Which contains a curious dialogue between the earl and the citizen.
Miss Cordwain, who in the notice lord B—— took of Henrietta, found matter sufficient for jealousy and uneasiness, entertained the most injurious suspicions, when she heard her woman’s sudden resolution to return to London; and having driven her from her presence with a torrent of abusive language, vented her rage in tears as soon as she was gone.
She reproached herself with her folly, in dismissing her so readily; when, by obliging her to stay, she might have guessed her designs, or at least have obtained a more certain knowledge of them.
Her mischievous imagination being now upon the stretch to find some expedient for protracting her departure, at last presented her with one which she resolved to make use of.
She hid a diamond bracelet; and then rung her bell for Henrietta, with an intention to tell her, that she could not find it, and insist upon her producing it before she left the earl’s.
Mrs. Smith, who was that moment passing by her apartment, and knew that Henrietta was not in the way, stepped in to know what she wanted. Miss Cordwain asked for her maid, and, being told that she was walking in the garden, hastened thither immediately, not more delighted with the opportunity she now had of putting a stop to her journey, than of affronting her with the suspicion of theft.
As she descended the terrace, her eyes were blasted with the sight of her maid at a distance in earnest discourse with her lover.
At this confirmation of her suspicions, she ran back like a fury into the house, and meeting her father, who had just left the earl in his dressing-room, told him, that they were invited only to be affronted: that Henrietta was lord B——’s mistress; that he had taken her out of her service; and that she was going back to London that very night, at his request.
The old man, without staying to enquire farther, or reflecting upon the extreme improbability of this story, swore that never a lord in the land should use his daughter ill, and strode back to the earl’s apartment, while miss Cordwain retired to her own, meditating vengeance on those that had so cruelly injured her.
Mr. Cordwain, who had promised himself to speak to the earl in very high terms, was no sooner in his presence than he sunk into that littleness, which meer monied men are so conscious of, with persons of birth and politeness. However, he assumed courage enough to tell his lordship, that he had something to say to him in private.
The earl, observing that his features were ruffled, was a little surprised; but dismissed his gentleman immediately, though he was not quite dressed, and then, with a complaisant smile, desired the citizen to let him know his commands.
“I am a plain man, my lord,” said Mr. Cordwain, “I don’t understand fine compliments and breeding, though I don’t want for manners neither; and I am sure I have always been very civil to your lordship; and I did not expect that your lordship would have invited my girl and I here to scoff at us. My lord, I can give my girl forty thousand pounds, which is what few lords can say, let me tell you that; and withal I am an honest man, tho’ I have forty thousand pounds more in my pocket perhaps: but no matter for that, I am not proud of my riches.”
“Mr. Cordwain,” said his lordship, (wondering to what this eloquent harangue tended) “I hope nothing has happened to give you any disgust; upon my honour I have the highest esteem for you, and I think I give a proof of it, by being so desirous of your alliance; but I am at a loss to comprehend your meaning, when you talk of my having invited you and your daughter here to affront you. Miss Cordwain is a most accomplished young lady, and my son has too much judgment not to be as sensible as he ought of her merits.”
“Indeed,” interrupted Mr. Cordwain, “my daughter is in my eye a very comely young woman; and I will never give her to any man, though he were a duke or a prince, that would keep a mistress under her nose, as one may say.”
“You astonish me, Mr. Cordwain,” replied his lordship; “have you any reason to suspect that my son is a libertine?”
“My lord,” returned Mr. Cordwain, “I am no scholar, I don’t understand hard words; I have had learning enough to scrape a few thousands together, and that is sufficient for me. Your lordship’s son may be a libertine for what I can tell, that’s neither here nor there; but I am sure he is a terrible rake: and what tender father,” pursued he, almost in tears, “would marry his child to a rake, to have all the fruits of his toil and labour, for thirty years and upwards, squandered away upon lewd women?”
“Sure! Mr. Cordwain,” interrupted his lordship, with a sterner accent, “you do not imagine my son capable of acting so dishonourably: his principles, Mr. Cordwain—”
“Nay, nay, my lord,” resumed the citizen, “I have nothing to say against his principles; he is no Jacobite,10 I dare engage: but he is a rake, my lord, that is my objection to him, and rakes are very bad husbands.”
“My son,” said the peer, “may have had some youthful follies; but I am sure miss Cordwain’s beauty and good sense will fix his heart.”
“And does your lordship really think my girl a beauty?” said the fond father, his eyes glistening with pleasure. “Indeed I always thought so; but fathers, my lord, are apt to be partial.”
“She is both beautiful and witty,” replied his lordship, who found every excellence in forty thousand pounds.
“Nay, as for her wit,” said Mr. Cordwain, “I am the best judge of that, who have seen her growing up under my eye. She took her learning surprisingly, my lord, and by the time she was ten years old, she had read her Psalter quite through. Would it not grieve one then (continued he) to part with such a girl as this to one that will slight her, and keep mistresses?”
“Do me the favour, Mr. Cordwain,” said his lordship, “to acquaint me with your reasons for suspecting that my son will keep a mistress, though he should be so happy as to have miss Cordwain for a wife?”
“Why, you must know, my lord,” replied the citizen, looking extremely wise, “that I have made a discovery; and your son is actually carrying on an intrigue with my daughter’s maid.”
“Sure this must be some mistake,” cried the peer.
“No, no, my lord,” answered Cordwain, “it is no mistake, I am very sure of it.”
“And you have discovered this intrigue, you say,” resumed his lordship: “pray when, and by what means, did you discover it?”
“About half an hour ago,” replied Mr. Cordwain; “my daughter told me of it.”
“Oh! then it was your daughter that discovered it,” said his lordship, smiling a little at the old man’s absurdity.
“Ay, ay, my lord,” cried he, construing that smile into an acknowledgment of his daughter’s sagacity. “I told your lordship she did not want for wit.”
“But miss Cordwain is certainly mistaken now,” said the peer; “this is some pretty frowardness,11 a love-quarrel; depend upon it we shall find it so: however, I will talk to my son, and I’ll engage the countess to discourse your daughter upon this matter. Come, Mr. Cordwain, we who are the parents of these young people know their true interest better than they do, and must endeavour to make up this little breach between them. I will make an end of dressing,” pursued his lordship, bowing low to the cit, “and join you in the garden a quarter of an hour hence, when I hope to clear up this affair to your satisfaction.”
Mr. Cordwain immediately withdrew; and the peer having stepped to his lady’s apartment to acquaint her with this strange story, left it to her to manage miss Cordwain, and went in quest of his son, who, when Henrietta left him, had retired to his study, and was revolving in his mind a scheme, which, by reconciling his interest to his love, would gratify all his wishes.