that he meant it to be filled up by her. - -“They are remarkable people--very remarkable,” said she. - -“We are very fortunate in all our relations, Miss Burney,” said he with -great solemnity. “But, of course, Uncle Kensit stands high above them -all in force of character. A great man indeed is Alderman Kensit--a -member of the Haberdashers' and Grocers' Companies as well as the City -Council, and yet quite ready to meet ordinary persons as fellow-men. He -had heard the name of your friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds, though not the -name of Dr. Burney, and he was kind enough to say that he would have no -objection in the world to meet either of these gentlemen. That shows you -what sort of man he is--his fine, simple nature. 'If Dr. Burney or Sir -Joshua Reynolds were duly presented to me, I should feel it my duty to -be civil to him '--those were his exact words.” - -Once more there was an interrogative pause. - -“Perhaps they may be fortunate enough to meet him some day,” was all -Fanny could trust herself to say. - -“I would not say so much to them--he is very busy just now,” said Thomas -hastily. “It would have to be arranged with care and thought--I would -not like them to be disappointed. But if it would please you, I daresay -a meeting could be brought about; meantime, I would not raise up any -false hopes on the matter, if I were you.” - -“You may depend on my preserving the strictest secrecy, Mr. Barlowe,” - said Fanny. “I should think that I might even discipline myself to -forget that such a person as Alderman Kensit existed.” - -“That would perhaps be the safest course to pursue,” said he -thoughtfully, and with an air of prudence that made him for the moment -the subject of a description after Fanny's own heart. She felt that -she could fool this young man as easily as her brother had fooled him. -Surely he was made to be fooled, with his solemn airs and his incapacity -to distinguish what is worthy from what is pompous. - -“Yes,” she continued, “Dr. Burney has had it intimated to him since the -publication of his 'History' that the King was desirous of talking to -him at Windsor, and I know that Sir Joshua is being visited daily by -the Duchess of Devonshire and the Duchess of Ancaster, and it would be -a great pity if my father were forced to write excusing himself to His -Majesty on account of having to meet Alderman--Alderman--I protest that -I have already forgotten the gentleman's name--nay, do not tell it to -me; I might be tempted to boast of having met him, and if I did so in -Sir Joshua's presence, his beautiful Duchesses would be forlorn when -they found that he had hurried away on the chance of meeting the -Alderman. And now, sir, I think that I shall return to Mrs. Burney.” - -“But I have not told you half of what I can tell about our family,” he -cried. “I have said nothing about my aunts--I have four aunts and eleven -cousins. You would surely like to hear of my cousins. They do not -all live in London. I have three as far away as Lewes; their name is -Johnson. My mother's youngest sister married a Johnson, as you may have -heard. I believe that some objection was raised to the match at first, -but it turned out quite satisfactory.” - -“It is pleasant to know that; and so, sir, as we have come to this -point, don't you think that we had better adjourn our conference?” said -Fanny. “It would be doing the Johnson family a grave injustice were you -to attempt to describe their virtues within the time that is left to -us, and that would be the greatest catastrophe of all. Besides, I came -hither all unprepared for these revelations. If you had hinted at -what was in store for me I would, of course, have disciplined -myself--forewarned is forearmed, you know.” - -Miss Burney had received many a lesson from Mr. Garrick, from the days -when he had come to entertain her in the nursery, in the art of fooling, -and she was now quite capable of holding her own when she found herself -in the presence of so foolable a person as this egregious young man. But -the game was apt to become wearisome at the close of an evening when -she had suffered much, and when the subject of her raillery had shown -himself to be incapable even of suspecting her of practising on him. - -“But there is Aunt Jelicoe; I should like to tell you something of Aunt -Jelicoe,” pleaded Thomas. “Without any of the advantages of her parents, -Aunt Jelicoe--and--oh, I have something more to say to you--not about -them--about ourselves--you and me--I was nearly forgetting--you will -stay----” - -“One cannot remember everything, Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny, with her -hand on the knob of the door. “You have done very well, I think, in -remembering so much as you have told me. As for ourselves--you have -quite convinced me of my own insignificance--and yours also, sir. You -would be doing us a grave injustice were you to speak of us so soon -after your estimable relations.” - -“Perhaps you are right,” said he, after a few moments of frowning -thought. “Yes. I see now that it might have been wiser if I had begun -with ourselves and then----” - -Fanny had turned the handle. She re-entered the dining-room, and the -moment that she appeared silence fell upon the company, and once again -she was conscious of many eyes gazing at her and of horrid smiles and a -smirk. That was another ordeal for the shy little Miss Burney--it was an -evening of ordeals. - -She walked straight across the room to her stepmother. - -“I am ready to go away now,” she said. “We have never stayed at any -house so long when we only came for tea. I am tired to death.” - -She took care, of course, that Mrs. Burney only should hear her; and -Mrs. Burney, being well aware that Fanny was not one to complain unless -with ample cause, charitably interposed between her and Mrs. Barlowe, -whom she saw bearing down upon her from the other side of the room. - -“Fanny and I will say our good-night to you now, my dear Martha,” she -said. “You have treated us far too kindly. That must be our excuse for -staying so long. When people drop in to tea they do not, as a rule, stop -longer than an hour, as you know. But you overwhelmed us.” - -“I was hoping--” began Mrs. Barlowe, trying to get on to Fanny, but by -the adroitness of Mrs. Burney, not succeeding. “I was hoping--you know -what I was hoping--we were all hoping--expecting--they were in the -drawing-room long enough.” - -Mrs. Burney gave her a confidential look, which she seemed to interpret -easily enough. She replied by a confidential nod--the nod of one who -understands a signal. - -“Mum it shall be, then,” she whispered. “Not a word will come from me, -simply good-night; but we could all have wished--never mind, Thomas will -tell us all.” - -Mrs. Burney allowed her to pass on to Fanny, having obtained her promise -not to bother the girl--that was how Mrs. Burney framed the promise in -her own mind--and Mrs. Barlowe kept faith with her, and even persuaded -Alderman Kensit, who was approaching them slowly with a sheaf of notes -in his hand, to defer their delivery in the form of a speech until the -young woman had gone. - -And thus the visitors from St. Martin's Street were able to escape going -through the formality of taking leave of all the party. They shook hands -only with their host and hostess and their son, curtseying very politely -to the company of relations. - -“They are warm-hearted people, but their weakness for ceremony and the -like is foolish enough,” said Mrs. Burney to Fanny, when they were safe -within the hackney carriage. - -Fanny laughed. - -“Oh, indeed, there is no harm in any of them,” she said. “They may be -a little foolish in thinking that the Poultry is St. James's Palace or -Buckingham House. The only one among them who is an arrant fool is the -son. You saw how his mother made it up that he should lead me into the -other room?” - -“It was maladroitly done indeed. What had he to say to you when he got -you there, I wonder?” - -“He had nothing to say to me except that his uncles were second in all -the virtues and all the talents to no man in town, and that his aunts -and cousins--but he did not get so far in his praise of his aunts and -cousins; I fled. Oh, did you see him cut slices off the ham?” - -Fanny laughed quite pleasantly, with a consciousness of having at -her command the material on which to found a scene that would set her -sisters shrieking. - -“Oh, if Mr. Garrick had but seen him carve that ham!” she cried. - -“I wish that Mr. Garrick would give all his attention to his own affairs -and leave us to manage ours in our own way,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“What? Why, what had Mr. Garrick to do with our visit to----” - -“'Twas Mr. Garrick who continued his fooling of Mr. Kendal, sending him -all over the town trying to make matches. He believes that he is under -a debt of gratitude to Mr. Garrick and your father for the happiness he -enjoys with his bride.” - -“And he suggested that a match might be made between someone in St. -Martins Street and someone in the Poultry? But how does Mr. Kendal come -to be acquainted with the Barlowes?” - -“His wife was a Johnson before she married her first husband, and the -Johnsons are closely connected with the Barlowes.” - -“Young Mr. Barlowe was just coming to the family history of the Johnsons -when I interrupted him.” - -“Was he coming to any other matter that concerned you more closely, -think you?” - -Fanny laughed again, only much longer this time than before. She had to -wipe her eyes before she could answer. - -“Dear mamma,” she said, “you would laugh as heartily if you had seen him -when he suddenly recollected that in his eagerness to make me acquainted -with the glories of the Kensits and the abilities of the Johnsons, he -had neglected the object of his excursion to that room with my poor -self, until it was too late.” - -“I doubt it,” said Mrs. Burney. “I do not laugh at incidents of that -sort. I lose patience when I hear of a young man neglecting his chances -when they are offered to him. But had he ever a chance with you, Fanny?” - -“Not the remotest, dear mamma. If he had remembered to speak in time, -and if he had spoken with all the eloquence of his admirable uncle, the -Alderman, he would not have succeeded. If Thomas Barlowe were the last -man in the world I should e'en die an old maid.” - -“That is a foolish thing for you to say. You may die an old maid for -that. But indeed when I saw young Mr. Barlowe in his home, I perceived -that he was not for you. I could not see you a member of that family, -worthy though they may be.” - -“I think if a girl loves a young man with all her heart she will agree -to marry him, however worthy may be his family,” said Fanny. “But I am -not that girl, and young Mr. Barlowe is not that man.” - -“I daresay that is how you feel,” said the elder lady. “But you must not -forget, Fanny, that you are no longer a girl; it is quite time that you -had a house of your own.” - -“That is true, dear mamma, but for the present I am happy in living in -your house, and I ask for nothing better than to be allowed to stay in -your service.” - -“That is all very well, but----” - -“Ah, do not introduce that 'but'--life would be thoroughly happy if it -were not for its 'buts.' Here we are in Leicester Fields. I feel as if -I should like a roast apple for supper, to put a pleasant taste in my -mouth at the close of the longest day I can remember.” - -They entered the parlour on the ground floor, and found Lottie and -Susy roasting apples on the hearth, while Dr. Burney sat in his chair -reading. - -“I did not expect you back so soon,” said Mrs. Burney to her husband. - -“I did not mean to return for another hour,” said he, “but Sir Joshua -left early and brought me with him in his coach. He cut his evening -short in order to get back to a book which he affirms is the best he has -read since Fielding.” - -“It would have to be a good book to take the attention of Sir Joshua,” - said Mrs. Burney. “Did you hear what was its name?” - -“It is called 'Evelina,' I believe,” replied Dr. Burney. - -“A novel, of course. I remember hearing the name some time ago,” said -his wife. “'Evelina'; yes, it has a familiar sound. I cannot recollect -at this moment who it was that mentioned it to me. I believe I told you -of it at the time, Fanny.” - -“I do not remember your telling me that anyone had mentioned it to you; -but I am nearly sure that that was the name of the novel advertised in -the _Chronicle_--you read out all about it after breakfast one morning,” - said Fanny. - -“You are quite right--that was how I got the name in my mind. Now you -can have your roasted apple, child. But if you are hungry you have only -yourself to thank for it. Don't bend so over the fire, Susy; your face -is frightfully fed--so, for that matter, is Lottie's. No, thanks, you -need not roast one for me.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -|SOME weeks had passed since Cousin Edward had brought his exhilarating -news that the book was being asked for at the libraries, and during this -interval, Fanny had heard nothing of its progress. She had applied in -the name of Mr. Grafton for a copy to be addressed to the Orange Coffee -House, but Mr. Lowndes had paid no attention to her request, Edward -found out on going to the Coffee House, so it seemed plain to Fanny that -the book was not making the stir in the world that her cousin's report -from the libraries had attributed to it. But here was a distinct proof -that it had at last reached their own circle, and somehow Fanny and her -sisters felt that this meant fame. Somehow they had come to think of -the readers of the book as being very remote from them--people whom they -were never likely to meet; they had never thought of the possibility of -its being named under their own roof by anyone not in the secret of its -authorship. But now the strange thing had come to pass: it was not -only named by their father, but named with the most extraordinary -recommendation that it could receive! - -What! Sir Joshua was not only reading it, but he had curtailed his stay -at the club in order to get home to continue it! Sir Joshua had actually -been content to forsake the society of his brilliant friends, every one -of them more or less notable in the world, in order that he might read -the story which Fanny Burney had written all out of her own head! - -The idea was simply astounding to the girls and to Fanny herself as -well. It meant fame, they were assured, and they were right. It took -such a hold upon Susy and Lottie as prevented them from giving any -attention to Fanny's amusing account of the evening at the Barlowes'; -and the fun she made--modelled on Mr. Garrick's best nursery style--of -the Alderman and Mrs. Alderman, with the speeches of the one and the -St. Giles's curtsies of the other, went for quite as little as did her -imitation of the bobbing of the crown feathers of the aunts and the -rustling of their dresses, the material of which was too expensive to -be manageable: the thick silk was, Fanny said, like a valuable horse, -impatient of control. She showed how it stood round them in massive -folds when they curtsied, refusing to respond to the many kicks they -dealt it to keep it in its place. - -From the recalcitrant silks--with illustrations--Fanny had gone to the -slicing of the ham, the hacking at the great sirloin, the clatter of the -teacups, and the never-ending passing of plates and pickles, of mustard -and pepper and salt--the things were moving round the table as the -planets were shown circling round the sun in the clever invention called -the Orrery, after one of the titles of the Earl of Cork--only the noise -made by the perpetual handing on of the things did not suggest the music -of the spheres, Fanny said. - -Her descriptions, bright though they were and full of apt metaphors, -went for nothing. Her sisters were too full of that wonderful thing -which had happened--the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the -Royal Academy, the painter of all the most beautiful duchesses that -were in the world, to say nothing of beautiful ladies of less exalted -rank--this great man, who was so busy conferring immortality upon -duchesses that he was compelled to keep in his painting-room on Sundays -as well as every other day, and who had never been known to suspend -his work except upon the occasion of the death of his dear friend Dr. -Goldsmith--this man was actually at that very moment sitting in his -arm-chair eagerly reading the words which their sister Fanny had -written! - -The thought was too wonderful for them. The effect that it had on them -was to make them feel that they had two sisters in Fanny, the one a -pleasant, homely, hem-stitching girl, who could dance the Nancy Dawson -jig for them and take off all the people whom she met and thought worth -taking off; the other a grave authoress, capable of writing books that -great men forsook the society of other great men to read! - -They looked on her now with something of awe in their eyes, and it was -this lens of awe which, while magnifying her work as a writer where it -came into their focus, made them fail to appreciate her fun, for they -saw it, as it were, through the edges of the lens and not through the -centre. - -She quickly perceived the lack of sympathy of her audience. - -“What is the matter with you both to-night?” she cried--they were now -upstairs in her room, and she knew that at the same moment Mrs. Burney -was giving her husband an account of the party. “What is the matter -with you both? Has anything happened when I was away to put you out? Why -don't you laugh as usual? I am sure I never told you anything half so -funny as this, and I was thinking all the way coming home that it would -make you roar, and now you sit gravely looking at me and not taking in -half I say. Pray, what is the matter?” - -“Nothing is the matter, dear,” said Lottie. “Nothing--only I can't help -thinking that Sir Joshua is at this moment sitting eagerly reading the -book that you wrote--you, sister Fanny, that no one who comes to us -notices particularly. I can hardly bring myself to believe that there is -only one Fanny.” - -Fanny looked at her strangely for some moments, and then said: - -“I do not blame you, dear; for I am myself of the same way of thinking: -I cannot realize what the padre told us. I cannot think of myself as the -Fanny Burney whose book is keeping Sir Joshua out of his bed. That is -why I kept on harping like a fool on the single string of that odious -party. I feel that I must keep on talking, lest my poor brain should -give way when I sit down to think if I am really Fanny Burney, who was -ever happiest sitting unnoticed in a corner when people came to this -house, or laughing with you all up here. I cannot think how it would -be possible for me to write a book that could be read by such as Sir -Joshua.” - -“Better think nothing more about it,” said Susy, who fancied she saw -a strange look in Fanny's eyes. “What's the good of brooding over the -matter? There's nothing strange about Sir Joshua's reading the book: -I read it and I told you that it was so lovely everybody would want to -read it. Besides, Sir Joshua may only have mentioned it for want of a -better excuse to leave the club early; so you may not be so famous after -all, Fanny.” - -Susy's well-meant attempt to restore her threatened equilibrium was -too much for Fanny. But there was a considerable interval before her -laughter came. She put an arm about Susy, saying: - -“You have spoken the truth, my dear sister. I have no right to give -myself airs until we find out exactly how we stand. But if Fanny Burney, -the dunce, should find out to-morrow that Sir Joshua has not really -been kept out of his bed in order to read 'Evelina' by Fanny Burney, the -writer, the first Fanny will feel dreadfully mortified.” - -“One thing I can promise you,” said Susy, “and this is that Susannah -Burney will not be kept out of her bed any longer talking to Fanny -Burney about Fanny Burney's novel, whether Fanny Burney be mortified -or not. We shall know all about the matter when we go to the Reynolds's -to-morrow. In the meantime, I hope to have some hours of sleep, though -I daresay that Fanny Burney will lie awake as a proper authoress should -do, thinking over the exciting party in the Poultry and wondering how -she will work in a description of it in her next novel. Good-night, and -pleasant dreams! Come along, Lottie.” - -And Fanny Burney did just what her sister had predicted she would do. -She recalled some of the incidents of the tea-party in the Poultry, -having before her, not as she had in the hackney coach, the possibility -of describing them in a letter to Mr. Crisp, but of introducing them -into a new book. - -Before she slept she had made up her mind to begin a new book; for she -now found it comparatively easy to believe that Sir Joshua was reading -“Evelina” with great interest. At any rate, she would hear the next day -when she should go to the Reynolds's, whether Sir Joshua had read it, -or whether he had only made it an excuse for getting home early in the -night, so that he might arise early and refreshed to resume his painting -of the duchesses. - -But the next evening, when, with her sisters and their stepmother she -tripped along the hundred yards or so of Leicester Fields that lay -between their house and that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, all thoughts of -the book which she had written and of the book which she meant to write, -vanished the moment that she was close enough to Sir Joshua's to hear, -with any measure of clearness, the nature of the singing, the sound of -which fell gently upon her ears. - -“H'sh!” said Mrs. Burney, stopping a few feet from the door. “H'sh! some -one is singing. I did not know that it was to be a musical party.” - -“It is Signor Rauzzini,” said Lottie. “I would know his voice anywhere. -We are lucky. There is no one who can sing like Signor Rauzzini.” - -“We should have come earlier,” said Mrs. Burney. “But when Miss Reynolds -asked us she did not say a word about Rauzzini. And now we cannot ring -the bell, lest we should interrupt his song.” - -She stood there with the three girls, under the lighted windows of the -house, listening to the silvery notes of the young Roman that floated -over their heads, as if an angel were hovering there, filling their -ears with celestial music. (The simile was Susy's.) The music sounded -celestial to the ears of at least another of the group besides Susy; and -that one thought: - -“How can anyone trouble oneself with such insignificant matters as the -writing of books or the reading of books, when such a voice as that is -within hearing?” - -And then, all at once, she was conscious of the merging of the two -Fanny Burneys into one, and of the existence of a new Fanny Burney -altogether--the Fanny Burney who was beloved by the celestial singer, -and this was certainly the most wonderful of the three. - -The thought thrilled her, and she knew that with it the truth of life -had come to her: there was nothing worth anything in the world save only -loving and being loved. - -And this truth remained with her when the song had come to an end, -soaring to a high note and dwelling on it for an enraptured space and -then dying away, so gradually that a listener scarcely knew when it had -ceased. - -Fanny's imagination enabled her to hear, at the close, the drawing-in of -the breath of the people in the room where the song had been sung: she -knew that up to this point they had been listening breathlessly to -every note. She could hear the same soft inspiration--it sounded like -a sigh--by her sisters and their stepmother. A dozen wayfarers through -Leicester Fields had been attracted to-the house by the sound of the -singing, and now stood timidly about the doorway. They also had been -breathless. One woman murmured “Beautiful!” Fanny could understand -how the word had sprung to her lips, but what could the man mean, who, -almost at the same moment, said: - -“Oh, my God! how could I have been so great a fool?” - -She was startled, and glanced at him. He was a young man, shabbily -dressed, and on his face there were signs of dissipation. He was -unconscious of her glance for some moments, then with a slight start he -seemed to recover himself. He took off his hat with a respectful bow, -and then hurried away. But Fanny saw him turn when he had gone about a -dozen yards into the roadway, and take off his hat once more, with his -eyes looking up to the lighted windows of the house. He was saluting the -singer whom he had not seen, and to Fanny the act, following the words -which he had unwittingly uttered, was infinitely pathetic. - -It appeared that Mrs. Burney herself received the same impression. Fanny -was surprised to hear her say: - -“Poor fellow! he was once a gentleman!” - -Then they entered Sir Joshua's house and were shown upstairs to the -great painting-room, where Sir Joshua and his sister Frances were -receiving their guests. - -It was quite a small party--not more than a score of people altogether, -and all seemed to be acquainted with one another. Fanny knew several of -them; one girl, however, she had never seen before, but she knew who -she was in a moment. She was standing at one end of the room chatting to -Mrs. Sheridan, and on the wall just above her there hung the picture of -a girl in oriental costume and wearing a turban. Fanny Burney had often -looked at it in admiration, and Sir Joshua had encouraged her, affirming -that it was the best picture he had ever painted and that it would -remain in his painting-room until the day of his death. She looked at -it now with renewed interest, for the original was the girl standing -beneath it--the beautiful Miss Homeck whom Oliver Goldsmith had called -the Jessamy Bride. Several years had passed since Sir Joshua had painted -that portrait, from which Miss Burney had recognized the original; and -fifty years later another lady recognized the same face, still beautiful -in old age, from having seen merely a print of the same picture. - -When Fanny turned her eyes from the portrait it was to admire the -features of Mrs. Sheridan. Mrs. Sheridan was gazing somewhat pensively -at the picture of St. Cecilia which was hanging a little way from that -of Miss Horneck, and Fanny was near enough to her to perceive how her -expression grew into that of the face in the picture. At first sight, it -did not appear to Fanny that the two faces were the same, and it seemed -as if Mrs. Sheridan perceived this, and determined to vindicate Sir -Joshua's skill by assuming the pose of the picture. But Miss Burney knew -that the beautiful lady had done it unconsciously--that it was simply -because she was recalling the days when she had sat for the painter, and -had obeyed his injunction to lose herself among the simple chords of the -aria that was sacred to her since her sister died with the strain upon -her lips--“I know that my Redeemer liveth.” - -Fanny gazed at the exquisite face, illuminated with what seemed to her -to be a divine light, and for the first time she knew something of what -it was to be a great painter. After “St. Cecilia” the other portraits on -the walls seemed paltry. There was no divine light in the faces of the -duchesses. There was life in them; they breathed and smiled and posed -and looked gracious, but looking at them one remained on earth and among -mortals. But St. Cecilia carried one into the glorious company of the -immortals. “She drew an angel down,” was the line that flashed through -Miss Burney's mind at that moment. An angel? A whole celestial company. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -|YOU are looking at her--I, too, have been looking at her; she is -divine,” came a voice beside her. She did not need to turn to see the -speaker. She had been longing for the sound of his voice for many days. -She had not even a chance of hearing him sing before this evening. - -“She is St. Cecilia herself,” said she. “You have seen Sir Joshua's -picture?” - -“My countryman, Piozzi, pointed it out to me,” he replied. “I was -enraptured with the picture. But when the living St. Cecilia entered the -room and I heard her story, I felt ready to throw myself at her feet and -implore her as the guardian of poor singers to take me to her care. Her -face has on it the bloom of a flower dropped fresh from the garden of -God--angelic beyond the voice of man to describe.” - -He spoke, as usual, in French to Fanny, but he had greeted Mrs. Burney -in English, and he tried to translate his last phrase to her into the -same language. He failed after the first word or two, and begged Miss -Burney to complete his task for him. She did so, and her stepmother -smiled and nodded in appreciation of his comment. - -“She is indeed a beautiful creature,” said Mrs. Burney. “I heard her -sing more than once at Bath. People went mad about her beauty and her -singing, and truly I never heard any singing that so affected me. It was -said that she hated to let her voice be heard in public. Her father, -Mr. Linley, made her sing: she was a gold mine to Mr. Linley and he knew -it.” - -Signor Rauzzini had listened attentively and picked up all that she had -said without the aid of a word from Fanny. - -“But now she will never be heard again no more,” said he in English. -“And she is right in making such a resolution, and her husband is a -noble man to agree with her in this,” he continued, but in French to -Fanny. “Picture that lovely creature placing herself on the level of -such a one as the Agujari! sordid--vulgar--worldly! quarrelling daily -with the _impresario_ on some miserable question of precedence---holding -out for the largest salary--turning a gift which should be divine into -gold! Oh; she was right.” - -“Signor Rauzzini no doubt thinks it a pity that such a voice should -cease to give pleasure to the thousands it enchanted,” said Mrs. Burney, -not being able to follow him in French. - -“Oh, no, no; just the opposite,” cried Fanny. “He says he admires her -the more for her resolution.” - -“I am so glad. Pray tell him that I agree with him,” said Mrs. Burney. -“A good woman will avoid publicity. Her home should be sufficient for -her.” - -Fanny did not need to translate the words, he grasped their meaning at -once. - -“I agree with all of my heart, madame,” he cried. “I would not wish my -mother or my sister to have their names spoken with freedom by -everyone who paid a coin to hear them sing. I should think it--_come -si chiamo?_--Ah! forgive my poor English.” He went off into French once -more--“Pray tell madame that I think it would be odious to hear the name -of my mother or my sister tossed from man to man as they toss the name -of a woman who comes before the public. I think the woman who would hide -herself from all eyes as a violet hides itself under a leaf is the true -woman. The shy, timid, retiring one--I know her--I esteem her. I could -love no other. I have a deep respect for the woman of the Orient who -would die sooner than let her face be seen by a man.” - -“What does he say--I like his eagerness?” asked Mrs. Burney. - -Fanny translated some of his phrases, and Mrs. Burney nodded and smiled -her approval. - -“The bloom on the wing of a butterfly is a very tender thing,” resumed -the Roman; “the breath of a man is sufficient to remove it--a single -breath--and when the bloom has gone the charm of the beautiful creature -has gone also.” - -“I am not sure that I like the comparison to the butterfly,” said Fanny, -smiling. “The butterfly is the emblem of all that is fickle--all that -is idle except for its yielding to its fickleness. It is beautiful, but -nothing else.” - -He laughed. - -“I am rebuked,” he said. “But with us the butterfly is the symbol of the -life--of the soul. Assume that and you will, I think, see that I meant -not to hint at the beauty of the frivolity, but at the beauty of the -soul. I feel that a woman's life has on it the bloom of a butterfly's -wing, and if that is once breathed on, its beauty is gone for ever--the -woman's life is never again what it was--what it was meant to be. But -if you wish, I will not go beyond the violet as my emblem of the best -woman--my woman.” - -“I thank heaven that I have no voice,” said Fanny gently, after a -pause. Young Mr. North-cote, Sir Joshua's pupil, had approached Mrs. -Burney--his eye was on Susy--in order to tell her that tea was being -served in the drawing-room. - -Mrs. Burney thanked him and took the arm that he offered. - -“We shall all go in together,” said Mrs. Burney, with a sign to Fanny. - -But Rauzzini contrived to evade her eye by renewing his admiration of -the “St. Cecilia.” - -“If I could but reproduce in song the effect that flows from her face I -should be the greatest singer in the world,” said he. - -“You need not envy her,” said Fanny. “Do you remember Mr. Handel's -setting of 'Alexander's Feast '?” - -“Only an aria or two.” - -“One of the lines came into my mind just now when I looked at that -picture. 'She drew an angel down.'” - -“And it was very apt. She would draw an angel down.” - -“Yes; but the poet has another line before that one--it refers to a -singer--'He raised a mortal to the skies.' That was the line which came -to my mind when I heard you sing. You raise mortals to the skies. Your -power is equal to that of St. Cecilia.” - -“Nay, nay; that is what you have done. I have been uplifted to the -highest heaven by you. When you are near me I cannot see anything of the -world. Why have we not met more frequently? Ah, I forget--I am always -forgetting that the months you spoke of have not yet run out. But I am -not impatient, knowing that the prize will come to me in good time. -I have been away at the Bath and Salisbury and Bristol and I know not -where, singing, singing, singing, and now I go to Paris and Lyon for a -few months, but you may be certain that I shall return to England--then -the separating months shall have passed and you will welcome me--is not -that so?” - -“I think I can promise you--every day seems to make it more certain that -I shall welcome you.” - -“My angel--my dream!----” - -He said the words--both long-drawn monosyllables in French--in a whisper -that gave them the full force of passionate expression. He had need to -whisper, for several people were in the room, and Mr. Boswell was among -the number, and everyone knew that Mr. Boswell, as a gossip-monger, had -no equal in town. He was always pimping and prying--nosing out germs -of scandal--ever ready to make mischief by telling people all the -nasty things other people had said of them. Mr. Boswell had his eye on -them--and his ear. In addition, Mrs. Thrale, who had arrived late, had -no idea of allowing the handsome Roman singer to waste himself with a -nonentity like Miss Burney, and she was now perilously close to him whom -she came to rescue. - -But the whisper and the expression imparted to it were enough for Fanny -Burney. He might have talked for hours in his impassioned way without -achieving the effect of his whispered exclamations. - -Then Mrs. Thrale hastened up to his side full of her resolution to -rescue him from the conversation with the insignificant person whom his -good nature suffered to engage his attention. - -“Why, what is this?” cried the little lady who regarded herself with -complacency as the soul of tact. “Have you explained to Signor Rauzzini -that you are the unmusical member of the family, Miss Burney?” - -“I believe that he is aware of that fact already, madam,” replied Fanny. - -“And yet he is in close converse with you? He is the most good-natured -man in town,” said Mrs. Thrale. “Does he hope to interest you when your -father failed?” - -“He has never ceased, to interest me, madam,” said Fanny. - -“Then he did not talk about music?” - -“Oh, yes; I think he said something about music.” - -“Yes, touching a note here and there, as one might in passing a -harpsichord. Of course you could not have lived in Dr. Burney's house -without being able to understand something of music. But we must not -trespass upon Signor Rauzzin's courtesy, Miss Burney. Everyone is -talking of him in the drawing-room--he must gratify the company by -mingling with them.” - -Then she addressed Rauzzini in French. - -“I promised to go in search of you, signor,” she said. “Madame Reynolds -is distracted. I came on my mission famished--I had vowed, as the -crusaders did, not to taste food or drink until I had succeeded in -my emprise. May I ask you to have pity on me now and lead me to the -tea-table?” - -He turned to ask Fanny to accompany them, but he found that she had -slipped quietly away. She was already at the door. - -“My duty was to Miss Burney, madame, but she has been frightened away,” - said he. - -“Oh, she is the shy one of the family, I believe,” said Mrs. Thrale. “I -am sure that all the time you were so good-natured as to talk to her -she was wishing that the floor would open and allow her to sink out of -sight. She would have thought it much more good-natured on your part -if you had taken no notice of her. I have scarcely spoken to her half a -dozen times myself, though I have frequently been to her father's house. -I cannot rack my brain to discover a congenial topic with such young -people. Were you successful, do you think?” - -He made a gesture with his hands that might mean anything. Mrs. Thrale -assumed that it meant nothing--that he felt he was not greatly concerned -whether he had been successful in finding a congenial topic of converse -with Miss Burney or not. - -She laughed. - -“Poor girl!” she said. “She may have her dreams like other girls.” - -“I believe she has--poor girl!” said he. “But I know that in her -knowledge of music she goes deeper--soars higher than most young ladies -who have submitted to lessons from a _maestro_--nay, higher than the -_maestro_ himself.” - -Mrs. Thrale looked doubtfully at him. - -“Is it possible that we are talking of two different people?” said she. - -“Ah, that is quite possible,” said he. - -“I was referring to Miss Burney, the one of the family who does nothing -except sew--her mother commends her sewing very highly. I fear that you -actually believed that you were in converse with one of her sisters.” - -“Madame,” said he, “it is my belief that the one who sews in a family is -far more interesting than the one who sings. But Miss Burney need not, -in my eyes, be any more than Miss Burney to be interesting, though she -has taught me more of music than I ever learned before.” - -“Is't possible? Oh, yes: I should remember that her father told me that -she was his amanuensis--she made a neat copy of all his notes for the -'History of Music.' It is no wonder that she knows something about -it. Such a good daughter! And the father took no trouble about her -education. She did not know her letters till she was eight or nine, I -believe--perhaps twelve. I don't believe that I ever exchanged half a -dozen words with her before this evening; and as for men--you are the -first man I ever saw taking any notice of her.” - -His face lit up strangely, Mrs. Thrale thought, at this revelation. He -gave a laugh. - -“So much the better for her--so much the worse for the men,” said he. -“And now, madame, if the tea has not become too strong, and if your -hunger has not made you too weak to walk to the table, I should esteem -it an honour to conduct you thither.” - -Mrs. Thrale smiled her acquiescence, and she entered the drawing-room on -the arm of the singer. Nothing could have convinced her that he did not -feel grateful to her for rescuing him from the position in which his -good nature had placed him--by the side of the most insignificant young -woman among all Sir Joshua's guests. - -She believed that she was increasing his debt of gratitude to her by -keeping him with her for the next half-hour. Her sense of protecting him -gave her naturally a sense of patronage, which was quite pleasant for -her to experience, especially when she glanced round the room and saw -several ladies of higher rank than she could pretend to, frowning in her -direction. She knew how Signor Rauzzini was pestered by the attentions -of such as these, and she could almost hear the well-bred sneers of -her friends as they glanced at her and wondered if she never meant to -release the unfortunate young man--she knew just what they would say, -and she accepted their imaginary words as a real compliment to -her protective powers. Her smile down the table was one of great -complacency. - -She also noticed that the insignificant Miss Burney was glowing as she -had never seen her glow before. Her face was rosy and her eyes were -actually sparkling. Mrs. Thrale had never imagined that such eyes as -Miss Burney's could sparkle, no matter what their provocation might be. - -“Poor girl! Poor child! Her head is turned, as I feared it would be -when I saw the Rauzzini with her. She is the unhappy victim of his good -nature.” - -This was the conclusion come to by the little lady whose ability to -pronounce an opinion on such a matter was widely acknowledged; and -coming to such a conclusion, she naturally commended all the more -heartily the step which she had taken for separating the foolish girl -and the fascinating young man. - -She would have waved aside any suggestion that might be made to her to -the effect that the increase in Miss Burney's colouring and the light in -her eyes was due to Miss Burney's overhearing the conversation between -her mother and Sir Joshua respecting a book which he had stayed up all -night to read and which he had just finished in time to receive his -guests. - -The name of the book was “Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the -World,” he said, and he was urging Mrs. Burney to follow his example and -read it without further delay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -|FANNY was at her stepmother's elbow while Sir Joshua gave her a full -account of how he had been induced to send to Lowndes for this wonderful -book on the recommendation of Mrs. Darner, whose portrait he was -painting. Mrs. Darner had excused her unpunctuality at one of her -sittings on the ground that she had become so interested in the fortunes -of “Evelina” that she could not put the book down. - -“Get it for yourself, sir,” she had said, “and you will quickly -acknowledge that my excuse is valid.” - -“Of course I did not get it then,” said Sir Joshua. “I find it -impossible to keep pace with the useful books that are printed in these -days, and I have long ago given up novels. But when, the next day, Mrs. -Darner came to sit to me with a woebegone countenance and the traces of -tears on her cheeks, so that I could only paint her draping, and that, -too, had a woeful droop in its folds--for let me tell you, madam, that a -woman's dress is usually in sympathy with the mood of the wearer--when, -I say, the lady entered my painting-room in this guise, I ventured to -inquire if she was serious in her wish that I should depict her in the -character of Niobe. 'Oh, sir,' she cried, ''tis all due to that horrid -Branghton--he it is that has brought me to this.' 'The wretch!' said I. -'Have you no friend who will run him through the vitals? Where is he -to be found, that I may arrange for his destruction?' 'He is the -persecutor of my beloved Evelina,' she replied, 'and heaven only knows -what is to become of the poor girl.' - -“Now, madam, when I had thus brought before me the effect that the book -had produced upon so natural a lady as Mrs. Darner, what was left for -me but to buy it? And now you see the effect that it has had upon me,” - continued Sir Joshua, “so you must e'en buy it also.” - -“Nay, Sir Joshua,” said Mrs. Burney, “your case has furnished me with -the strongest of reasons for not buying it. I would not allow a book -into my house that would so turn me aside from my ordinary life and my -daily business. What, sir, would you have me stay out of my comfortable -bed for hours, in order that I might make myself more uncomfortable -still by reading of the imaginary woes of a young woman who is nothing -to me but a shadow?” - -“Oh, I promise you that you will find Evelina far from being a shadow,” - said Sir Joshua. “She is a creature of flesh and blood, with a heart -that beats so that you find your own heart keeping time with it, whether -it pulsates slowly or fast. In short, Evelina lives. I have no patience -with those attenuated figures that dance on the stage of so many of our -new novel writers; I can see the stuffing of straw when their constant -gyrating has worked a rip in their seamy side; creatures of rag and -wire--they never deceive one for a moment--why, their very gyrations are -not true to life. But Evelina lives. Some of the characters in the book -are distasteful--some of them are vulgar, but the world is made up of -distasteful and vulgar people, and a novel should be true to the world -in which the characters are placed. Oh, that was where the greatness -of poor Dr. Goldsmith was to be found. He would abate nothing of the -vulgarity of the vulgar characters in his plays, because he meant them -to live. The people hissed his vulgar bailiffs in his _Good-Natured -Man_, and when Colman cut them out he himself restored them when Shuter -played the piece for his benefit the following year, and everyone saw -that they were true to life. The vulgarity of Tony Lumpkin and the Three -Pigeons made Walpole shudder, but there they remain in the best comedy -of our time, and there they will remain for ever. Oh, yes; the author of -'Evelina' knows what life is, and so his book will live.” - -“And who is the author of this surprising book?” asked Mrs. Burney. - -“That is a mystery,” replied Reynolds. “I sent to Lowndes, the -bookseller, to inquire, and he pretended that he did not know. He could -only say that he was a gentleman of note living in Westminster.” - -“Ah, that is one of the booksellers' tricks to make their wares seem -more attractive,” said she. “They know that a man in a mask awakens -curiosity.” - -“That is so; but 'Evelina' stands in need of no advertisement of such a -nature. It would attract attention even though the name of Mr. Kenrick -were attached to it. But everyone is dying to find out the name of the -author; Mrs. Darner believes it to have been written by Horace Walpole, -but only because 'The Castle of Otranto' was published without his name -being on the title page.” - -“Not a very cogent line of argument, it seems to me,” said Mrs. Burney. -“Well, Sir Joshua, I hope you will enjoy a comfortable sleep to-night, -now that you have the fortunes of that young lady off your mind.” - -“Oh, my dear madam, I do assure you that my mind is not yet free from -the effects of reading that book,” cried Reynolds. “I am more faithful -to my friends in some books than to forget all about them when I lay -them on the shelf. If they live, be assured that I live with them, and -the thought of them is to me at times as pleasant as the thought of the -best friends I have met in my daily life. I have laid 'Evelina' on a -shelf in my memory--not one of the back shelves, but one that is near -to me, so that I can console myself with her companionship when I am -lonely.” - -“I have never heard you praise a book so heartily, sir,” said Mrs. -Burney. “But I will beg of you not to mention it to any of my family, -for if it has so unhinged you, what would it not do to those poor -girls?” - -He did not catch all she had said, for she spoke in a voice which she -did not mean to travel to Fanny or Susy, who were chatting to Miss -Theophila Palmer, Sir Joshua's niece. - -“You may depend on my telling them all I find out in regard to the -author,” said he in a tone of assent. - -“No, no,” she cried, getting nearer to the bell of his trumpet. “No, no; -I want you to refrain from mentioning the book to them. I discourage all -novel reading, excepting, of course, the works of Mr. Richardson, and -perhaps one or two of Fielding, with some of the pages gummed together -to prevent them from being read.” - -“Nay, to tempt people to read them,” said Reynolds. “What were we saying -about the attractions of a mask? Well, my word for it, the attractions -of a book without a name are as nothing compared with the attraction -of gummed pages. But you will let them read 'Evelina,' and you will, -moreover, read it yourself--yes, and you will all be the better and not -the worse for doing so.” - -Mrs. Burney shook her head. - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale thought that Miss Burney looked -flushed at this time, or that there was an unwonted sparkle in her eyes; -for she had heard nearly every word that Sir Joshua had said, and she -could scarcely contain herself for delight. For all her primness, she -was at heart a merry schoolgirl, ready to break into a dance at good -news, and to shout for joy when things had advanced as she had hoped -they would. She felt that it was very hard on her that she could not -throw her hat up to the ceiling of the room, as she had heard of Dr. -Goldsmith's doing with his wig in the exuberance of his spirits in this -same room--when Miss Reynolds was in her bed upstairs. It was very hard -on her to be compelled to restrain her feelings; she was unconscious of -the sparkle in her eyes, or of the pæony flush of her cheeks that Mrs. -Thrale had noticed and was still noticing. - -She had never felt so happy in all her life. A short time before she had -felt that everything in the world was insignificant in comparison -with love; but now she realized that there was another joy worthy of -recognition. She was not wise enough to perceive that the two emotions -sprang from the same source--that the foundation of love is the impulse -to create, and that the foundation of an artist's joy in fame is the -knowledge that what he has created is recognized by the world. She was -(fortunately) not wise enough to be able to analyse her feelings--to be -wise enough to analyse one's feelings is to be incapable of feeling. All -that she was conscious of at that moment was that all worth having in -the world was hers--the instinct to create, which men call Love, the joy -of obtaining recognition for the thing created, which men call Fame. - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale saw that light in her face and in her -eyes; nor was it strange that the same observant lady should attribute -that illumination to the touch of the fire of the sacred torch. She -looked at the handsome face of the Roman youth, with its expression of -frankness, and at his eyes, full of the generous warmth of the South, -and once more she glanced at Miss Burney, and saw in her face the -reflection of the southern sunny glow. - -“Poor girl--poor girl!” were the words that sprung to her lips. “Only a -moment's attention from him--only a word--nay, a glance from those -eyes would have been enough--and she is at his feet. Poor girl! -Knowing nothing of the world--incapable of understanding anything of -life--having no gift to attract attention---” - -“Dear Mrs. Thrale, I have come to you for help. You are sure to have -read this book that everyone is talking about--this 'Evelina'--and you -can, I am certain, tell us who is the author. Pray let us know if your -friend Dr. Johnson had a finger in it--I have heard that some of the -writing is in the style of Dr. Johnson--or was it Mr. Anstey--they say -that some chapters could only have come from the author of 'The Bath -Guide.'” - -It was Lady Hales who had hurried up with her inquiries. She seemed -to be the representative of a group with whom she had been standing, -several ladies and two or three men. - -It so happened, however, that Mrs. Thrale had not yet read the book -around which discussion had been buzzing; but she had no intention of -acknowledging that, with her literary tastes and with her friendship for -Dr. Johnson, she was behind the times. Two or three people had within -the week made remarks about “Evelina” in her presence, but she had no -idea that it was to become a topic of society. - -She smiled enigmatically, to give herself time to make up her mind what -her reply should be--whatever it might be, it certainly would not be a -confession of ignorance. She came to the conclusion that on the whole -she could not do better than mould her answer so as to heighten the -mystery of the authorship. - -“Is it possible that none of our friends have discovered the author?” - she asked, still smiling shrewdly, so as to suggest that she herself had -long ago been let into the secret. - -“We have had many conjectures,” said Lady Hales. “And let me whisper in -your ear--there is one among us who is ready to affirm that the address -of the author is Thrale Hall, Streatham.” - -“I vow that I am overwhelmed,” cried the little lady. “The compliment is -one that any writer might envy. Pray how could it enter the mind of any -of our friends to connect me with the authorship of such a book?” - -“There are some touches of your style in many of the letters of -Evelina,” replied Lady Hales. “And some have said that only you could -have had the varied experiences described so vividly.” - -“A marvellous book, truly, this 'Evelina,'” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Some -people, you say, recognize the hand of Dr. Johnson in its pages, others -the pen that wrote 'The Bath Guide,' and now it is suggested that the -whole was the work of a humble scribbler named Mrs. Thrale--a person who -has surely little in common with the two writers you have named.” - -She took care that her affectation of surprise had an artificial note -about it. There was no knowing how things might turn out. Mrs. Thrale -had no objection in the world to have her name associated with the -authorship of a book about which it was clear a good many people would -be talking for some months to come. - -“May I not be entrusted with something more definite?” asked Lady Hales -in a low voice. “If it is a secret for the present--well, you know that -I am one to be trusted.” - -“I can assure you definitely that the book was not written by Dr. -Johnson,” replied Mrs. Thrale, with a smile. “He has not for a single -week during the past year failed to visit us at Streatham for at least -four days at a time. He reads to me all that he writes--it is not -much--and I can give you an assurance that the name of Evelina has not -once appeared in his manuscript. I may also say that if you take my -advice you will not be in too great haste to attribute the book to Mr. -Anstey.” - -This was not mystification, it sounded much more like revelation, Lady -Hales thought. - -“I dare not press you further, madam,” she said. - -“Believe me, I can appreciate your reticence, if----” - -“Nay, now you suggest that I have told you a secret that I have -concealed from everyone else, and that is going too far,” cried Mrs. -Thrale. “Now, dear madam, cannot you see that even if I were in the -secret of the authorship, I should be guilty of a great breach of -courtesy were I to reveal it to anyone? If an author choose to remain -anonymous, is it not discourteous to try to snatch away his--or -her--veil of anonymity?” - -“I can but assent,” said Lady Hales. “I do not doubt that this view of -the matter is the correct one. At any rate, you may depend on my acting -in accordance with it. I shall make no further attempt to pry into -the secret, and I shall think it right to dissuade my friends from the -quest.” - -“In that I am sure you will be acting in accordance with the author's -wishes,” said Mrs. Thrale, smiling knowingly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -|SO they parted; and Lady Hales hastened back to her friends to whisper -in their ears that the mystery was as good as solved: Mrs. Thrale had as -much as acknowledged that she was the author of “Evelina,” but she hoped -that, as she had written the book without the knowledge of her husband, -her friends would respect her desire to remain anonymous. - -“Mr. Thrale, being a Member of Parliament, would not like to have the -name of his wife bandied about among ordinary people as that of the -writer of a novel,” Lady Hales explained, though really no explanation -was needed of a fact that could be appreciated by every sensible person -aware of the contemptible character of the novels of the day. “Only Dr. -Johnson is in the secret,” she continued. “Dr. Johnson, as we all know, -lives at Thrale Hall for five days out of every week, finding the table -provided by Mrs. Thrale to suit his palate very much better than that -controlled by poor blind Mrs. Williams at Bolt Court.” - -“That may account for some of the touches in the book in the style of -Dr. Johnson,” said one of the ladies. “You may be sure that no book -could be written under the same roof as Dr. Johnson without his having -something to say to it.” - -“I never could understand how so fastidious a lady as Mrs. Thrale could -tolerate the company of Dr. Johnson at her table, but now the secret is -out--this secret and t'other,” said one of the gentlemen. “Dr. Johnson -is not seen at his best at the dinner-table.” - -“So far as that goes, neither is Mr. Thrale himself,” said another. “He -has a huge appetite.” - -“I had an inkling all along that Mrs. Thrale wrote the book,” said a -lady with a huge hat. “I actually remarked to my sister, while I was -reading it, 'if this story is not written by Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Thrale is -the one who would like to have written it.'” - -“But mind, not a word must be breathed that would hint that she -acknowledged it to me by direct word of mouth,” cried Lady Hales, -beginning to have some qualms. “No; you must understand clearly that she -did not say in so many words that she wrote it. Indeed, her last words -to me were, that anyone who should name in public the author of a book -published anonymously would be guilty of a great discourtesy.” - -“She is perfectly right: to do so would be to exhibit very bad taste -truly,” came more than one acquiescent voice. - -And the result of their complete agreement on this point was the -immediate dissemination of the report that Mrs. Thrale was indeed the -writer of “Evelina.” - -But that clever little lady, on getting rid of the questioner, found -that Signor Rauzzini had slipped away from her side and was now making -his adieux to Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughters. She noticed that the -light had gone out of Fanny Burney's eyes as the young singer bent -over her hand, and once again she shook her head. She had given more -attention to Miss Burney during the previous hour than during all the -years she had visited at St. Martin's Street. She thought that it might -be her duty to say a word of warning to the young woman, who could not -possibly know anything about the world or the deceitfulness of Italian -vocalists. - -Meantime, however, she ordered one of her three footmen to tell the -coachman to drive to the shop of Lowndes, the bookseller, and there she -purchased a bound copy of “Evelina,” at nine shillings. - -Mrs. Thrale was, of course, well known to Mr. Lowndes, and seeing her, -through the window of his office, enter his shop, he put his quill -behind his ear and emerged, bowing and smiling. - -“How was it that you failed to apprise me that you had printed 'Evelina -'?” she inquired. - -“Is't possible that you did not receive my advertisement, madam?” he -cried. “Why, I posted it to you with my own hands even before the book -had left the press, the truth being that I was anxious to get your -opinion respecting it.” - -“I never had any advertisement from you about it,” she replied. - -“Oh, I was to blame for not underlining the announcement, madam,” said -he. “I ask your pardon. How were you to know that it was not one of the -usual novels of the season?--I do not venture to recommend such to the -attention of ladies of superior tastes like yourself, madam. I shall not -forgive myself, rest assured. But I am punished, in that I have been -unable to sell a second edition by telling my customers how highly it -was esteemed by Mrs. Thrale.” - -“You assume that it would be highly esteemed by me, Mr. Lowndes; but I -am not quite sure that you do not flatter yourself in believing that my -judgment would be the same as that of the public. The poor public! How -can they possibly know whether a book is good or bad?” - -“They cannot, madam; that is why we poor booksellers must only trust to -sell our books on the recommendation of ladies of taste and judgment. -May I beg, madam, that you will favour me with your opinion respecting -the merits of 'Evelina'?” - -“It has been so great a success that I fear I shall not think highly of -it. Pray, who is your modest author?” - -“Positively, madam, I am unable to tell you. The MS. was brought to me -with a letter purporting to come from a Mr. Grafton at the Orange Coffee -House, near the Haymarket, and he desired the secret of its authorship -to be kept close.” - -“Ah, yes; to be sure--kept close from the vulgar public; but he could -never think that you were violating his confidence by telling me his -name.” - -“He could not be so unreasonable, madam--nay, rather would he kneel -to you--for he could scarce fail to understand the value that we set -on----” - -“I am not convinced either that he would benefit from the exchange of -confidence or that I should; but prithee, sir, what is his name?” - -“'Fore heaven, madam, I have told you so much as is known by me -respecting the gentleman. Never before have I been placed in so -remarkable a position. My fault, Mrs. Thrale, no doubt: I should have -taken precautions against being thus surprised into publishing a book -without knowing the name of the author. But although my judgment enabled -me to perceive that the work was out of the common, yet I never counted -on its merits being recognized so speedily. May I beg of you to favour -me with your opinion as to who the writer may be, madam--that is, when -you have read it, unless, indeed--” he glanced at her shrewdly with -a little knowing smile-- “unless, indeed, you could so favour me -_instanter_.” - -“Nay, Mr. Lowndes, how would it be possible for me to give you an -opinion as to the authorship of a book which I have not yet read? I am -not one of those astute critics who, they say, can tell you all there -is to be known about a book without cutting the leaves, or even--if you -slip a guinea into their hand--without opening the covers.” - -“I thought that perhaps you might be one of those who have been let into -the secret, madam. I trust that Dr. Johnson's health has not been so bad -as to prevent him from doing any literary work. Ah, what does not that -great man--nay, what does not the world owe to you, Mrs. Thrale?” - -“If you would suggest, Mr. Lowndes, that the book about which we have -been conversing was written, even in part, by Dr. Johnson, I can give -you an assurance that such is not the case. He is in no way inclined -to engage in any form of literary labour. He grudges his friends even a -note.” - -“There are some gentlemen who come hither and honour me by conversing -on the subject of letters, and more than one of them has pointed out -passages in 'Evelina' that show signs of the great Doctor's pen; but for -that matter----” - -“I agree with you, sir; every scribbler in Grub Street apes the style of -Dr. Johnson, but only to reveal the ape in himself. Now, Mr. Lowndes, -if you really are in earnest in saying that you are unaware who is the -author of your book, I have done you some service in curtailing by one -the list of authors to whom it might possibly be attributed. You may -strike out the name of Johnson, sir, on my authority.” - -“I shall certainly do so, madam--not that I, for my own part, was ever -foolish enough to fancy that he had written more of it than a page or -two. I am indebted to you, Mrs. Thrale.” - -“Then if you would wish to pay off the debt, you can do so by informing -me of your success in discovering the writer. 'Tis quite impossible to -conceive of the man's remaining unrevealed for any length of time, and I -confess that I am anxious to know if he is among my acquaintance.” - -“You assume the sex, madam.” - -“What, have you a doubt of it?” - -“There are so many literary ladies nowadays, Mrs. Thrale.” - -“But you surely saw the handwriting of the script?” - -“That is just the point. My printers have examined it and say that it -is a lady's caligraphy only disguised to look like a man's. In my own -judgment they are right. It is an upright hand, neat and clear--not in -the least like that of an author. Still, that counts but little, seeing -that the writer of the book would be pretty certain to have a clear copy -made of his script by someone else. I have had a suspicion, from the -mystery insisted on by this Mr. Grafton, that he is none other than the -author of the 'Castle of Otranto.'” - -“What, Mr. Walpole?” - -“Even so. You recollect how delighted he was to conceal the hand he had -in that book--going much farther than I thought any gentleman would in -honour go, to make people believe it was what it pretended to be?” - -“Mr. Lowndes, I know not what your experience has been; but mine is -that when a gentleman becomes an author he lays aside whatever sense of -honour he possesses as a gentleman.” - -“I have had little to do with gentlemen authors, madam. Most of my -writers are simply authors.” - -“And Mr. Walpole very properly put himself in line with them, and so had -no hesitation in carrying out his fraud in 'Otranto.' Well, if it be so, -you may count on his revealing himself now that the book has become a -success. In any case, you will not forget to keep me informed, and I -shall esteem it a favour, Mr. Lowndes.” - -Mr. Lowndes renewed his promise and bowed the lady to the door. The -three volumes of “Evelina” had been brought out to the chariot by one -of the footmen, a second following in his footsteps to see that he -deposited them fairly upon one of the cushions, and a third standing by -the open door in case of the breakdown of either of the others. - -Mrs. Thrale got into the splendid machine, the three lackeys swung -themselves up on their platform behind, and clung on to the heavy -straps, looking, in their brilliant livery, as the chariot lurched away -over the uneven cobble-stones, like mighty butterflies of a tropical -forest swaying together on the rim of a gigantic flower. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -|NO chance had Rauzzini of saying more than the most conventional words -of farewell to Fanny. Mrs. Burney was beside her and her two sisters -also. He yielded to his impulse to pronounce a malediction on Mrs. -Thrale, who had so interrupted his conversation with Fanny--the last he -could possibly have until his return from France after fulfilling his -engagements. But this was when he had seen the Burney family out of -the door of the house in Leicester Fields and to the entrance to St. -Martin's Street. He was then alone, and could give in some measure -expression to his feelings in his own tongue. - -His imagination was quite vivid enough to suggest to him all that the -officiousness of Mrs. Thrale had interrupted--the exchange of vows--the -whispered assurances of fidelity--perhaps a passionate kiss--a -heaven-sent chance during a marvellous minute when the painting-room -should be emptied of all but herself and him! It was distracting to -think of all that had been cut out of his life by that busybody. While -he had been talking alone with Fanny his eyes had taken in the splendid -possibilities of the painting-room. There were three immense easels on -different parts of the floor, and each carried a glorious canvas for -a life-size portrait. Two of them were already finished, and the third -contained a portion of the Greek altar at which a fair lady was to be -depicted making her oblation to Aphrodite, or perhaps Artemis. The young -man, however, did not give a thought to the glowing work of the great -painter on the canvases, he thought only of the possibilities of a -moment or two spent in the protecting shadow of one of them with that -gentle, loving girl yielding herself to his clasp--only for a moment--he -could not reasonably hope that it should be for longer than a single -moment, but what raptures might not be embraced even within that brief -space! A moment--one immortal moment worth years of life! That was -what he saw awaiting him in the friendly shade of one of Sir Joshua's -portraits--that was all that the sublime picture meant to the ardent -lover--it was not the immortal picture, but the immortal moment that was -before his eyes--but just when, by a little manoeuvring on his part, the -joy that should change all his life and console him for being deprived -of the society of his beloved for three months, was within his reach, -that foolish woman had come bustling up with her chatter and had -separated them! - -For which he now implored heaven and a heathen deity or two that still -linger in the language of malediction in their native Italy, to send -her soul to the region where Orpheus had sought his Eurydice. Down--down -with her to the lowest depths of the Inferno he implored his patrons to -bear her and to keep her there for ever. - -His imploration was quite as lyrical as his “Waft her, Angels, to the -Skies,” only its bearing was upon the fate of the lady in just the -opposite direction, and he was even more fervent in its delivery. But -having delivered it, he felt some of that relief which is experienced -by a true artist who has a consciousness of having done some measure of -justice to his theme. He felt that if beatitude had been denied to him, -the one who had separated him from it would not escape scathless, if the -intensity of an appeal to the high gods of his native land counted for -anything in their estimation. - -And then he went more or less contentedly to his lodgings to prepare for -his appearance in the opera of the night. - -He sang divinely as an angel, and again if any of his audience remained -unmoved by the enchantment of his voice, they certainly could not but -have yielded to the charm of his presence. Some women might be incapable -of appreciating the exquisite character of his vocalism, but none could -remain impervious to the appeal of his smile. - -As for the girl who alone had appealed to his heart, she went home with -her mother and sisters without a word, for she had not perceived the -glorious possibilities lurking behind the grand canvases in Sir Joshua's -painting-room. She could even bring herself to believe that the coming -of Mrs. Thrale had been rather opportune than otherwise; for if she had -not joined her stepmother at that time she would not have heard all that -Sir Joshua had said about “Evelina.” - -All that she had heard had made her supremely happy, not, she thought, -because she was greedy for fame, but because it meant to her that she -was a step nearer to the arms of the man she loved. The fame which Sir -Joshua's words implied was dear to her because she knew that she need -not now hesitate to seat herself by the side of this king of men, as his -equal--no, not quite as his equal, but certainly not as a beggar maid. -She knew that when it was announced that she was the writer of a great -book, or, what was better still, a book that everybody was talking -about, people would not shrug their shoulders when they heard that -Rauzzini> the Roman singer, whose name was in everybody's mouth, was -about to marry her. The event that she scarcely dared hope for had -actually happened: she was no longer the nobody which she had been, she -was a woman the product of whose brain had been acclaimed by the best -judges, and so the barrier that she had seen separating her lover from -herself had been thrown down. The same voices that had acclaimed her -Rauzzini as a singer had acclaimed her as a writer; for though she had -hesitated to receive her cousin Edward's reports from the libraries as -conclusive of the mark that the book was making, she could not now -have any doubt on the subject: a book that was spoken of by Sir Joshua -Reynolds as he had spoken of “Evelina” must be granted a place high -above the usual volumes to be found on the shelves of a circulating -library. She was convinced that in a short time everyone would be -talking about it in the same strain, and though people might be -incredible on the subject of its authorship, the fact would remain the -same--she had written the book, and the fame that attached to the writer -would assuredly be hers. There would now be no sneering references to -King Cophetua. Everyone within their circle would admit that there -was no disparity between her position as the writer of the book that -everyone was talking about and that of the singer whom people crowded to -hear. - -She felt supremely happy. Though Mrs. Burney had not shown any -particular wish to repeat what Reynolds had said to her about the -book, she knew perfectly well that this was only because of her general -distrust of anything in the form of a novel, and her fear lest something -unreadable should get into the hands of the girls. But Fanny also knew -that the fact of Mrs. Burney's shunning the novels of the circulating -libraries would not interfere with the reputation that must accrue to -the author of “Evelina”; so she was not affected by the indifference -shown by her stepmother to all that Reynolds had said. She awaited -without impatience the day when her father should take up the book and -read the Ode at the beginning. She felt that, although his name was not -at the head, he would know that the verses were addressed to him, and -that it was his daughter Fanny who had written them. She knew that -however firmly he might assert himself on the side of his wife in -preventing the entrance to the house of all novels excepting those of -Richardson--Fanny herself had never had a chance of reading even -“The Vicar of Wakefield”--he would be proud of her as the writer of -“Evelina.” She was not quite sure if he would be as proud of her as if -she had developed a wonderful musical capacity; but she never doubted -that his affection for her--assisted by his knowledge of the impression -the book had made upon the most important of his own associates--would -cause him to take her into his arms with delight and to forgive her -for running the chance of being classed among the Miss Minifies of the -period--the female writers whose ridiculous productions were hidden -beneath the sofa cushions in so many households. Fanny Burney was a -dutiful daughter and she had nothing of the cynic about her, but she was -well aware of the fact that success would be regarded by her father as -justifying an experiment that failure would have made discreditable. - -Once more, then, the three sisters met that night in Fanny's bedroom. -The two younger could now look on her without their feeling of awe. They -were on the verge of being indignant with Mrs. Burney for having made no -reference whatever since returning from the Reynoldses to the subject of -Sir Joshua's eulogy. - -“Not once did she mention the name of 'Evelina' to the padre; Sir -Joshua might just as well have talked of Miss Herschel's comet to her,” - said Susy. - -“And after our schooling ourselves so rigidly to give no sign that we -were in any measure connected with the book too--it was cruel!” said -Lottie. - -“It was not as if the padre did not give her a good chance more than -once,” continued Susy. “Did he not ask if anyone had given her any news? -And what did she answer?--Why, only that someone had said that Mr. Fox -had lost a fortune a few nights ago at faro! As if anybody cares about -Mr. Fox! I was prepared for her opening out at once to him about the -book--maybe begging him to send Williams to buy it at Mr. Lowndes'.” - -“What, at seven-and-sixpence!” cried Fanny. “My dear child, do you know -mamma no better than to fancy that?” - -“What I don't know is how she resisted it,” said Lottie. “Oh, you heard -how Sir Joshua talked about it; and Miss Reynolds too--she praised it up -to the skies.” - -“Other people in the painting-room as well as in the drawing-room were -talking of it,” said Susy. “I heard the beautiful Miss Horneck speak -of it to the lady with the big muff and the rose taffeta with the -forget-me-not embroidery.” - -“I am sure that everybody was speaking of it--I could hear the name -'Evelina' buzzing round the rooms,” cried Lottie. - -“Yes; everyone was talking about it, and only mamma was silent--_is_ -silent. I don't think that at all fair,” continued Susy. - -Fanny laughed. - -“You are silly little geese,” she cried. “Could you not see that she -would not mention it lest it should reach our ears and we should be -filled with an _irresistible_ desire to possess it--_it_--a modern -novel! Think of it! Oh, my dears, you are too unreasonable, Mamma knows -her duty too well to allow even the name of a novel to pass her lips -and maybe reach the ears of such a group of fly-away young things as -ourselves! She understands the extent of her responsibilities. Go to -your beds and be thankful that you have so excellent a guardian.” - -“But when we were prepared----” began one of them, when Fanny -interrupted her. - -“You may conserve your preparations--you will hear her say the name soon -enough--you may depend upon that,” she said. “You may prepare to hear -yourselves summoned into her presence to give a full and true account -of your complicity in the thing which was perpetrated under this sacred -roof--nay, in the very room where the great philosopher Newton wrote his -thesis! A novel written in the room in which the divine 'Principia' -was produced! Why, 'twere as bad in mamma's eyes as acting one of Mr. -Foote's farces in St. Paul's Cathedral. Oh, yes, you'll have to face her -soon enough, and after that you'll never wish to hear the name Evelina -again. Now, good-night, and thank heaven for your respite.” - -They left her, glum and dissatisfied. It was plain to her that they were -disappointed at not being given the opportunity of showing how admirably -they had themselves under control in regard to the secret--of showing -Fanny how they could hear Mrs. Burney talk at length about “Evelina,” - while neither of them gave the least sign of ever having heard the name -before. It was indeed disappointing that all their studied immobility -should go for nothing. - -But Fanny knew that their secret could not possibly remain hidden for -many more days. If the book was going into everybody's hands, her father -would be certain to have it, and then--would he not know? Would not she -be summoned into his presence and that of his wife--the lady of many -responsibilities--and required to defend herself?... - -She fell asleep before she had come to any conclusion as to the line of -defence that she should adopt. - -And in spite of the readiness of her sisters for any inquisition to -which they might be summoned, they were startled--as was also Fanny -herself--when, immediately after a rather silent and portentous -breakfast, Mrs. Burney said: - -“Susy and Lottie, you may go to your duties. You, Fanny, will remain, as -your father wishes to speak to you on a matter of some gravity.” - -So the long-expected hour had come, the three girls thought. By some -accident unknown to them their secret was exposed, and Fanny was about -to be called upon to explain, if she could, to the satisfaction of -her father and her stepmother, how it came that she so far forgot the -precepts of her upbringing as to write a novel quite in the modern -spirit, though adopting a form which the master-touch of Mr. Samuel -Richardson had hallowed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -|THE two girls left the room slowly, after sending in the direction of -Fanny a glance which they meant should encourage her--a glance which -should let her know that they were quite ready to share her punishment, -should the worst come to the worst. - -Fanny replied to them with her eyes; and then prepared for the worst. - -It quickly came. - -“My dear daughter,” said Dr. Burney, when they were alone, Mrs. Burney -in her chair at the head of the table. “My dear Fanny, I am no believer -in leading by degrees up to such a communication as I have to make to -you. I think that the sooner it is got over the better it will be -for all whom it may concern. Well, this is it: Mr. Thomas Barlowe has -written to me asking my permission for him to address you with a view to -marriage.” - -He made a pause, looking at her to observe the effect of this -revelation. - -And what he saw at first was a girl with a pale face and downcast eyes, -awaiting, almost breathlessly, an accusation from which she shrank; but -when he had spoken he saw a great change come over her. Not immediately, -but gradually. It seemed to him that she had not fully realized the -meaning of his words--that she was puzzled--trying to recall what he had -said. Then the light seemed to dawn upon her. She flushed, and, after -a few moments, threw back her head and went into a peal of laughter--a -real schoolgirl's fit of laughter at something amazingly comic--the -tumbling of a clown into a pool of water with a splash, or, perhaps, the -slipping of a dignified beadle upon a butter slide. Her laughter went -on for a long time, but without in the least suggesting hysteria--it -was simply a girl's natural laughter on realizing the comic side of a -situation which grown-up people would regard as extremely serious. - -Neither her father nor his wife could understand why she should receive -in such a spirit an essentially serious communication--the most serious -that any young woman could receive. They had not before them the -ludicrous picture that presented itself to her imagination--a picture of -the Roman Rauzzini on the one side and the Poultry Barlowe on the other, -asking her to choose between them. It was this presentment, coming in a -flash the moment she realized that the publishing of the book was not -the question which she had to face, that forced her to yield to that -long fit of laughter. - -Her father and stepmother sat stolidly by, but she knew that had she and -her father been alone, he would at least have smiled with her. - -In a few minutes she had recovered herself sufficiently to be able to -apologize for her levity. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I am behaving like a goose, but I could -not help it--something forced me--something that occurred to me--a funny -thing. I am very sorry.” - -“There is nothing funny that I can see in the honourable request made by -an honest young man, my dear Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“No, no; nothing whatever; only--well, funny ideas will occur to foolish -people like myself at the most serious moments,” said Fanny. - -“That is quite true, indeed,” said her father. “I have myself -experienced what you say. Perhaps, after all, I should not have blurted -out what I had to tell you--it came to you as a surprise, I doubt not.” - -“A great surprise, indeed,” she replied. “I cannot understand how Mr. -Barlowe could ever fancy that I--that he--that--oh, I should have known -what that terrible entertainment was meant to lead to--but when, in that -clumsily marked way I was sent into the drawing-room with him alone, he -began to talk of his uncle, the Aider-man--he said that the Alderman was -quite approachable even in regard to ordinary people like ourselves--and -then came his cousins--all of them remarkable! But you should have seen -him slice away at the ham--the biggest ham I ever saw--it needed to -be--such eating!” - -“The recollection of that no doubt made you laugh,” said Dr. Burney. -“But, at the same time, you must remember that though the customs of -the Poultry are not ours, still, they may be very reasonable -customs--perhaps more reasonable than our own. It may suit us to dine as -late as halfpast four and only to have a slice of cake with our tea; but -business people find it more convenient to dine at one o'clock--it makes -an equal division of their long working-day--so that a slice of ham----” - -“I know that is quite true, and I was not so foolish as to give myself -airs because I had dined at half-past four and had no appetite for ham,” - said Fanny; “but--oh, mother, you saw how foolishly formal was the whole -thing.” - -“I said that I thought it quite unnecessarily formal,” replied Mrs. -Burney, “and if I had had any notion that it was going to be like that -I would certainly have given Mrs. Barlowe a hint. Still, Thomas is, I -know, an excellent young man who has never given his parents an -hour's uneasiness, and his intentions are honourable, and so should be -honoured. If you have no tender regard for him at present that is no -reason why, when you get accustomed to the thought of him as a suitor -for your hand----” - -“Oh, mother, that is quite impossible!” cried Fanny. “How could I ever -get accustomed to such a thought?” - -“I do not know why you should not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “He is a most -worthy young man, and Mr. Barlowe's business is one of the best in -the City. You must remember, my dear Fanny, that in these days a girl, -unless she has a portion, runs a very great chance of becoming an old -maid, so that no opportunity of settling down in a comfortable home -should be neglected.” - -“That is perfectly true,” said Dr. Burney. “You will understand that we -have no desire to force this or any match upon you, my dear child: so -long as I have a house over my head you shall share it. But I am sure -that you must know that I am a poor man to-day, although I have worked -as hard at my profession as any living man, and I cannot provide you or -your sisters with any portion. Heaven knows that if I had a fortune I -would gladly divide it among you; but as it is, I think it right to tell -you that you need expect nothing.” - -“Dearest father,” said Fanny, dissolving into tears, as she took his -hand and kissed it, “I have never expected a fortune from you--not a -penny piece. I know that I shall be portionless, and I daresay that Mr. -Barlowe thinks himself generous in his proposal; but I could never bring -myself to accept him--to look on him as a suitor. It would be quite -impossible. If I thought it possible that I should ever have any -affection for him, I might feel myself justified in encouraging him; but -I know that it would be out of the question. I would prefer to go forth -and beg my bread--nay, to starve.” - -“Then we shall pursue the matter no farther for the present,” said her -father, kissing her on the forehead as she nestled close to him. - -“Yes, that is best--for the present,” acquiesced his wife. “Still, if -you will be advised by me, my dear Fanny, you will remember that Mr. -Barlowe is ready to address you knowing that you will be portionless, -and if you bear that in mind, perhaps you will be surprised to find -some' day, not so far distant, that the thought of him is not so -repugnant to you. You are no longer a girl, and when one is midway -between twenty and thirty every extra year counts in reducing one's -chances of being settled in life. I could cite dozens of instances that -I have known of young women being glad to accept at twenty-eight the -suitors they scorned at twenty or even twenty-five. Oh, yes, the years -come upon one and bring with them a clearer vision of life and love; -frequently they bring regret for opportunities neglected. But we will -not press the matter any farther--just now. I dare say the young man -will submit to be put off--for a time.” - -“Nay, for ever,” said Fanny resolutely. - -“Oh, well,” said her stepmother. - -After a pause, during which Fanny seemed to be debating some matter -in her mind, a little line showing itself along her forehead, she said -slowly: “I do not think that I shall be a burden on you, dear father; I -believe that one day I may be able to do something.” - -“Do not fancy that I would ever think of you as a burden, my dear -child,” said her father. “But what do you mean by saying that you may -one day do something?--some work, do you suggest?” - -“Something--I am fond of writing,” she murmured. - -He laughed gently, saying: - -“You are a very good girl, my love, and I know how much I am indebted to -you for your admirable copying of my notes for the History; but do not -let the idea take hold of you that such work is well paid. If you ever -get in touch with a bookseller, he will tell you that the work of a -copyist is very poorly paid.” - -“I was not thinking of copying,” murmured Fanny. - -“Of what then, pray?” he asked. - -“If I could but write a book,” she replied, with her eyes on the floor. - -“A book!” cried Mrs. Burney, who thought that she had been silent long -enough. “A book!” - -“To be sure--to be sure,” said her father, in the indulgent tone of a -parent humouring a child. “You might write a book--so might anyone who -could pay for a ream of paper, a bottle of ink and a box of quills. -You should speak to Mr. Newbery about it: he has printed many nursery -stories since 'Goody Two Shoes.' You might indeed do something that the -children would take a fancy to. Well, Francis Newbery is as honest a man -as his uncle, and we may talk to him about it. By the by, did not you -once tell me that you had written something, or that you were going to -write something? You thought it proper to get my leave. I had forgotten -that. Well, if it be a moral nursery story, we might interest Mr. -Newbery in it.” - -“I do not think that it is quite wise to encourage a girl to neglect -her useful household duties in order to compile some rubbish that no one -would read,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“Of course you will understand that you are not to neglect your -household duties, Fanny,” said her father. - -“If she performs her household duties and sticks to her needlework, -she will have no time left for scribbling rubbish,” cried Mrs. Burney, -hastily. - -“She made a bonfire of all that childish nonsense long ago, and I hope -that she will never be so foolish as to waste good paper and pens and, -most precious of all, good time, over such exercises. That is all we -have to say just now, I think--is it not, Doctor? I shall reply to Mr. -Barlowe's letter--a most creditable letter--straightforward--honourable! -I am only sorry that I cannot make the reply to it that it deserves.” - -She had opened the door and called for William, their manservant, to -remove the breakfast things. Fanny lingered for a few minutes after she -had risen from her chair. She had assumed from the moment she had begun -to speak of writing, that her opportunity had come; if her stepmother -had not interposed so hastily and so emphatically, she would have made -her confession as to “Evelina,”, let the consequences be what they -might; but now that the servant had come with his tray and her -stepmother jingled her key-basket, she perceived that her chance was -gone. She had a sense of sneaking out of the room. - -As she went slowly up the stairs she could hear the voice of her -stepmother remonstrating with her father for having said something that -she, Fanny, might regard as encouragement to waste her precious time in -the pursuit of such folly as writing a book. - -She heard her father's little laugh as he explained (she was sure) that -of course he had not been speaking seriously; but that he had not the -heart to be severe upon her and her harmless scribbling. - -The author of “Evelina” went very slowly upstairs, and when she reached -the work-room landing she found Susy and Lottie waiting for her, glowing -with excitement. Susy was waving over her head what seemed to be a bulky -pamphlet. Coming closer, Fanny saw that it was the chief of the literary -reviews, which had apparently just arrived at the house. - -“A splendid column about 'Evelina,'” she whispered. “Not so good as -it should be, but still splendid. Here it is. But why are you so glum? -Surely they did not scold you now that the book is so great a success.” - -“They did not ask me to tarry in the room to charge me with -double-dealing in regard to the book,” said Fanny. “They would not allow -me to make my confession when I had the opportunity--the best that I -shall ever have. 'Twas not my confession that was on the _tapis_, but -quite another. That is why I look glum.” - -“Another--another confession? But what had either of them to confess?” - cried Lottie. - -“Nothing. They didn't confess.” - -“But whose confession was it, then, if not theirs?” asked Lottie. - -“It was young Mr. Barlowe's,” said Fanny, with a lugubriousness that was -quite comic. “Young Mr. Barlowe wrote to the padre to confess that -he was passionately--madly--in love with me, and threatening to drown -himself unless permission were given to him to address me--we all know -how fervently young Mr. Barlowe would put his case--that was what I was -summoned to listen to--the fiery letter--only it was too ardent for my -ears: I was only told its purport.” - -“But who would ever have thought that he had it in him?” cried Susy. -“Such impudence! I never dreamt that he could rise to such a height of -impudence or I should have thought better of him.” - -“'Tis not too late yet, my child,” said Fanny. “You are at liberty to -think as highly of Thomas as you please--or as it would please him. -Please take over his blighted affections and it will be a weight off -my mind. Now give me a chance of reading my splendid review--not that -I care in the least what these foolish critics may say of me--I care -nothing, I tell you, only if you do not let me see it at once I shall -die at your feet.” - -“There it is,” said Susy, “a full column! The idea of anyone written -of in such terms being proposed to by Thomas Barlowe! Such impudence -indeed!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -|THE levity shown by Fanny Burney and the flippancy of her phrases did -not wholly conceal from her sisters all that she was feeling on the -subject of the proposal to which she had referred with such lightness. -She knew that while her father and her stepmother would not treat her -with any marked disfavour on account of her rejection of the worthy -young man who was ready to offer her a home, still Mrs. Burney at least -regarded with great disfavour the nature of the answer which she had -to send to the Poultry, and Fanny was very well aware of the ease with -which so conscientious a guardian as Mrs. Burney could make her feel -every day of her life what was Mrs. Burney's opinion of her rejection of -an eligible young man. - -Fanny recognized the great merits of her stepmother, and she could look -from her standpoint at most of the incidents of their daily life. In -that household one mouth less to feed was worth consideration--the -number of mouths to feed was a constant source of thought with Mrs. -Burney, as was also the question of a provision for the future of all of -them. - -Mrs. Burney would be fully justified in feeling cross with her, not -being aware of the fact that another young man, compared with whom -Thomas Barlowe was as the dust of the ground, was burning, with an -ardour of which Thomas was incapable, to take her to himself and provide -for her in a style undreamt of in the Poultry. - -But the worst of the matter was that she could not let her stepmother -into this secret. She could not say that she was engaged to marry Signor -Rauzzini, and she might leave herself open to the gravest rebuke for -having listened to his protestations of devotion without obtaining the -consent of either of her parents. - -And through all this tangle of reflections there ran the silken thread -of consciousness that she was no longer the Fanny Burney who was -regarded by her stepmother as the dunce, but Fanny Burney the writer of -“Evelina,” to whom the most critical review had devoted a full column of -adulation! - -That was what made her position so anomalous; and it was because she -took the happenings of the previous days to heart that she went to bed -with a shocking headache, and after a sleepless night was found on the -verge of a fever. She was suffering from suppressed secrets; but the -doctor did not know this. He prescribed James's Powders; and when these -should have done all that they were meant to do--a small part of all -that Dr. James and Mr. Newbery affirmed they would do--a change into the -country. - -But several weeks had passed before she was strong enough to start on -the latter and most essential portion of the prescription, and found -herself in her own room in Mr. Crisp's isolated house at Chessington. - -Meantime, of course, she had no further news of the book, and she -remained unconfessed, so far as the secret of its publication was -concerned. Her sisters did not so much as mention its name or the name -of Thomas Barlowe, so cleverly had they diagnosed the nature of her -malady and so tactfully did they try to hasten her recovery. - -Her old friend Mr. Crisp had been her guide since her childhood. She -always alluded to him as her second Daddy--so far as paternal influence -was concerned she might have given him the foremost place. He it was who -had led her on to embody in letters to him the daily incidents of -her life, thus unconsciously setting the loom, as it were, in which -“Evelina” was to be woven. He it was who became her teacher and her -critic, and it was possibly because she feared his criticism of her work -that she refrained from making a confidant of him from the first. She -felt that she could face the public and the reviewers--it did not matter -how they might receive the book, but she was too timid to submit it to -the mature judgment of the man who had first put a pen in her hand. It -was not on her own account that she refrained from giving him a chance -of reading her book, but on his: she knew how hurt he would be if he -found her book to be an indifferent one, and whether indifferent or not, -how angry he would be if people did not buy it by the thousand. - -Now, however, that she found herself alone with him, she made up her -mind to tell him all about it. She would choose her own time for doing -this; but it would certainly be done before she returned to St. Martin's -Street. - -But on the second day after her arrival at Ches-sington a parcel came -for her, addressed by Susy. On opening it, she found it to contain two -volumes of “Evelina.” The letter that was enclosed told her that Cousin -Edward had called at the Orange Coffee House and found that a set -had been left there at the instance of Mr. Lowndes, addressed to Mr. -Grafton. Of these, Lottie had read the first two, which were now sent on -to the author, but the third she had not finished, and hoped that Fanny -would not mind her detaining it for a few days longer. - -This was really the first glimpse that the author had of her book in its -binding. She had, in the name of Mr. Grafton, requested Mr. Lowndes -to send a set of the volumes to the Orange Coffee House. But that was -nearly three months ago, and until now Mr. Lowndes appeared not to have -thought it worth his while to comply with the request. Now, however, it -seemed to have occurred to him that the author of a book that everyone -was talking about might be worth conciliating, and so he had directed a -set of volumes to the Coffee House. - -At once Fanny made up her mind that she would pave the way, so to speak, -for a full confession to Mr. Crisp. - -“Susy has sent me on two volumes of a new novel, lest I should feel -dull,” she said. “As if I am not much more likely to feel dull in the -company of a new novel than of my old Daddy!” - -“I thought that your stepmother prohibited the reading of novels, new or -old, in your house,” said he. - -“Perhaps mamma did not know anything about this particular one,” replied -Fanny; “besides, it is to be read in your house, not ours.” - -“So that the responsibility will be mine?” said he. “Mrs. Burney is -only answerable to heaven for keeping your mind free from the baleful -influence of novels, but I am in a worse case, for I am answerable to -Mrs. Burney. And what is the name of the precious production?” - -“Let me see,” said Fanny, artfully referring to the title page. “Oh, -yes: 'Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.' Do you call -that an alluring title?” - -“Too sentimental by half,” he replied. “But I have heard of the thing, -and one of the reviews dealt with it some weeks ago.” - -“Praise or blame?” - -“Oh, foolish adulation for the great part; but not without a reasonable -word here and there.” - -“The reasonable part you are sure must be the censorious? That is not -fair to the poor author.” - -“Poor author? Yes, they are all poor authors nowadays. What's the name -of this particular item of poverty?” - -“There is no name on the title page; but I hear that the writer was Mr. -Anstey himself.” - -“What! another 'Bath Guide'!” - -“Sir Joshua Reynolds told mamma that he had remained up all night -reading it.” - -“Poor Sir Joshua! His eyes are none too good at the best! And does Susy -believe that the book which kept Sir Joshua awake is the best one to -send you asleep? You came to Chessington, you know, to get as much as -possible; 'Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!' the truest words -that Shakespeare ever writ.” - -“What I propose to do is to try it upon you, my dear sir. I mean to give -you a dose of it this evening, instead of gruel, and if it makes you -sleep I will know that I may continue it for myself--it will be more -wholesome than poppy or mandragora.” - -“Good! But I dare swear that it will be bad enough to keep me awake. You -know that extremes meet in the case of books, as well as other matters; -one keeps awake reading a good book, in expectancy of its undeveloped -goodness; and reading a bad one, wondering how far the author can -actually go in point of dullness.” - -“I have often thought that; but Susy has sent only two of the three -volumes.” - -“So that we shall not be able to fathom the full depth of the author's -dullness? We should be grateful to Susy--so should the author. Well, you -shall begin after tea, while there is yet daylight: _Le livre ne vaut -pas la chandelle._” - -“_Nous verrons_,” cried Fanny. - -And she started reading the book that same day, an hour before sunset. -The room in which they sat was a small one with a window facing the west -and overlooking a long stretch of billowy common. The spicy scent of -the wallflowers in the little garden patch at the side of the house was -wafted through the half-open lattice, and occasionally there came the -sound of the ducks gabbling at the pool beyond the gate that shut off -the house from the lane. It was a cloudless evening, and the sunset -promised to be peach-like in its tender tints of pink and saffron with -the curves of delicate green in the higher sky. Fanny sat at the window -and the old man reclined at his ease upon the sofa. - -“I am giving myself every chance,” he said. “All that I ask of you, my -Fannikin, is that you do not glance at me every now and again to see -if I am still awake. If you do so, I shall never yield to so much as a -doze.” - -“I promise faithfully to await your signal that you are alert,” said -she. - -And so began one of the most delightful hours of her life. - -She was not a particularly good reader aloud when a book was casually -put into her hands, but here she had before her a volume that she could -almost have repeated verbatim, so that she soon found that she was just -too fluent: she felt that if she went on at this rate his critical ear -would tell him that she had every page by heart, and he would ask her -for an explanation of so singular a thing as her being able to repeat -so much of a book which she professed to have in her hands for the first -time. She put a check upon her fluency, and though she did not go so -far as to simulate stumbling over certain words, she neglected the -punctuation now and again, and then went back upon some of the passages, -causing him to give a little grumble and say: - -“Be careful, my dear; there's no need for haste: the evening is still -young.” - -After that she was more careful--which is the same as saying she was -more careless of adhering to the scheme she had adopted. She felt that -as he had now been put off the scent, she might run along as she pleased -without there being a chance of his suspecting anything through her -showing herself familiar with passage after passage. - -Before she had got through more than a dozen pages she heard a creaking -of the sofa--she trusted herself to glance in that direction and -found that he was no longer reclining: he was sitting up and listening -attentively. She continued reading without making a remark for a full -hour. The sun had set, but the twilight was clear enough to allow of her -seeing the print on the page before her for some time still; then the -darkness seemed to fall all at once, and she laid the book down when she -had come to the close of one of the letters. - -“Candles,” he said. “Candles! Upon my word, the world is right for once: -the stuff is good. We must have candles. Candles, I say!” - -“Supper, say I,” cried Fanny. “I feel that I have need of bodily -refreshment after such a task. Does it sound real to you, Daddy -Crisp--all about the Young Lady who is about to enter the world?” - -“Not merely does it sound real, it is real--it is reality,” he replied -quickly. “The man who wrote what you have read has something of the -genius of--of--now whom does he resemble, think you?--Richardson here -and there, and in places, Fielding, it seems to me.” - -“You suppose that 'tis written by a man?” she said. - -“Why, of course, 'tis the work of a man,” he replied. “Where is the -woman living that is capable of writing a single page of that book? -What, have I gone to so much trouble in training you to understand -what is bad and what is good in writing, to so little purpose, that you -should have a doubt as to the sex of what you have just read?” - -“The sex of a book--a novel?” - -“Why not? There are masculine books and there is feminine--trash. There -you have the difference.” - -“And you do not consider this to be--trash?” - -“Will you get the candles, Miss Burney? It seems that you are sorely in -need of illumination if you put that question to me seriously. Trash? -Madam, you perceive that I am all eagerness to hear the rest of the -story, and yet you put that silly question to me! Look you here, you -rogue, cannot you see that the very fact of your putting such a question -to me shows that the book is the work of a man? When a carefully trained -woman such as you cannot yet discriminate between the good and the trash -that is written, how would it be possible for a woman to write what you -have read?” - -“You think there is nothing womanly in the book?” - -“There is nothing effeminate in the writing, so much is sure. There is -plenty that is womanly in the book, because the man who wrote it knows -how to convey to a reader a sense of womanliness to be in keeping with -the character of the letters--that is what is meant by genius. A woman -trying to produce the same effect would show the frill of her petticoat -on every page. She would make the men's parts in the book as feminine as -the women's. Now, no more chatter an you please, but get the candles.” - -“And Mrs. Hamilton will get our supper by their light.” - -Fanny tripped away, and was behind the door of the larder before she -allowed the laughter which was pent up very close to her eyes to have -its freedom. It was a very hearty laugh that she had, for there was a -constant buzzing in her ears of the question: - -“What will he say when he learns the truth?” - -She was ready to dance her Nancy Dawson in delight at seeing the effect -of the book upon the old man whom she loved--the man who was directly -responsible for its existence. If Mr. Crisp had not taken trouble with -her, encouraging her to write her letters to him in a natural style, the -correspondence in “Evelina” would, she knew, be very different from what -it was. So, after all, she reflected, he was right in pronouncing the -book the work of a man; but he had no idea that he was the man who was -responsible for it. That reflection of hers was as fully imbued with the -true spirit of comedy as her anticipation of the effect that would be -produced upon him by the revelation of the authorship. - -And that was why this young student of the human comedy was able to -restrain herself from making the revelation to him at once: she had, as -it were, a delicate palate for comedy, and it was a delight to her--the -gratification of her natural vanity had nothing to do with it--to lead -him on to commit himself more deeply every moment on the question of the -sex of the writer. Oh, no; she had no idea of making any confession to -him for the present. She would have many another chat with him before -the moment for that _dénouement_ in the comedy should arrive. - -So she got the candles and the housekeeper laid the cold chicken and the -plates on the supper-table, and Mr. Crisp set about mixing the salad in -the manner he had acquired in Italy. And all the time they were engaged -over the simple meal he was criticising what she had read, and he had -scarcely a word to say about it that was not favourable. But he took -care to protect himself in case he should be forced to retire from the -position he had taken up. - -“A man is a fool to pronounce an opinion on a book before he has had -the last page read to him,” he said. “I have only been touching upon the -part that I have heard, and I say that it seems to me to be as good -as anything I have read for years; but that is not saying that the -remainder, or some portions of the remainder, may not be so greatly -inferior as to compel me to pronounce unfavourably of the book as a -whole. I have had instances of such inequality shown by many writers, -and it may be that the writer of 'Evelina' will be added to the list, -although he shows no sign of falling off up to your last page. Do not be -hurried by me, my dear, but if you have indeed made up your mind to eat -no cheese, Mrs. Hamilton can remove the _débris_, and unless you are -tired, you will read me a few pages more.” - -She read until midnight. The only pauses that she made were when he -trimmed the wicks of the candles. He commended her fluency. She -had never read better in his hearing, he said. She showed that she -understood what she was reading; and that, after all, was the greatest -praise that could be given to anyone. He did not suggest the likelihood -that she was tired. - -There was the sound of the bleating of lambs occasionally borne from the -meadows beyond the little stream--the sound of an owl that came nightly -about the house from the barn of the farm a few hundred yards away--the -sound of a large moth bumping against the glass of the casement through -which the candle-light shone. There was nothing to interrupt her in her -delightful task until the church clock struck the hour of midnight. - -“Not another line,” she cried, jumping from her chair. “Poor Evelina! -she will be the better for a sleep. When she awakens she may be able to -see more clearly who are her true friends and who are not to be trusted. -Good-night, dear Daddy; and receive my thanks for your attention.” - -“Give me the volume,” he said. “I usually awake before six, and so shall -have a couple of hours of it before rising.” - -“You will not get it from me, sir,” she cried. “Captain Mervain knows -the naval rule about drinking glass for glass, and let me tell you that -the same rule holds in the matter of reading a book--chapter for chapter -between us, sir; we shall finish as we have begun.” - -She blew him a kiss and ran upstairs to escape his protests: he shouted -them after her from the foot of the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -|THE next morning was a lovely one, and Fanny was feeding the ducks -in the brook before eight o'clock. When she came into the house to -breakfast she found Mr. Crisp in the porch. - -“You have given me a sleepless night,” he said. “I lay awake -endeavouring to determine for my own satisfaction what would be the -outcome of the girl's meeting that dreadful Branghton family. I worked -out the story to its proper conclusion--so I thought--on my left side; -but when I turned on my right I found that I had been grossly astray in -all my fancies; and forthwith I set to work to put myself right. After -an hour or two I thought I had succeeded, but, lo! a turn on my back and -I saw that, as I planned it, the story would never come to an end. So -I kept on until the dawn. Then I fell asleep, but only to find myself -surrounded by demons, in the form of Branghtons, and a master devil -wearing the epaulets of a naval officer, and he made for me with a -horrid leer and a cry of Mervain! I awoke in a worse state than did the -Duke of Clarence in the play, and I have not slept since. Oh, that -little mischief, Susy! Wherefore did she send hither that magic book to -be my undoing?” - -“Ah, sir, never before did I perceive the evil of novel reading,” she -said. “I could not understand my mother's banning all such books, but -now I see the wisdom of it. I now see how they tend to unsettle one. -But it may not yet be too late to save you from the evil influence of -'Evelina.' If I read no more of her story, you will soon forget her and -all may be well.” - -“You will read no more? Good! Carry out your threat and I will e'en take -the coach to London and buy a full set at Mr. Newbery's.” - -“At Mr. Newbery's? Ah, sir, that is a threat you could not carry out, -however vindictive you might be.” - -“And why not, prithee? Think you I would begrudge the seven or eight -shillings it would cost?” - -“Nay, sir; but if you went to Mr. Newbery you would probably find -yourself treated badly by him if you accused him of publishing the book. -'Tis Mr. Lowndes who is the guilty person.” - -“You will not put one to the humiliation of a journey to London all for -a trumpery novel?” - -“Nay, not for a trumpery novel; but we were talking of 'Evelina.'” - -“I submit to the correction, my dear; and so now we are in perfect -agreement, you will continue the story, if only to allay my sleepless -speculations.” - -“I wonder how it will sound when read in the morning? I fear that it -will be as dull as a play would seem in the garish light of day.” - -“Tell not that to me. There are novels of the morn as well as of -the even, and I believe that the freshness of this one will be best -appreciated in the brightness of such a morning as this. At any rate, we -can but make a trial of it. If we find that it does not read well, you -can lay it aside till the evening.” - -Fanny was delighted to find that he was as interested in her book as -Susy had been; and the noon came and found her beginning the second -volume to him, sitting by his side in the sunlight that bathed the -little garden, and his attention never flagged. Once or twice, however, -he grumbled, but her ear assured her that his grumble was not a critical -one; it was only meant to censure the behaviour of the rude Captain -Mervain. - -They were still in the garden when, shortly after noon, a chaise was -heard in the lane: it appeared to be on its way to the house. - -“What! as I live 'tis mamma and my sisters come to pay us a visit,” - cried Fanny, seeing a handkerchief waved to her from the window. - -“They shall be made welcome, for I cannot doubt that they have brought -the third volume with them,” said Mr. Crisp, rising to receive his -visitors. - -In this way the reading was interrupted, and indeed Fanny was rather -glad of a respite. She had not risen from her chair since nine o'clock. -A chance of stretching her limbs was very acceptable. - -Mrs. Burney and the girls had scarcely settled down to their cakes -and sweet wine, after explaining that Dr. Burney had insisted on their -taking this drive into the country, the day promised to be so fine, when -Mr. Crisp turned to Susy, saying: - -“You wicked girl! What did you mean by sending us the two volumes of -that vile novel to upset us poor country folk? And I hope you have not -neglected to bring with you the third.” Poor Susy reddened and glanced -at Fanny without trying to make any reply. - -“Eh, what is this?” cried the old man. “Do you mean to disclaim all -responsibility for the act? Ah, 'tis too late for you to make such an -attempt. The evil has been done. The poison has begun to work in our -blood; and its effects can only be neutralized by the contents of the -third volume. Say at once, I pray, if you have brought it.” - -“Do not trouble poor Susy with your tropes, sir,” said Fanny. “She -cannot grasp your meaning, and only trusts that we have not gone mad. I -suppose the road was as usual--half of it muddy and the rest dusty?” - -“I insist on hearing if the third volume is in the chaise,” said Mr. -Crisp, firmly. “If it be not, then you may drive straight back to St. -Martin's Street and return hither with it in time for Fannikin to read -it to-night.” - -“Pray what book is it that you refer to, Mr. Crisp?” inquired Mrs. -Burney. - -“What book, madam! As if there were more books than one printed this -year! Why, Mrs. Burney, where have you been living all this time, that -you have never heard of 'Evelina '?” cried he. - -“I have heard of little else save this 'Evelina' for some time past; -but I have no time for reading novels, nor has any member of my family,” - replied the lady. - -“I insisted on one member of your family finding the time yesterday -and to-day, and the consequence is that she has gone through the first -volume and part of the second since Susy was so obliging as to send -them hither. I was in hopes that you had brought the third volume; but I -perceive that we shall have to wait for it now.” - -Susy was examining very closely the pattern on her plate when Mrs. -Burney turned to her, saying: - -“Does Mr. Crisp mean that you got that novel and sent it hither to -Fanny?” - -“Only part of it--no more than two volumes,” said Susy quickly, as -though anxious to submit extenuating circumstances to the notice of her -stepmother. - -“Did you get it at Hill's library, or where?” inquired Mrs. Burney. - -“I did not get it at a library,” replied Susy slowly, as a reluctant -witness might answer an incriminating question. - -“What, did you buy it? Did you spend your money on it?” cried Mrs. -Burney, with a note of amazement not free from anxiety. - -“Oh, no; I did not buy it,” said Susy. - -“How did it come into your hands, then--tell me that?” - -“Cousin Edward brought it for Fanny.” - -“And you read the first two volumes and are now reading the third?” - -“Nay, mamma, 'tis I that was led by my curiosity,” said Lottie hastily. - -“Though you have often heard me protest against the vice of novel -reading? I wonder at you, Lottie. I am shocked that you should so yield -to a vulgar temptation,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“Nay, my dear madam, you must not talk of our dear 'Evelina' as if she -were an everyday person,” said Mr. Crisp. “On the contrary, she is a -most interesting young lady, and if I do not soon learn what happens -to her now that she has formed some very dubious intimacies, I shall be -inconsolable. Have you read the book, Mrs. Burney?” - -“Not I indeed,” replied Mrs. Burney, with more than a suggestion of -indignation that such a charge should be brought against her. “I have -heard enough about that book during the past month to prevent me from -having any wish to read it, even if I were a novel reader, which I -certainly deny. I am ashamed that any member of my household should so -far forget her duty as to read such stuff.” - -“Come, come, my dear lady, you must remember that there are novels and -novels,” said Mr. Crisp. “I have heard you praise Mr. Richardson, have I -not?” - -“Mr. Richardson was a genius and a great moral writer, sir, as well.” - -“The two are not invariably associated. But what if I tell you that -this new book is worthy of being placed between 'Clarissa Harlowe' and -'Pamela'?” - -“You will not do so gross an injustice to the memory of a great man, I -am sure. But, if you please, we will discuss this no longer. No matter -what this 'Evelina' may be, the fact remains that I gave a command that -our home should be free from the taint of novel reading, and my wishes -have been secretly ignored. I should not wonder if Fanny had encouraged -Edward to procure the book for her.” - -“I cannot deny it,” said Fanny in a low voice. “'Twas my doing -altogether. All the blame should rest on my shoulders--yes, from the -first--the very first--from the title page on to 'Finis.'” - -“And your delinquency has given me greater pleasure than I have derived -from other people's rectitude,” said Mr. Crisp. Then he turned to Mrs. -Burney. - -“Dear madam, you must forgive our Fannikin for her misdemeanour. If -you had but read the book for yourself you would feel as I do on the -subject. 'Tis the most fascinating story----” - -“That is, I hold, the worst of the matter,” said Mrs. Burney. “The more -fascinating the novel, the more dangerous it is, and the greater reason -there is why it should be excluded from every honest home. A dull story -may do but little harm. One might reasonably tolerate it even among a -household of young girls, but a clever one--a fascinating one, as you -call this 'Evelina,' should never be allowed to cross the threshold. -But, by your leave, sir, we will talk no more upon a question on which I -know we shall never agree.” - -“That is the most satisfactory proposal that could be made,” said Mr. -Crisp, bowing. “I will only add that since you are so fully sensible -of the danger of a delightful book in your house, you will take prompt -measures to prevent the baleful influence of 'Evelina' from pervading -your home, by despatching the third volume to me without delay. The -third volume of such a novel may in truth be likened to the match in -the barrel of gunpowder: 'tis the most dangerous part of the whole. The -first two volumes are like the gunpowder--comparatively innocent, but -the moment the third volume is attached--phew! So you would do well -not to delay in getting rid of such an inflammatory composition, Mrs. -Burney.” - -“I promise you that you shall have it at once, sir,” said Mrs. Burney. -“And I trust that you will not allow the first and second to return to -my house. A barrel of gunpowder may be as innocent as you say, so long -as the match is withheld, but still I have no intention of turning our -home into a powder magazine.” - -That was the last reference made to “Evelina” while Mrs. Burney and the -two girls remained at Chessington. They went away so as to be back -in St. Martin's Street in time for dinner; but the moment they -were together in the chaise Mrs. Burney burst out once more in her -denunciation of the vice of novel reading. From her general treatment -of the theme she proceeded--as the girls feared she would--to the -particular instance of its practice which had just come under her -notice. She administered to poor Susy a sound scolding for having -received the book from her cousin Edward in secret, and another to poor -Lottie for having ventured to read it without asking leave. The girls -were soon reduced to tears, but not a word did they say in reply. They -were loyal to their sister and her secret with which they had been -entrusted. Not a word did either of them utter. - -The drive home on that lovely afternoon was a dreary one, especially -after Mrs. Burney had said: - -“I fear that this duplicity has been going on for a long time in our -house. Yes, I have noticed more than once an exchange of meaning glances -between you and Fanny, and sometimes, too, when your cousin Edward was -in the room. It seemed to me that you had some secret in common which -you were determined to keep from me. I said nothing at that time, for -though my suspicions were awakened, yet I thought it best to take the -most favourable view of the matter, and I assumed that the secret--if -there was a secret--was an innocent one--such as girls in a family may -share among themselves about some trifling thing; but now I have no -doubt that your glances and your winks and your elbowings had to do with -the smuggling of books into the house for your surreptitious reading. I -am ashamed of you. It hurts me deeply to find that, after all the care I -have taken to preserve you in innocence of the world and its wickedness, -you have been behaving with such duplicity. I shall, of course, think -it my duty to let your father know what I have found out, and he may be -able to suggest some means of preventing a repetition of such conduct.” - -The poor girls dared not even look at each other for mutual sympathy, -lest such glances should be interpreted by their mother as a further -attempt to pursue the scheme of duplicity with which she had charged -them. They could only sit tearful and silent until they were once again -in St. Martin's Street. They longed to rush upstairs together to their -room and mingle their tears in a sisterly embrace before determining -how they should meet their stepmother's charges in the presence of their -father. - -But Mrs. Burney was too astute a strategist to permit them to consult -together. - -“Is your master within?” she inquired of William, the man-servant, who -opened the door for them. - -“He is in the library, madam, with Mrs. Esther,” replied the man. - -“So much the better,” said Mrs. Burney to the girls. “We shall go -directly to him, and your sister Esther will be present.” - -She made them precede her to the room that was called the library. Dr. -Burney and Hetty were laughing together across the table--the sound of -their merriment had been heard by the girls before the door was opened. -But at the portentous gravity of the entrance of Mrs. Burney her husband -became grave. - -“You have returned early,” he said, “and--good heavens! you have been -weeping--you do not bring bad news--Fanny has not had a relapse?” - -“Fanny is quite well; but I bring you bad news,” replied Mrs. Burney. -“You will, I am sure, regard it as the worst possible news when I tell -you that she, as well as her sisters here, have been guilty of the -grossest disobedience--a conspiracy of disobedience, I may call it.” - -“I am amazed--and grieved,” said he. “But I can scarcely believe that, -brought up as they have been----” - -“They do not deny it,” said she. “I only discovered by chance that, in -defiance of our rule against novel reading, they been have trafficking -with their cousin Edward to procure novels for their secret reading, and -the latest they smuggled into the house is that one called 'Evelina'--I -actually found Fanny reading the book to Mr. Crisp, and her sisters -admitted----” - -“But what did Fanny admit?” he cried. - -“She admitted that Edward had procured the book at her request,” replied -his wife. “Was not that enough?” - -“Not half enough--not a quarter enough, considering that it was Fanny -who wrote 'Evelina' with her own hand and under our very noses without -our suspecting it,” said Dr. Burney quietly. - -Mrs. Burney looked at him dumbly for more than a whole minute. There was -silence in the room. - -Then she sat slowly down on the nearest chair, still keeping her eyes -fixed upon him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -|DOCTOR BURNEY sat for a long time staring at a point high above his -wife's head. The eldest daughter, Hetty, standing at the other side of -the writing-table, was radiant; her eyes were dancing. The two others -were standing together--huddled together, it might be said, for they -suggested a pair of lambs recently frightened--doubtful of what is going -to happen next and feeling that the closer they are to each other the -safer they will be. - -“Did you ever hear of anything so funny?” said Hetty, glancing around -and still radiant. - -Her father got upon his feet. - -“And she was the only one that never had any attention,” said he, as if -he had not heard Hetty's remark. “Fanny was left to make her own way as -pleased her best--no one troubled about her education. She was left -to pick up knowledge as best she could--the crumbs that fell from the -others' table--that was how she picked up French when the others came -back from school, and now she speaks it with the best of them... And -so shy! Tell me, if you can, how she got her knowledge of things--the -things in that book--the pictures red with life--the real life-blood of -men and women--love--emotion--pathos--all that make up life--and don't -forget the characterization--that's what seems to me all but miraculous. -Hogarth--we all know that Hogarth drew his characters and fitted them -into his pictures because he made it a point to walk among them and look -at them with observant eyes; but tell me, if you can, what chance that -child had of seeing anything; and yet she has filled her canvas, and -every bit is made up of firm, true drawing. That is the chief wonder.” - -He spoke evidently under the impulse of a great excitement at first, not -looking at anyone in particular--just skimming them all with his eyes -as he paced the room. But he seemed gradually to recover himself as -he talked, and he appeared to address his last words to his wife. This -assisted her to recover herself also--a minute or so in advance of him. - -“You seem to be sure that Fanny wrote it,” she said, when he had done. -“Is it fair to condemn her before you make sure?” - -Everyone looked at Mrs. Burney; but only her husband laughed. - -“Condemn her--condemn her for having written the finest novel since -Fielding?” he said, with the laugh still on his face. There was no laugh -on hers; on the contrary, its expression was more serious than ever. - -“A novel is a novel,” she said. “I told Mr. Crisp--but that was -only about the reading of novels--the cleverer they are the more -mischievous--dangerous--even the reading--I never dreamt of her going -so far as to write one, clever or otherwise. But a novel is still a -novel--she must have neglected her duties in the house, though I failed -to observe it... and sending it to a bookseller without saying a word to -us! Who would have believed that a young woman with her training--” - -“It flashed across me when I read the verses addressed to myself at the -beginning that she had asked my permission some months ago, and that -I had given it--I did so laughing at the poor child's credulousness in -believing that any bookseller would print it for her and pay her for the -privilege--the privilege of making a thousand pounds out of her book.” - -“What! are you serious?--a thousand pounds, did you say?” - -“Mr. Lowndes will make more than a thousand pounds by the sale of the -book--Hetty tells me that he only paid Fanny twenty for it.” - -“What is the world coming to--a fortune in a single book! And we talked -about her being portionless, when all the time she was more richly -endowed than all the rest of the family; for if she has written one -book, she can certainly write another equally remunerative. 'Perhaps she -has another ready for the printers.” - -Mrs. Burney was blessed with the capacity to look at matters, -however artistic they might be, from the standpoint of the practical -housekeeper. The mention of so sonorous a sum as a thousand pounds -caused the scales of prejudice to fall from the eyes through which she -had regarded the act of authorship, and at that instant she perceived -that it should not be thought of as a delinquency but as a merit. - -And, after all, it appeared that the girl had obtained the permission of -her father to print it--that put quite a different complexion upon the -transaction, did it not? - -And a thousand pounds--that appealed to the good sense of a practical -person and swept away the last cobweb of prejudice that she had had -respecting novels and their writers. - -“Has she another book written, think you?” she inquired in a tone full -of interest. “Of course we shall see that she gets a better share of Mr. -Lowndes' thousand pounds than she did for her first.” - -“She has not written a line since 'Evelina,'” said Esther. “To be sure, -I have not been her _confidante_ since I got married, but I know that -she was so frightened at the thought of what she had done that she would -not write another page.” - -“Frightened! What had she to be frightened about?” cried Mrs. Burney in -a tone of actual amazement. - -“Goodness knows,” said Esther with a laugh. - -The sound of the dinner-bell coming at that moment had about it also -something of the quality of a long, loud, sonorous outburst of laughter -with a cynical tinkle at the last. - -The group in that room dissolved in all directions with exclamations of -dismay at being overtaken by the dinner-hour so unprepared. - -“It is all over now,” said Susy to Lottie, when they were alone in their -room. “I was afraid when she ushered us so formally into the library -that we would be forced to tell our secret.” - -“I made up my mind that no torture of the rack or wild horses would -unseal my lips,” said Susy, earnestly. “Do you know, Lottie, I feel -quite lonely without our secret.” - -“It is just the same with me, dear,” said Lottie. “I feel as if I were -suddenly cut off from some great interest in life--as if I had gone -downstairs one morning and found that someone had stolen the piano. I -wonder if it was Hetty who told the padre.” - -“Make haste and we shall soon learn all,” said Susy. - -Before they had finished dinner they learned from their father how he -had got to the bottom of the secret that they had so cherished. - -He had gone as usual to give a music lesson to Queenie Thrale, and when -partaking of some refreshment before setting out for London, Mrs. Thrale -had talked to him in terms of the highest praise of “Evelina.” She had -read the book twice over, she told him, and had lent it to Dr. Johnson, -who could talk of nothing else. Then Mrs. Cholmondeley had arrived on a -visit to Thrale Hall, and she, too, was full of praise of the book. She, -too, had lent her copy to someone else--to no less important a person -than Mr. Edmund Burke, and he had declared himself as greatly captivated -by it as his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds had been. Everybody was -talking about it, and the question of the authorship had been as widely -discussed as before; Mrs. Cholmondeley had declared that she would give -twenty guineas to find out for certain who it was that had written the -book. - -Mrs. Thrale had thereupon suggested that Dr. Burney was in a better -position than most people for solving the mystery, going about as he was -from one part of the town to another and being in close touch with all -manner of people. - -“But I had not, as you know, so much as read the book for myself--I -seemed to be the only one in town who had not done so--and on getting -home I sent William post haste to Mr. Lowndes to purchase a set. This -done, I sat down to peruse the first volume. The page opened on the Ode; -it lay beneath my eyes, and I tell you truly that I did not seem to read -it: I seemed to hear Fanny's voice reading the verses in my ear, and -the truth came upon me in a flash--incredible though it appeared, I knew -that it was she who had written the book. Hetty came in before my eyes -were dry--she saw the volume in my hand, and she understood all. 'You -know,' was all that she said. I think that the greatest marvel was the -keeping of the secret of the book! To think of its being known to four -girls and never becoming too great for them to bear!” - -He was appealing to his wife, but she only nodded a cold acquiescence in -his surprise. She remained silent, however, and this was something to be -grateful for, the girls thought: they knew just what she was thinking, -and they also knew that if they had some little trouble in keeping their -secret, she had very much more in restraining herself from uttering some -comment upon their reticence--their culpable reticence, she would -think it. They could see that she was greatly displeased at having been -excluded from their secret, since such an exclusion had forced her into -a false position more than once--notably in the presence of Mr. Crisp, -when she had become the assailant of novels and novel reading generally, -and also when she had scolded them on their return in the chaise. But -they were good girls, and they were ready to allow that they were in the -wrong, even though they did not think so: that is what really good girls -do in their desire for peace in their homes. And Lottie and Susy made -up their minds that should their stepmother tax them with double-dealing -and deceit, they would not try to defend themselves. The reflection that -they had kept their sister's secret would more than compensate them for -any possible humiliation they might suffer at Mrs. Burney's hands. - -All that Mrs. Burney said at the conclusion of her husband's further -rhapsody about the marvel of Fanny's achievement, considering how she -had been generally thought the dunce of the family, was comprised in a -few phrases uttered in a hurt tone: - -“While no one is more pleased than myself to witness her success, I -cannot but feel that she would have shown herself possessed of a higher -sense of her duty as a daughter if she had consulted her father or his -wife in the matter,” she said. - -“That may be true enough,” said Dr. Burney; “but if she had done so, -would she have achieved her purpose any more fully than she has, I ask -you? No, my dear, I do not feel, with any measure of certainty, that I -would have gone far in my encouragement of her efforts, nor do I think -that you would have felt it consistent with your principles to do so.” - -“I was only referring to the question of a simple girl's duty in regard -to her parents,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“And your judgment on that point is, I am certain, unassailable,” said -he. “But here we have a girl who is no simple girl, but a genius; and -I think that a good deal of latitude should be allowed to a genius--a -little departure from the hard and fast line of the duties expected from -a simple girl may be permitted in such a one as Fanny.” - -“Well, she has succeeded in her aims--so much is plain,” said Mrs. -Burney. “But I hope that should any of her sisters set about a similar -enterprise----” - -But the ringing laughter that came from the sisters, their father -joining in with great heartiness, saved the need for her to complete -her sentence. At first she felt hurt, but she quickly yielded to the -exuberant spirit that pervaded the atmosphere of the room, and smiled -indulgently, after the manner of a staid elderly lady who is compelled -to take part in the romp of her girls and boys at Christmas time. - -She continued smiling, and the others continued laughing, and this -spirit of good humour was maintained until bedtime. - -The girls knew that they would not be scolded for their participation -in Fanny's secret; for Fanny by her success had justified any amount of -double-dealing. If Fanny had made a fool of herself they would feel -that they deserved to participate in her scolding; but success is easily -pardoned, and so they rightly counted upon a general amnesty. What was -it that their father had said about a thousand pounds? - -They went to bed quite happy, in spite of being deprived of the fearful -joy of having a secret to keep. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -|DR. BURNEY had given instructions that Fanny was not to be communicated -with at Chessington until he had seen her; but that the third volume -of the book was to be sent to Mr. Crisp without delay. He was to go to -Streatham again in two days' time, and thence to Chessington, where he -would make Mr. Crisp aware of the identity of the writer of “Evelina.” - -He anticipated an interesting hour with Mr. Crisp, but a very much more -interesting half-hour with Mrs. Thrale; for he meant, of course, to lose -no time in letting that lady into the secret: he knew that she would -make the most of the information he could impart to her; to be the first -to learn what all her friends were striving to learn would at once place -her above Mrs. Cholmondeley, who was willing to pay twenty guineas for -the knowledge, and even Mrs. Montagu, who was inclined to patronize -Mrs. Thrale and a good many other ladies, in spite of the fact that Dr. -Johnson dined usually five days out of every week with Mrs. Thrale, -but had only dined once with Mrs. Montagu since she had gone to her new -house. - -Dr. Burney was well aware how valuable the Thrale connection was to him; -a teacher of music is apt to look with sparkling eyes at a houseful of -girls whose father possesses the possibilities of such wealth as was -defined by Dr. Johnson in this particular case as beyond the dreams -of avarice. Dr. Burney had a very nice judgment on the subject of an -influential connection, and so was delighted to have a chance of doing -a signal good turn to so deserving a patroness as Mrs. Thrale. Yes, -he felt sure that his half-hour at Streatham Hall would be the -most interesting of the many half-hours he had spent under the same -hospitable roof. - -And he was not mistaken in his surmise. - -Mrs. Thrale had, as usual, several friends coming to partake of an early -repast with her; and Dr. Burney had pictured to himself the effect of -his announcement to the company that his daughter had written the book -upon which he was pretty sure the conversation would turn--indeed, he -felt that he would be greatly surprised if the conversation did not -immediately rush to the question of “Evelina” and remain there for the -rest of the afternoon; for the enterprising ladies would doubtless -bring with them some fresh suggestions or new cues to its authorship. -He pictured himself allowing them to go on for some time until perhaps a -statement would be made which he should have to contradict point-blank. -They would all look at him in surprise. What did he know about the -matter? Was he interested in the question? Had he found out anything? - -How he would smile while saying quietly: - -“Well, I am more or less interested in the matter, the fact being that -'Evelina' is the work of my daughter, Fanny Burney!” - -That would be, he thought, a fitting moment in which to divulge the -secret; he saw the whole scene clearly before him. - -But before he had reached his destination that intuition of what would -commend itself to a patron which had been so important an auxiliary to -his ability in placing him above his rivals in his profession, overcame -his desire to play the most important part in a dramatic scene; he -perceived that such a rôle should be taken by an influential patroness, -and not by himself. Thus it was that when Mrs. Thrale was giving him a -cup of chocolate after his journey he smiled, saying: - -“I was greatly interested in the conversation between Mrs. Cholmondeley -and the other ladies when I was last here.” - -“About 'Evelina'?” she inquired. “Ah, I wonder if Mrs. Cholmondeley has -yet paid over her twenty guineas to the discoverer of the author. It -seems that he has as arduous a task in regard to 'Evelina' as Raleigh -had in regard to his El Dorado.” - -“So it would appear,” said Dr. Burney. “Let us hope that his efforts -will be more highly valued than those of poor Sir Walter. Have you -yourself no suspicions on the subject, madam?” - -“Oh, suspicions? There have been as many suspicions set going on this -subject within the month as would be entertained only by the most -imaginative Bow Street runner. For my own part, I maintain that the book -could only have been writ by our friend Horace Walpole. He found that -his 'Otranto' excited so much curiosity when published without a name, -he came to the conclusion that he would produce another novel with -the same amount of mystery attached to it. The only point against this -assumption is that----” - -“That the book was assuredly written by another person,” said Burney, -smiling in a way that he designed to be somewhat enigmatical. - -Mrs. Thrale tried to interpret his smile. - -“What!” she exclaimed, “you have formed another theory--you--you have -heard something since you were last here?” - -“Not something, madam--not a mere something, but everything--everything -that is to be known regarding the writer of that book.” - -“Is't possible? Who is your informant?--the value of all that you have -heard is dependent upon the accuracy of your informant.” - -“The book was written by the person whom I fancied I knew best of all -the people in the world, and yet the last person whom I would believe -capable of such a feat. The author of the book--I am the author of her -being--she is none other than my daughter Fanny.” - -Mrs. Thrale sat staring at him, one arm resting upon the table, her lips -parted as if about to utter an exclamation of surprise, but unable to do -so by reason of her surprise. - -More than a minute had passed before she was able to speak, and then she -could do no more than repeat his words. - -“Your daughter Fanny--your daughter--but is not Fanny the little shy -one that goes into a corner when you have company?” she asked, in a -tone that suggested that she had heard something too ridiculous to be -believed. - -“She is that one, madam,” he replied. “It would seem as if the corner -of a room has its advantages in enabling one to observe life from a -true standpoint. Two eyes looking out from a corner with a brain behind -them--there you have the true writer of a novel of life and character. -Poor Fanny! How often have not I talked of her as 'poor Fanny'? She had -no education except what she contrived to pick up haphazard--a sweet -child--a lovable daughter, but the last person in the world to be -suspected of such a book as 'Evelina.'” - -“You are sure, sir--you have seen--heard--you know?” - -“Beyond any doubt. Her sisters were let into the secret, but neither -of her parents. I know now why that was--no want of duty--no lack of -respect--she began the book for her own amusement, and it grew under -her hand; she sent it to a bookseller, more as a jest than in the belief -that anything would come of it, and up to the last it was treated by -her and her sisters as a schoolroom mystery--a nursery secret--and -Mrs. Burney and I were kept out of it solely because we were not of the -nursery or the schoolroom. And when it became a serious matter we were -excluded because they were afraid to reveal it to us--Fanny herself, -dear child!--feared that we would be concerned if it were stillborn. It -was only when it was at the point of being published by Mr. Lowndes that -she came to me saying that she had been writing something and wanted -my leave to send it forth, promising that no name would appear upon the -title page. I gave my leave with a smile, and when I had my laugh at the -innocence of the girl in fancying that any bookseller would pay for the -printing of what she might scribble, I forgot all about the matter. It -was only when I sent for the book and read the Ode addressed to myself -that I seemed to hear Fanny's voice speaking the words in my ear--I told -the others so when they returned from visiting her at Chessington. But -meantime Esther had come to me, and she told me all that was known to -her about the book and its secret.” - -“The most wonderful story ever known--more wonderful than the story of -Evelina herself!” cried Mrs. Thrale. “How people--Mrs. Cholmondeley and -the rest--will lift up their hands! Who among them will believe it all -possible? List, my dear doctor, you must bring her to me in the first -instance--all the others will be clamouring for her to visit them--I -know them! You must bring her to me without delay--why not to-day? I can -easily send a chaise for her--a coach if necessary. Well, if not to-day, -to-morrow. I must have her here. We will understand each other--she and -I; and Dr. Johnson will be with us--quite a little company--for dinner. -You will promise me?” - -“Be assured, dear madam, that there is no house apart from her home -where I feel she would be happier than in this,” said Dr. Burney. “She -has often expressed the warmest admiration for you, and I know that her -dearest wish is to be on terms of intimacy with you.” - -“The sweet girl! she shall have her dearest wish gratified to the -fullest extent, sir. You will bring her as early to-morrow as it suits -you. Good heavens! to think of that dear retiring child taking the town -by storm! Dr. Johnson wrote to me no later than last evening, expressing -once more his delight in reading the book, and Mr. Burke, too--but you -heard about Mr. Burke. I will never forget your courtesy in telling me -first of all your friends that she was the author, dear doctor.” - -“If not you, madam, whom would I have told?” - -“I shall be ever grateful. You will give me leave to make the revelation -to my friends who will be here to-day?” - -“It is open for you to tell them all that I have told you, my dear -madam; and you may truthfully add that if the writing of the book will -bring her into closer intimacy with Mrs. Thrale, the author will feel -that it has not been written in vain.” - -He made his lowest bow on rising from the table to receive his pupil, -who entered the room at that moment. - -He had confidence that he was right in his intuition that his patroness -would act with good effect the rôle which he had relinquished in -her favour, when her friends would arrive in another hour for their -“collation;” and he was ready to allow that none could have played the -part more neatly than she did when the time came to prove how much -better-informed she was than the rest of the world. She might have been -possessed of the knowledge that Miss Burney was the writer of “Evelina” - from the first, from the easy and natural way in which she said: - -“Pray do not trouble yourselves telling me what Mrs. Cholmondeley said -to Mr. Lowndes, or what Mr. Lowndes said to someone else about the -writer of the novel; for it happens that I know, and have known for--for -some time the name of the author.” - -There were a few little exclamations of surprise, and a very pretty -uplifting of several pairs of jewelled hands at this calm announcement. - -“Oh, yes,” she continued, “the writer is a friend of my own, and the -daughter of one of my most valued friends, and if any people talk to you -in future of 'Evelina' being the work of Mr. Walpole or Mr. Anstey or -any man of letters, pay no attention to these astute investigators, but -tell them that I said the book is the work of Miss Fanny Burney, one of -the daughters of the celebrated Dr. Charles Burney, himself the author -of a 'History of Music' that will live so long as the English language -has a literature of its own.” - -Mrs. Thrale did it all with amazing neatness, Dr. Burney thought; and -the attempt that she made to conceal the expression of triumph in the -glance that she gave to her guests let him know that his tact had been -exercised in the right direction. Mrs. Thrale was not the woman to -forget that he had given her such a chance of proving to her friends how -intimate was her association with the literary history of the day. She -had been for several years the patroness of Dr. Johnson, who had written -the best dictionary, and now she was about to take under her protection -Miss Burney, who had written the best novel. He knew that Mrs. Thrale -was almost as glad to be able to reveal the secret of “Evelina” as if -she had written the book herself. - -And everyone else at the table felt that Mrs. Thrale was indeed an -amazingly clever woman; and wondered how Mrs. Cholmondeley would feel -when she had learned that she had been forestalled in her quest after -the information on which she had placed a value of twenty guineas. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -|IT had all come to her now. She had had her dreams from time to time -when working at her novel--dreams of recognition--of being received on -terms of equality by some of the lesser literary people who had visited -the house in St. Martin's Street, and had gone away praising the musical -talents of her sisters, but leaving her unnoticed. Her aspirations had -been humble, but it seemed to her so stupid to be stupid in the midst of -a brilliant household, that she longed to be able to do something that -would, at least, cause their visitors of distinction to glance into her -corner and recognize her name when it was spoken in their hearing. -That was all she longed for at first--to be recognized as “the one who -writes,” as people recognized “the one who plays.” But since Signor -Rauzzini had come upon the scene her ambitions had widened. She dreamt -not merely of recognition, but of distinction, so that he might be proud -of her, and that she might not merely be spoken of as the wife of the -Roman singer. That dream of hers had invariably been followed by a -feeling of depression as she reflected upon the improbability of its -ever being realized, and if it should not be realized, all hope of -happiness would pass from her life. Thus it was that for some months she -had lived with the cold finger of despair constantly pressing upon her -heart. She was so practical--so reasonable--that she could never yield -herself up to the fascination of the Fool's Paradise of dreams; she was -ready to estimate her chances of literary success, and the result of -the operation was depressing. How could any young woman who had seen so -little of life, and who had been so imperfectly educated, have any hope -to be received as a writer of distinction? What claim to distinction -could such a girl as she advance in the face of the competition that was -going on around her in every branch of distinctive work? - -For some months her good sense and her clear head were her greatest -enemies; evermore bringing her back to the logic of a life in which -everything is represented by figures, from a great artistic success to -a butcher's bill--a life in which dreams play a part of no greater -significance than the splendid colours clinging about the West in the -unalterable routine of the setting sun. - -Many times she had awakened in the night to weep as she felt the -bitterness of defeat; for her book had been given to the world and the -world had received it as the sea receives a stone that is flung upon its -surface. That simile of the stone and the sea was constantly recurring -to her, and every time she saw that it was weak--that it fell short of -meeting her case, for her book had made no stir whatsoever in the world, -whereas a stone, however small it might be, could not be given to the -sea without creating some stir on the surface of the waters. - -And then, quite unexpectedly, had come a whisper from the world to tell -her that her book had not been submerged: the whisper had increased in -volume until it had sounded in her ears like a shout of acclamation, -telling her that the reality had far surpassed her most sanguine dreams, -and that common-sense reasoning is sometimes farther astray in its -operation than are the promptings of the most unreasonable ambition. - -These were her rose-tinted reflections while driving with her father -from Chessington to Streatham, a journey which represented to her the -passing from obscurity to distinction, the crossing of the Jordan and -the entering into the Land of Promise. - -Fanny Burney has herself told the story of her father's coming to her -at Chessington, and of her dear old friend's reception of the marvellous -news that Dr. Burney brought to him--of the phrases which she -overheard while the two men were in a room together--the incredulous -exclamations--“Wonderful--it's wonderful!”--“Why, she has had very -little education but what she has given herself--less than any of the -others”--“The variety of characters--the variety of scenes, and the -language”--“Wonderful!” And then Mr. Crisp's meeting her, catching her -by the hands as she was going in to supper, and crying, “Why, you little -hussy, ain't you ashamed to look me in the face you--you 'Evelina,' you! -Why, what a dance you have led me about it!” Miss Burney has brought the -scene vividly before our eyes in her Diary. - -It was one of the happiest days of her life; she saw the pride with -which her father regarded her, for Dr. Burney was a practical man -who valued achievement as it deserved, and was, besides, the best of -fathers, and the most anxious to advance the interests of his children. -He looked with pride upon his daughter, and talked of her having made -Mr. Lowndes a wealthy man. His estimate of her earning powers had -increased: he now declared that even if Lowndes had paid a thousand -pounds for the book, his profits off it would enable him to buy an -estate! - -It was the happiest evening of her life; and now she was in the chaise -with her beloved father, driving to Streatham, where they were to -dine, and Dr. Johnson was to be of the party. This meant more than -recognition, it meant the Land of Promise of her ambitious dreams. - -She had many matters to reflect upon at this time, but all her -reflections led to the one point--her next meeting with Rauzzini. The -truth that had been revealed to her among Sir Joshua Reynolds' superb -canvases, that love was more than all else that the world could give -her, remained before her, as a luminous fixed star, to be a guide to her -life; and the happiness that she now felt was due to the thought that -she could go to the man whom she loved, without a misgiving, without -fearing that he would hear those dreaded voices of the world saying that -he had been a fool to ally himself with a nonentity, or that she would -hear the whispers of those who might suggest that she had done very well -for herself. She had long before made her resolution only to go to him -when she could do so on terms of equality. At that time her resolution -seemed to shut her out from all chances of happiness; she knew this, but -at the same time she believed that it would shut both of them out from -every chance of unhappiness; and so she had allowed it to dominate her -life. - -That was where her common-sense and her reasonableness had their way, -prevailing over that blind impulse which she now and again had, to trust -to chance--and love--to overcome every other consideration, and to give -her lover and herself happiness solely by being together. It was such -impulses as this that caused love to be referred to as blind. But she -was now ready to thank heaven for having given her strength to overcome -it and so to give the victory to reason and good sense. - -She made up her mind to write to him before she slept that very night, -telling him what her resolution had been--he had called it a mystery, -not knowing anything about it--and asking him to rejoice with her that -she had been able to maintain it, so that the barrier which she had seen -between them was now swept away. - -“Come to me--come to me”--that would be the burden of her letter to him; -she would send it to him and he would come. - -The thought made her lean back among the cushions of the chaise and shut -her eyes, the better to enclose the vision of happiness that came from -her heart. He would come to her and her happiness would be complete. - -So she arrived with her father at Thrale Hall and was welcomed by Mrs. -Thrale in the porch. When she had made her toilet for dinner she was -shown into the drawing-room. As she entered, she was conscious of the -presence of several men, and the one nearest to her was, she saw, Signor -Rauzzini. - -All the men in the room were looking toward her except Rauzzini. He was -standing by the side of a small table, presenting his profile to her, -and his eyes were gazing across the room at a picture that hung between -the windows, a frown on his face. - -She was startled, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. It would have done -so on her entering the room, even if she had not been surprised to see -her lover there when she believed him to be still in France. - -She had stopped before reaching the middle of the room, and then she -was hidden from the view of everybody by a huge mass of manhood in the -person of Dr. Johnson. He seemed inclined to embrace her; and as he -swung himself close to her, there was no one in the room that had not a -moment of trepidation lest he should fall over her and crush her flat. - -Mrs. Thrale tripped alongside Fanny, as if ready to die with her. - -“Oh, come, Dr. Johnson,” she cried. “I have no intention of allowing -you to monopolize Miss Burney, for that I perceive is your desire. The -gentlemen must be presented to her in proper form.” - -“Madam,” said he, “I understood clearly that Miss Burney was coming -hither for myself alone, and I have no mind to share so precious a -morsel with others. Miss Burney and I are old friends, give me leave to -say; I have more than once been interested in a book in the room where -she was sitting in her father's house. Come to my arms, Miss Burney, and -we shall laugh together at the jealous glances the others cast at me.” - -“Miss Burney will sit beside you at dinner, sir, and that must suffice -you for the present,” said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny by the hand. - -But Johnson had succeeded, after more than one ineffectual attempt, in -grasping Miss Burney's left hand, and in his ponderous playfulness, he -refused to relinquish it, so that she had to make her curtsies to the -gentlemen with Mrs. Thrale on one side of her and Johnson on the other. -There was Mr. Seward and Sir Joshua Reynolds, and two others besides -Signor Rauzzini. Each of them had a compliment to offer her, and did so -very pleasantly and with great tact. - -“Now that is done, Miss Burney and I can sit together on the sofa, and -she will tell me why she loves the Scotch and I will scold her for it,” - said Johnson complacently. - -“Nay, sir, Miss Burney has not yet greeted Signor Rauzzini,” said Mrs. -Thrale. “You and Miss Burney are already acquainted, I know, Signor -Rauzzini, though you did fancy that she was one of the musical girls of -St. Martin's Street.” - -Rauzzini took a single step away from the table at which he had remained -immovable, and bowed low, without speaking a word. - -Fanny responded. They were separated by at least three yards. - -“Dinner is on the table, sir,” announced a servant from the door. - -“I am not sorry,” said Johnson. “Mrs. Thrale gave me a solemn promise -that Miss Burney should sit next to me. That was why I kept my eye on -Miss Burney.” - -“And hand too, sir,” remarked Mr. Seward. - -“Why, yes, sir, and hand too, if you insist,” said Johnson. “And let me -tell you, sir, that a Lichfield man will keep his hand on anything he -wishes to retain when another Lichfield man is in the same room.” - -His laughter set the ornaments on the mantelpiece a-jingling. - -And they went in to dinner before the echoes had died away. - -Mrs. Thrale kept her promise, and Fanny was placed next to Johnson. But -even then he did not let go her hand. He held it in one of his own and -patted it gently with the other. Fanny glanced down the table and saw -that the eyes of the young Roman were looking in her direction, and that -they were flaming. What could he mean, she wondered. She had been at -first amazed at his bearing toward her in the drawing-room; but after -a moment's thought, she had supposed that he had assumed that distant -manner to prevent anyone from suspecting the intimacy there was between -them. But what could that angry look in his eyes portend? Was it -possible that he could be jealous of Dr. Johnson's awkward attention to -her? - -She was greatly troubled. - -But if he had, indeed, resented Johnson's attention to her, such a plea -was no longer valid after the first dish had been served, for in an -instant Johnson's attention was transferred, with increased force, to -the plate before him, and during the solid part of the meal, at least, -it was never turned in any other direction. Poor Fanny had never seen -him eat, nor had she the same privilege in respect of Mr. Thrale. But -she needed all the encouragement that her hostess could afford her to -enable her to make even the most moderate meal while such distractions -were in her immediate neighbourhood; and she came to the conclusion that -she had been ridiculously fastidious over the prodigious tea and its -service at Mr. Barlowe's in the Poultry. - -But Mrs. Thrale was as tactful and as chatty as ever, and Mr. Seward -made pleasant conversation for her, sitting, as he did, on the other -side from Johnson. When Johnson was eating, his fellow guests understood -that their chance was come to express their views without a dread of -being contradicted by him. - -But from the feebleness of her contribution to the chat of the table, -Mrs. Thrale as well as Mr. Seward perceived that all they had been told -about the timidity of little Miss Burney was even less than the truth. - -But for that matter, Signor Rauzzini, who had been placed between Mrs. -Thrale and Dr. Burney, was found by both of them to be also singularly -averse from joining in the conversation, whether in reply to Burney, who -addressed him in Italian, or to his hostess, who spoke French to him. - -As Mrs. Thrale talked a good deal herself, however, she rose with an -impression that there had been no especial lack of brilliancy at the -table. - -She took Fanny away with her, her determination being that if she should -fail to draw this shy young creature out of her shell, she would at any -rate convince her that her hostess was deserving of the reputation -which she enjoyed for learning, combined with vivacity, so that their -companionship could not be otherwise than profitable after all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -|IT was not yet six o'clock and the sun was not due to set for more than -another hour. The evening was a lovely one. From the shrubberies around -the house came the liquid notes of countless blackbirds and thrushes, -and above the trees of the park the cawing of the rooks as they wheeled -above their nests and settled upon the branches. - -“We shall sit on the terrace for half an hour, if you have a mind -to,” said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny through the drawing-room into a -smaller room that opened upon a long terrace above the beds of the -flower-garden. Here were several seats and a small table bearing writing -materials. - -“Here I do most of my correspondence in the summer,” said Mrs. Thrale. -“Sitting at that table in the open air, I have few distractions, unless -I choose to accept the birds as such; and here I hope you will begin -a new novel, or better still, a comedy that Mr. Sheridan will produce, -with Mrs. Abington in her most charming gowns--you must give your -namesake a chance of wearing a whole trunkful of gowns.” They seated -themselves, and Mrs. Thrale continued: - -“Now I have confided in you how I do my simple work, and I wish to hear -from you by what means you found time to write your novel. That is the -greatest secret of all associated with 'Evelina'--so your father thinks. -Mrs. Burney I always knew as a model housekeeper--a model manager of a -family, and how you could contrive to write a single page without her -knowledge is what baffles me as well as your father.” - -“To tell you all would, I fear, be to confess to a lifetime of -duplicity,” said Fanny. “I am sometimes shocked now when I reflect upon -my double-dealing.” - -“Tell me how you first came to stray from the paths of virtue--such a -story is invariably interesting,” said Mrs. Thrale. - -“My story is like all the others,” replied Fanny. “I only meant to turn -aside a little way, but soon I lost myself and I knew that there was no -retracing my steps.” - -“Alas, alas, the old story!” said Mrs. Thrale, with a long-drawn sigh. -“Well, happily, you were not able to retrace your steps.” - -“I had no idea that the story would grow upon me as it did,” said Fanny. -“I really only meant it to be a diversion for our dear friend, Mr. -Crisp, and an exercise for myself. I wrote a scrap now and again at odd -moments--when I was supposed to be writing to Mr. Crisp, or copying out -my father's notes for his History, at home as well as at Ches-sington, -and when I was staying at Lynn; and so the thing grew and grew until I -was afraid to look at what I had perpetrated.” - -“You are paraphrasing _Macbeth_, my dear: 'I am afeared to think what I -have done: Look on't again I dare not,'” said the elder lady. “But with -all you were able to prepare your father's great work for the press--he -told me as much; so that what your double-dealing comes to is that you -did his writing as well as your own, and at the same time neglected none -of your ordinary household duties--if you had done so Mrs. Burney would -have informed you of it, I have no doubt. An excellent housewife, Mrs. -Burney! And now you shall tell me how you contrived to bring together so -marvellous a group of characters--you who have lived so short a time in -the world, and had so small an amount of experience.” - -“I should like someone to answer that question for me,” said Fanny. “It -was not until I read the book in print that I began to be surprised at -it, and to wonder how it came to be written and how those characters had -found their way into it.” - -But this question was too interesting a one not to be pursued by Mrs. -Thrale; and for half an hour she put inquiry after inquiry to Fanny -respecting the characters, the incidents and the language of “Evelina.” - Mrs. Thrale was certainly determined to place herself in a position to -prove to her friends that Miss Burney had made a _confidante_ of her in -all matters, down to the smallest detail of the book. - -In ordinary circumstances Fanny would have been delighted to give -her her confidence in regard to these particulars--she had always a -childlike pleasure in talking about her books--but at this time she only -did so with a great effort. For while Mrs. Thrale was plying her with -questions about “Evelina,” there was ever before Fanny the unanswered -question as to what Rauzzini meant by his coldness and formality both -before dinner and during that meal. What did he mean by looking at her -with that reproachful frown upon his face? What did he mean by averting -his eyes from her when he had a chance of exchanging confidences with -her, as he had often done before? What did he mean by sitting at the -table without addressing a single word to her? - -These were the questions which she was struggling in vain to answer to -her own satisfaction all the time that Mrs. Thrale was putting -inquiry after inquiry to her upon a matter that Fanny now regarded as -insignificant compared with the one that she was trying to answer for -herself. - -Mrs. Thrale was just beginning a series of questions on the subject of -the comedy which she meant Miss Burney to write, when a servant appeared -with a message for the former. - -“Tiresome!” exclaimed Fanny's hostess, rising. “Here is some -insignificant household matter that can only be dealt with by the -mistress--summer frocks for two girls: the carrier has brought some -boxes--the summer has come upon us before spring has prepared us for -its arrival, and there has been a despairing cry heard in the nursery. -I need not excuse myself to you, Miss Burney. You will spare me for ten -minutes.” - -Miss Burney hoped that the feeling of relief of which she was conscious -did not show itself on her face, when she expressed the hope that Mrs. -Thrale would not think of her; she would be quite happy with the birds. - -“And the comedy--do not forget the comedy.” - -Miss Burney laughed, but before her hostess had reached the door leading -off the terrace, she was once more immersed in that question: - -“What does he mean by his change of attitude in regard to me?” - -It was serious--so much she knew. He had heard something that had caused -him to change. But what could he have heard? What manner of man was he -that would allow himself to be so influenced by anything that he might -hear against her, without first coming to her for an explanation? - -Her mind went back to the evening when they had first met. It was in St. -Martin's Street. He was there on the invitation of Dr. Burney: but it -seemed that he had become conscious of a sympathy existing between her -and himself, for he had remained by her side for a full hour while the -others in the room were singing and playing on the piano, and he had -held her hand at parting, expressing the hope, which his eyes confirmed, -that they would soon meet again. - -And they had met again and again until one evening they found themselves -alone in an anteroom to the apartment where a musical programme -was being performed at a great house. Then he had told her that his -happiness depended on her returning the love which he bore her; and -startled though she had been, yet when he took her hand all her shyness -seemed to vanish and she confessed.... - -A sound behind her only served to make her memory seem more vivid, for -it was his voice that reached her ear and it was singing the same aria -that he had come from singing on that evening--the passionate -“_Lascia ch'io pianga_” of Handel. Once more she was listening to -the strains--they came from one of the rooms that opened upon the -terrace--and now the chords of the accompaniment were struck with a -vehemence that had been absent from her father's playing to Rauzzini's -singing upon that occasion. - -She listened as if in a dream while the noble, despairing strain went on -to its close, and the melody sobbed itself into silence--a silence -that the birds among the roses seemed unwilling to break, for only an -occasional note of a thrush was in the air.... - -She heard the sound of the door opening a little way down the -terrace--of a foot upon the flagged path. She did not raise her head, -but she knew that he was there--only a few yards away from her. - -Through the silence there came the cawing of rooks far away among the -trees of the park. - -Then all at once she heard his sudden exclamation of surprise. He had -not seen her at first; he saw her now. - -“_Dio mio! ella è qui!_” - -Still she did not turn her head toward him. More than a minute had -passed before she heard his slow steps as he approached her. He was -beside her for quite as long before he spoke. - -“I did not know that you were here,” he said in a low voice. “But I am -glad. It is but right that I should say good-bye to you alone.” - -Then she looked up. - -“Why--why--why?” she cried almost piteously. “Why should you say -good-bye? What has made the change in you?” - -“It is not I who have changed: it is you,” said he. “I loved the sweet, -modest, untarnished jewel of a girl--a pearl hidden away from the sight -of men in a dim sea-cave--a violet--ah, I told you how I loved the -violet that hides itself from every eye--that was what you were when -I loved you, and I hoped to return to your side and find you the same. -Well, I return and--ah, where is the exquisite shrinking one that I -looked for? Gone--gone--gone for ever, and in her place I find one whose -name is in every mouth--not a soft, gentle girl, but a woman who has put -her heart into a book--_Dio mio!_ A woman who puts her heart into a -book is like a woman who disrobes in a public place--worse--worse--she -exposes a heart that should be sacred--feelings that it would be a gross -indelicacy to exhibit to the eyes of man!” - -“And that is how you think of me on account of what I have done?” said -she. - -“How can I think anything else?” he cried. “I told you that I loved you -because you were so unlike others--because you were like a child for -timidity and innocence of the world. I told you on that last evening we -were together how greatly I admired the act of Miss Linley in turning -her back upon the platform where she had sung and vowing never to -return to it--that was what I told you I loved--I who have seen how -the nature--the womanly charm of every woman suffers by reason of her -appealing to the public for money--for applause. That beautiful creature -forsook the platform before it was too late--before the evil influence -could work her ruin. But you--what do I hear the day I return to -England?--you have put your heart--your soul, into a book that causes -your name to be tossed about from mouth to mouth--Fanny Burney--Fanny -Burney--Fanny Burney--I hear that name, which I regarded as sacred, -spoken as freely as men speak the name of their Kitty Fisher--their -Polly Kennedy--their Fanny Abington! These are public characters--so -are you--oh, my God! so are you. You should have heard how you were -discussed in that room behind us before you arrived to-day--that -gross man Johnson--he called you by a dozen pet names as if he had a -right--'Fan'--'Fannikin'--I know not what--' a shy rogue '--that was -another! They laughed! They did not see the degradation of it. You were -a toy of the public--the vulgar crowd! Ah, you saw how that gross man, -who fed himself as a wolf, tucked you under his arm and the others only -smiled! Oh, I was shocked--shocked!” - -“And I felt proud--prouder than I have felt in my life,” said she. “But -now I see what I have lost--forfeited. Listen to me and I will tell -you what my dream was. I had written that book, but I had no hope of -printing it until I met you and heard from your lips--all that I heard.” - -“It was the truth--then: I loved you--then.” - -“I knew that it was the truth. But who was I that I should be beloved by -you? I felt that it would be unendurable to me to hear people refer -to us--as I knew they would--the great singer who had stooped to a -nonentity.” - -“Ah! that was the charm!” - -“Who except you would have said so? I knew what they would say, and I -made up my mind that I would not go to you except as an equal. I wanted -you to marry someone of whom you would feel proud, and I thought that -I had a little gift which I would lay at your feet. I did my best to -perfect it for your sake; but even when the book was printed I would not -give you my promise until I had assured myself that the gift would be -pronounced worthy of your acceptance. That was why I put you off for so -many months.” - -“Ah, that was your mystery--you called it a mystery.” - -“That was my secret--my mystery. Never mind; I thought that my hope was -realized when everyone about me was talking of the book and when people -whose opinion was valuable had said it was good--my one thought, God -knows, was that I could go to you--that I could make you happy, since I -should be thought by the world to be in some measure at least, worthy of -you.” - -“My poor child! you have not made me happy, but miserable. No one can -make me happy now. I do not love you now--you are a different person -now, and you can never return to be what you were. That is the worst of -all: you can never return to your former innocence.” - -“I can bear to hear you say even that; for now I perceive the mistake I -made. I should not have thought of the difference between us: I should -only have had one thought--that you had offered me your love and that I -was ready to offer you my love. That should have been enough for me. You -were right, I was wrong. Good-bye.” - -He looked at her for a few moments--tears were in his eyes and on his -cheeks--then he turned away with a passionate gesture, crying in his -native tongue: - -“Mother--mother in heaven! I loved her because she was of a nature the -same as yours--saint-like as a lily--shrinking from the world--in the -world but having nothing in common with the world. I loved her because -I thought that she was as you were. I will not be a traitor to your -ideal--to your memory.” - -He returned to her. - -“I am alone in the world; but I know that the spirit of that saint, -my mother, looks down upon me from her heaven, and will comfort me. My -heart is broken. _Addio! Addio!_ I do not mean to be cruel--tell me that -you do not accuse me of being cruel!” - -“I do not accuse you. I think I understand you--that is all.” - -“_Addio--addio--addio!_” - -The sound of his voice grew less with every word. - -She was alone in the silence of the twilight. - -Not for long, however. She heard the voice of Mrs. Thrale in the room -behind her, followed by the protests of Dr. Johnson. - -“Miss Burney and I want to have an undisturbed talk together about -writing books,” Mrs. Thrale was saying as she came out upon the terrace. - -“Books, madam; any fool can talk of books, and a good many fools avail -themselves of the licence,” cried Johnson. “Miss Burney and I are going -to talk about life. Books are not life, Miss Burney.” - -“No, sir,” said Miss Burney slowly; “books are not life--books are not -life.” - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - -***** This file should be named 51922-0.txt or 51922-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/2/51922/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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