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Is yet more interesting than the former

Any one may judge what a heart, possessed of so sincere and honourable a flame as that of Mr. Trueworth's, must feel, to see the beloved object so intimate with a common prostitute: it shall suffice, therefore, to say, that his anxieties were such as prevented him from being able to recover himself enough to speak to Miss Betsy on that subject as he would do. He forbore mentioning it at all, and said very little to her on any other, while they were in the coach: and, having seen her safe into Mr. Goodman's house, took his leave, and went home; where he passed a night of more vexation than he ever had before experienced.

Fain would he have found some excuse for Miss Betsy's conduct in this point; fain would he have believed her as innocent as she was lovely; but could not tell how to conceive there was a possibility for true virtue to take delight in the company of vice: but, were there even such a thing in nature, the shew of encouraging an infamous action he knew not how to brook in a woman he intended to make his wife.

He now acknowledged the justice of his aunt's remonstrances; and, by what the levity of Miss Betsy made him at present endure, foresaw what his honour and peace of mind must hereafter continually endure if he should once become a husband. Never were thoughts so divided, so fluctuating, as his! His good understanding, and jealousy of honour, convinced him there could be no lasting happiness with a person of Miss Betsy's temper; but then the passion he had for her, flattered him with the hopes, that as all the faults she was guilty of, sprung rather from want of consideration than design, she might be reasoned out of them, when once he had gained so far upon her affections, as to find he might take the liberty of painting them to her in their proper colours.

He often asked himself the question, whether he could be able to break with her or not; and finding, by the pangs which the very idea of an utter separation inflicted on him, that he could not, had no other measures to take than to submit with patience—to appear satisfied with every thing that pleased her—and to contrive all the methods he could, without her perceiving he did so, of stealing, by gentle degrees, into her mind, a disrelish of such things as were unbecoming in her.

He had but just rose from a bed which that night had afforded him but little repose; when he was told Sir Bazil Loveit, to whom he had given his directions the day before, was come to wait upon him. Mr. Trueworth was very glad of it, being impatient to undeceive him in the opinion he found he had entertained of Miss Betsy. They had not been three minutes together before the other gave him an opportunity, by some facetious interrogatories concerning the transactions of the past night; and, among the rest, after looking round the room, asked how he had disposed of his pretty Betsy. To all which Mr. Trueworth replied, with a very serious air, 'Sir Bazil, though I must own there are many appearances to justify your mistake, yet I hope my word and honour will out-balance them. I do assure you, Sir, that lady, whom you think and speak so lightly of, is a woman of fortune, family, and reputation.'—'I am sorry, then,' said Sir Bazil, very much surprized, 'I treated her in the manner I did. My Nancy, indeed,' continued he, meaning Miss Forward, 'told me she was virtuous, but I did not regard what she said on that score; I know it is a trick among them to set off one another, to draw in us men. But, pr'ythee, dear Charles, are you in earnest?' Mr. Trueworth, then, after having made a second asseveration that he was sincere in what he said, proceeded to give him some account of Miss Betsy's family, circumstances, and manner of life; adding, that nothing could be more surprizing to him, than to have met her in that place. 'But,' said he, 'she must certainly be unacquainted with the character of the woman she came to visit.'

'Such a thing might possibly happen,' replied Sir Bazil, 'and I think you would do well to give her a hint of it.'—'Doubtless,' cried the other; 'I am doubly bound to do so; first, by my own honour; and, next, by the friendship I have for some of her kindred.' No farther discourse passed between them on this score; and the remaining time they were together being taken up on matters altogether foreign to the business of this history, there is no occasion for making any mention of it.

Sir Bazil staid so long, that when he had taken his leave, it was too late for Mr. Trueworth to make a morning visit to Miss Betsy, as he intended to have done, so was obliged to defer it till the afternoon; though, since his first acquaintance with her, he had never felt more impatience to see her.

As he had much in his head to say to her on the subject of the preceding day, he went as soon as he thought dinner was entirely over at Mr. Goodman's, in order to have an opportunity of talking with her before any other company came in. She was then in her chamber, dressing; but he waited not long before she came down, and appeared more lovely and dazzling in his eyes than ever. This happened to be the first day of her putting on a very rich and extremely well-fancied gown; and, either because it was more becoming than any of those he had seen her in before, or because of the pleasure ladies of her age and humour generally feel on such occasions, a more than usual brightness shone in her eyes, and was diffused through all her air; and, after having made her some compliments on the elegance of her taste in dress, 'I suppose, Madam,' said he, 'thus set forth, and equipped for conquest, you do not mean to stay at home this evening?'—'No, indeed,' replied she; 'I am told there is a new tragedy to be acted to-night at Lincoln's Inn Fields, and I would not for the world miss the first night of a new play.'

On this, Mr. Trueworth asked if he might have leave to wait upon her there. 'With all my heart,' answered she. 'None of the gentlemen of my acquaintance know any thing of my going, so could not offer to gallant me; and there is only one lady goes with me.'—'Miss Mabel, I guess?' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'No,' answered Miss Betsy; 'she is engaged to the other house to-night; so I sent to desire the favour of that lady you saw me with last night to give me her company.'

'You will have more, if you have hers, I doubt not,' said he: 'but sure, Madam, you cannot think of being seen with a woman of her fame, in a place so publick as the play-house!' Miss Betsy was astonished to hear him speak in this manner; and demanded of him, in somewhat of a haughty tone, what it was he meant. 'First, Madam,' resumed Mr. Trueworth, 'give me leave to ask you how long since, and by what accident, your intimacy with this woman commenced?'—'Though your interrogatories,' replied she, 'are made in such a manner as might well excuse me from answering them, yet, for once, I may give you the satisfaction you desire. Miss Forward and I were together at the boarding-school; we mutually took a liking to each other, (I believe from a parity of humours and inclinations;) and, since her coming to London, have renewed that friendship we began in our more tender years.'

'Friendships begun in childhood, Madam,' answered he, with a very grave air, 'ought to be continued or broke off, according as the parties persevere in innocence, or degenerate into vice and infamy. This caution ought to be more peculiarly observed in persons of your sex, as reputation in you, once lost, is never to be retrieved. Remember, Madam, what your favourite author, Mr. Rowe, says on this occasion—

"In vain with tears her loss she may deplore;

In vain look back to what she was before;

She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more."'

Miss Betsy was so piqued at these remonstrances, that she had scarce patience to contain herself till he had given over speaking. 'Good lack!' cried she, 'how sententious you are grown! But, I hope, you have not the insolence to imagine I am guilty of any thing that might justly call my reputation in question?'—'No, Madam,' replied he; 'far be it from me to suspect you of any thoughts but such as might become the purity of angels. But the more bright you are, the more we should lament to see the native lustre of your mind clouded and blemished by the faults of others. Permit me, Madam, to tell you, that to continue an intimacy with a woman of Miss Forward's character, must infallibly draw you into conveniences, which you want but to foresee to tremble at.'

'If you have the affection for me you pretend,' said she, haughtily, 'and could see the aversion I have to a censorious temper, it is yourself would have cause to tremble. I love Miss Forward, and neither know, nor will believe, any ill of her. Whenever I am convinced that she is unworthy of my friendship, it must be by her own actions, not by the report of others. Therefore, Mr. Trueworth, if you desire to continue on good terms with me, you must forbear to interfere with what company I keep, nor pretend to prescribe rules for my conduct, at least, till you have more right to do so.'

'I shall never, Madam, presume to prescribe,' replied he; 'but shall always think it my duty to advise you in a matter which so nearly concerns not only yourself, but all who have any relation to you, either by blood or affection.' Though these words, as well as all he had said on this occasion, were uttered in the most respectful accents, yet Miss Betsy, who was not able to imagine the least contradiction suited with the character of a lover, was offended beyond all measure. She frowned—she rose hastily from her chair—walked about the room in a disordered motion—told him, the nature of the acquaintance between them did not authorize the liberties he took—that she would not bear it—and desired that he would either leave her, or change the conversation to somewhat more agreeable.

Mr. Trueworth, who as yet had said little, in comparison with what he intended to say on this subject, was so much shocked at the impossibility he found of engaging her attention, that for some time he was incapable of speaking one word. During this pause, a servant presented a letter to Miss Betsy. 'O!' cried she, as soon as she looked on the superscription, 'it is from my dear Miss Forward. I hope nothing has happened to prevent her going with me to the play.' She made this exclamation merely to vex Mr. Trueworth; and, for that purpose also read the billet loud enough for him to hear what it contained, which was as follows.

'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

My dear Miss Betsy,

Since I received your message, I got a person to secure places for us in the box; so we need not go till six o'clock: but I am quite alone; and, if you are disengaged, should be glad you would come directly to her, who is ever, with the most perfect amity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very much obliged, and humble servant,

A. Forward.'

'Bid the messenger,' said Miss Betsy to the servant, 'tell the lady that I will wait upon her this moment; and then call me a chair.—I must comply with the summons I have just received,' said she, turning to Mr. Trueworth; 'so you must excuse my leaving you; for I will not strain your complaisance to accompany me where I am going: but shall be glad to see you when you are in a better humour.'

'I am ready, Madam, to attend you any where,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'even to Miss Forward's; and will pass the whole evening with you, if you please, in her apartment: but, I beseech you, do not think of going to the play with a woman of her class; do not expose yourself in a place where so many eyes will be upon you. Reflect, for Heaven's sake, what your modesty will suffer, in seeing yourself gazed and pointed at by those to whom she sells her favours! and reflect yet farther, what they will judge of you!'—'You grow scurrilous, Sir!' cried she, ready to burst with passion; 'I will hear no more.' Then, running to the door, asked if the chair was come; and, being told it was, 'Farewel, Sir,' said she, as she was going into it; 'when I want a spy to inspect, or a governor to direct my actions, the choice may perhaps fall on you.'

Mr. Trueworth, who, at this treatment, was not quite master of himself, retorted with some warmth, and loud enough to be heard by her, as the chairmen were carrying her to the steps of the house, 'The choice, Madam, perhaps, may not be yours to make.' With these words he went hastily away, half resolving in his mind never to see her more.