In which the thirteenth book is concluded.
The elegant Lord Shaftesbury somewhere objects to telling too much
truth: by which it may be fairly inferred, that, in some cases, to lie
is not only excusable but commendable.
And surely there are no persons who may so properly challenge a right
to this commendable deviation from truth, as young women in the affair
of love; for which they may plead precept, education, and above all,
the sanction, nay, I may say the necessity of custom, by which they
are restrained, not from submitting to the honest impulses of nature
(for that would be a foolish prohibition), but from owning them.
We are not, therefore, ashamed to say, that our heroine now pursued
the dictates of the above-mentioned right honourable philosopher. As
she was perfectly satisfied then, that Lady Bellaston was ignorant of
the person of Jones, so she determined to keep her in that ignorance,
though at the expense of a little fibbing.
Jones had not been long gone, before Lady Bellaston cryed, “Upon my
word, a good pretty young fellow; I wonder who he is; for I don't
remember ever to have seen his face before.”
“Nor I neither, madam,” cries Sophia. “I must say he behaved very
handsomely in relation to my note.”
“Yes; and he is a very handsome fellow,” said the lady: “don't you
think so?”
“I did not take much notice of him,” answered Sophia, “but I thought
he seemed rather awkward, and ungenteel than otherwise.”
“You are extremely right,” cries Lady Bellaston: “you may see, by his
manner, that he hath not kept good company. Nay, notwithstanding his
returning your note, and refusing the reward, I almost question
whether he is a gentleman.----I have always observed there is a
something in persons well born, which others can never acquire.----I
think I will give orders not to be at home to him.”
“Nay, sure, madam,” answered Sophia, “one can't suspect after what he
hath done;--besides, if your ladyship observed him, there was an
elegance in his discourse, a delicacy, a prettiness of expression
that, that----”
“I confess,” said Lady Bellaston, “the fellow hath words----And
indeed, Sophia, you must forgive me, indeed you must.”
“I forgive your ladyship!” said Sophia.
“Yes, indeed you must,” answered she, laughing; “for I had a horrible
suspicion when I first came into the room----I vow you must forgive
it; but I suspected it was Mr Jones himself.”
“Did your ladyship, indeed?” cries Sophia, blushing, and affecting a
laugh.
“Yes, I vow I did,” answered she. “I can't imagine what put it into my
head: for, give the fellow his due, he was genteely drest; which, I
think, dear Sophy, is not commonly the case with your friend.”
“This raillery,” cries Sophia, “is a little cruel, Lady Bellaston,
after my promise to your ladyship.”
“Not at all, child,” said the lady;----“It would have been cruel
before; but after you have promised me never to marry without your
father's consent, in which you know is implied your giving up Jones,
sure you can bear a little raillery on a passion which was pardonable
enough in a young girl in the country, and of which you tell me you
have so entirely got the better. What must I think, my dear Sophy, if
you cannot bear a little ridicule even on his dress? I shall begin to
fear you are very far gone indeed; and almost question whether you
have dealt ingenuously with me.”
“Indeed, madam,” cries Sophia, “your ladyship mistakes me, if you
imagine I had any concern on his account.”
“On his account!” answered the lady: “You must have mistaken me; I
went no farther than his dress;----for I would not injure your taste
by any other comparison--I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if your Mr
Jones had been such a fellow as this--”
“I thought,” says Sophia, “your ladyship had allowed him to be
handsome”----
“Whom, pray?” cried the lady hastily.
“Mr Jones,” answered Sophia;--and immediately recollecting herself,
“Mr Jones!--no, no; I ask your pardon;--I mean the gentleman who was
just now here.”
“O Sophy! Sophy!” cries the lady; “this Mr Jones, I am afraid, still
runs in your head.”
“Then, upon my honour, madam,” said Sophia, “Mr Jones is as entirely
indifferent to me, as the gentleman who just now left us.”
“Upon my honour,” said Lady Bellaston, “I believe it. Forgive me,
therefore, a little innocent raillery; but I promise you I will never
mention his name any more.”
And now the two ladies separated, infinitely more to the delight of
Sophia than of Lady Bellaston, who would willingly have tormented her
rival a little longer, had not business of more importance called her
away. As for Sophia, her mind was not perfectly easy under this first
practice of deceit; upon which, when she retired to her chamber, she
reflected with the highest uneasiness and conscious shame. Nor could
the peculiar hardship of her situation, and the necessity of the case,
at all reconcile her mind to her conduct; for the frame of her mind
was too delicate to bear the thought of having been guilty of a
falsehood, however qualified by circumstances. Nor did this thought
once suffer her to close her eyes during the whole succeeding night.