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Gives an explanation of the former, with other particulars, more agreeable to the reader in the repetition, than to the persons concerned in them

It was near ten o'clock when Miss Betsy came home; and Mr. Goodman, who had been very uneasy at her staying out so late, especially as she was alone, was equally rejoiced at her return; but, as well as Lady Mellasin, was surprized on hearing by what accident she had been detained—they knew not how to judge of it—there was no circumstance in the whole affair which could make them think Mr. Bloomacre had any designs of the sort Lord —— had suggested: yet did Mr. Goodman think himself obliged, as the young lady's guardian, to go to that gentleman, and have some talk with him concerning what had passed. Accordingly, he went the next morning to his house; but, not finding him at home, left word with his servant that he desired to speak with him as soon as possible: he came not, however, the whole day, nor sent any message to excuse his not doing so; and this neglect gave Mr. Goodman, and Miss Betsy herself, some room to suspect he was no less guilty than he had been represented, since had he been perfectly innocent, it seemed reasonable to them to think he would have come, even of his own accord, to have learned of Miss Betsy the motive of her leaving him in so abrupt and odd a manner—but how much they wronged him will presently appear, and they were afterwards convinced.

There was an implacable animosity between Lord —— and Mr. Bloomacre, on account of the former's pretending a right to some lands which the other held, and could not be dispossessed of by law. As his lordship knew Mr. Bloomacre was not of a disposition to bear an affront tamely, he had no other way to vent his spleen against him, than by villifying and traducing him in all companies he came into; but this he took care to do in so artful a manner, as to be enabled either to evade, or render what he said impossible to be proved, in case he were called to an account for it.

The affair of Miss Betsy, innocent as it was, he thought gave him an excellent opportunity of gratifying his malice: he went early the next morning to the dean, complained of an insult offered to his house by Mr. Bloomacre, on the score of his sister having brought in a young lady, whom that gentleman had detained in the cloisters, and was going to carry off, by the assistance of some friends he had with him, in a hackney-coach.

The dean, who was also a bishop, was extremely incensed, as well he might, at so glaring a profanation of that sacred place; and the moment Lord —— had taken his leave, sent for Mr. Bloomacre to come to him. That gentleman immediately obeying the summons, the bishop began to reprimand him in terms, which the occasion seemed to require from a person of his function and authority: Mr. Bloomacre could not forbear interrupting him, though with the greatest respect, saying nothing could be more false and base, than such an accusation; that whoever had given such an information was a villain, and merited to be used as such. The prelate, seeing him in this heat, would not mention the name of his accuser; but replied coolly, that it was possible he might be wronged; but to convince him that he was so, he must relate to him the whole truth of the story, and on what grounds a conjecture so much to the disadvantage of his reputation had been formed. On which Mr. Bloomacre repeated every thing that had passed; and added, that he was well acquainted with the family where the young lady was boarded, and that he was certain she would appear in person to justify him in this point, if his lordship thought it proper. 'But,' said the bishop, 'I hear you affronted the Lord ——, by thundering at his door, and abusing his servants.'—'No, my lord,' answered Mr. Bloomacre, 'Lord ——, though far from being my friend, will not dare to alledge any such thing against me. We were, indeed, a little surprized to see the young lady, who was with us, snatched away in so odd a fashion by his sister, who we easily perceived had not the least acquaintance with her. We continued walking, however, in the cloister, till the man whom we had sent for a coach returned, and told us he had got one, and that it waited at the gate. We then, indeed, knocked at Lord ——'s door; and being answered from the windows by the servants, in a very impertinent manner, I believe we might utter some words not very respectful either of his lordship or his sister, whose behaviour in this affair I am as yet entirely ignorant how to account for.'

The bishop paused a considerable time; but on Mr. Bloomacre's repeating what he had said before, concerning bringing the young lady herself to vouch the truth of what he had related to his lordship, replied, that there was no occasion for troubling either her or himself any farther; that he believed there had been some mistake in the business, and that he should think no more of it: on which Mr. Bloomacre took his leave.

Though the bishop had not mentioned the name of Lord —— to Mr. Bloomacre, as the person who had brought this complaint against him, yet he was very certain, by all circumstances, that he could be indebted to no other for such a piece of low malice; and this, joined to some other provocations he had received from the ill-will of that nobleman, made him resolve to do himself justice.

He went directly from the deanry in search of the two gentlemen who had been with him in the Abbey when he happened to meet Miss Betsy; and, having found them both, they went to a tavern together, in order to consult on what was proper to be done, for the chastisement of Lord ——'s folly and ill-nature.

Both of them agreed with Mr. Bloomacre, that he ought to demand that satisfaction which every gentleman has a right to expect from any one who has injured him, of what degree soever he be, excepting those of royal blood. Each of them was so eager to be his second in this affair, that they were obliged to draw lots for the determination of the choice: he who had the ill-luck, as he called it, to draw the shortest cut, would needs oblige them to let him be the bearer of the challenge, that he might at least have some share in inflicting the punishment, which the behaviour of that unworthy lord so justly merited.

The challenge was wrote—the place appointed for meeting was the field behind Montague House: but the gentleman who carried it, brought no answer back; his lordship telling him only that he would consider on the matter, and let Mr. Bloomacre know his intentions.

Mr. Bloomacre, as the principal, and the other as his second, were so enraged at this, that the latter resolved to go himself, and force a more categorical answer. He did so; and Lord —— having had time to consult his brother, and, as it is said, some other friends, told him he accepted the challenge, and would be ready with his second at the time and place appointed in it.

Mr. Bloomacre did not go home that whole day, therefore knew nothing of the message that had been left for him by Mr. Goodman, till it was too late to comply with it; but this seeming remissness in him was not all that troubled the mind of that open and honest-hearted guardian of Miss Betsy. Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple had both been at his house the day before: the former, on hearing his mistress was abroad, left only his compliments, and went away, though very much pressed to come in by Miss Flora, who seeing him through the parlour-window, ran to the door herself, and intreated he would pass the evening there. Mr. Staple came the moment after, and met his rival coming down the steps that led up to the door; Mr. Trueworth saluted him, in passing, with the usual complaisance, which the other returned in a very cool manner, and knocked hastily at the door. 'I imagine,' said he to the footman who opened it, 'that Miss Betsy is not at home, by that gentleman's having so early taken leave: but I would speak with Mr. Goodman, if he be at leisure.'

He was then shewed into the back-parlour, which was the room where Mr. Goodman generally received those persons who came to him upon business. On hearing who it was that asked for him, he was a little surprized, and desired he would walk up stairs: but Mr. Staple not knowing but there might be company above, returned for answer, that he had no more than a word or two to say to him, and that must be in private; on which the other immediately came down to him.

This young lover having by accident been informed, not only that Mr. Trueworth made his addresses to Miss Betsy, but also that it was with him she had been engaged during all that time he had been deprived of seeing her, thought it proper to talk with Mr. Goodman concerning this new obstacle to his wishes. That worthy gentleman was extremely troubled to be questioned on an affair, on which he had given Miss Betsy his word not to interfere: but finding himself very much pressed by a person whose passion he had encouraged, and who was the son of one with whom he had lived in a long friendship, he frankly confessed to him that Mr. Trueworth was indeed recommended to Miss Betsy by her brother; told him he was sorry the thing had happened so, but had nothing farther to do with it; that the young lady was at her own disposal, as to the article of marriage; that he was ignorant how she would determine; and that it must be from herself alone he could learn what it was he might expect or hope.

Mr. Staple received little satisfaction from what Mr. Goodman had said; but resolved to take his advice, and, if possible, bring Miss Betsy to some eclaircissement of the fate he was to hope or fear. Accordingly, he came the next morning to visit her; a liberty he had never taken, nor would now, if he had not despaired of finding her in the afternoon.

She gave herself, however, no airs of resentment on that account: but when he began to testify his discontent concerning Mr. Trueworth, and the apprehensions he had of his having gained the preference in her heart, though the last who had solicited that happiness, she replied, in the most haughty tones, that she was surprized at the freedom he took with her; that she was, and ever would be, mistress of her actions and sentiments, and no man had a right to pry into either; and concluded with saying, that she was sorry the civilities she had treated him with, should make him imagine he had a privilege of finding fault with those she shewed to others.

It is not to be doubted but that he made use of all the arguments in his power to convince her, that a true and perfect passion was never unaccompanied with jealous fears. He acknowledged the merits of Mr. Trueworth: 'But,' added he, 'the more he is possessed of, the more dangerous he is to my hopes.' And then begged her to consider the torments he had suffered, while being so long deprived of her presence, and knowing, at the same time, a rival was blessed with it.

Miss Betsy was not at this time in a humour either to be persuaded by the reasons, or softened by the submissions, of her lover: and poor Mr. Staple, after having urged all that love, wit, despair, and grief, could dictate, was obliged to depart more dissatisfied than he came.

In going out he saw Mr. Goodman in the parlour, who gave him the 'Good morning!' as he passed. 'A sad one it has been to me,' answered he, with somewhat of horror in his countenance: 'but I will not endure the rack of many such.' With these words he flung out of the house, in order to go about what, perhaps, the reader is not at a loss to guess at.