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Is of very small importance, yet contains such things as the reader may expect to hear

While Mr. Trueworth was employing himself in exploring the truth of Miss Betsy's imaginary crime, and hunting after secrets to render her more unworthy of his love, that young lady's head was no less taken up with him, though in a widely different manner; she wanted not a just sense of the merits, both of his person and passion; and though a plurality of lovers, the power of flattering the timid with vain hopes, and awing the proudest into submission, seemed to her a greater triumph than to be the wife of the most deserving man on earth, yet when she consulted her heart, she found, and avowed within herself, she could part with the triumph with less reluctance in favour of Mr. Trueworth than of any other she yet had seen.

His absence, therefore, and the strange neglect he testified in not sending to acquaint her with the cause, gave her as much inquietude as a person of her humour could be capable of feeling; but whether it proceeded in reality from the first shootings of a growing inclination, or from that vanity which made her dread the loss of so accomplished a lover, cannot be easily determined: but to which soever of these causes it was owing, I think we may be pretty certain, that had he visited her in the situation her mind then was, he would have had no reason to complain of his reception.

She never went abroad without flattering herself with the expectation of hearing, on her return home, that he had been there, or at least that some letter or message from him had been left for her; and every disappointment involved her in fresh perplexity. In short, if she had considered him with half that just regard, while he continued to think her worthy of his affections, as she was beginning to do when he was endeavouring to drive all favourable ideas of her from his mind, they might both have been as happy as at present they were the contrary.

She had been with Miss Mabel, and two other ladies of her acquaintance, to see that excellent comedy, called the Careless Husband: she was very much affected with some scenes in it; she imagined she saw herself in the character of Lady Betty Modish, and Mr. Trueworth in that of Lord Morelove; and came home full of the most serious reflections on the folly of indulging an idle vanity, at the expence of a man of honour and sincerity. She was no sooner within the doors, than the letter above-mentioned was put into her hands: as they told her it had been left for her in the beginning of the evening, by one of Mr. Trueworth's servants, and she knew, both by the superscription, and device on the seal, that it came from that gentleman, she ran hastily up stairs to her chamber, in order to examine the contents; but what flutterings seized her heart—what an universal agitation diffused itself through all her frame, on reading even the first lines of this cruel epistle! 'Good Heaven!' cried she, 'going out of town, not to return!' And then, proceeding a little farther; 'What,' added she, 'not see me before he goes! Sure the man is either mad, or I am in a dream.'

Surprize, and some mixture of a tender remorse, were the first emotions of her soul: but when she came to that part of the letter which seemed to reflect upon her conduct, and the way in which she chose to live, her native haughtiness re-assumed it's former power, and turned her all into disdain and rage. 'No retrospect,' said she, 'on my own behaviour, can ever justify the audacious reproaches he treats me with. If I have been to blame, it is not his province to upbraid me with it.'

As she was entirely ignorant of the base artifice that had been put in practice against her, and was conscious of no fault Mr. Trueworth had to accuse her of, but that of her going with Miss Forward to the play, after the warning he had given her of the danger, it must be confessed, she had a right to think the provocation too slight to draw from him such resentful expressions, much less to induce him to abandon her.

'Ungrateful man!' said she, bursting into tears of mingled grief and spite, 'to treat me thus, when I was just beginning to entertain the kindest thoughts of him! When I was ready to acknowledge the error I was guilty of, in not following his advice, and had resolved never to throw myself into such inconveniences again. 'Tis plain he never loved me, or he would not have taken so poor, so trifling, a pretence to break with me.'

Thus, for some moments, did she bewail, as it were, the ill-treatment she thought she had received from him. Then looking over the letter again, 'With what a magisterial air,' cried she, 'with what an affectation of superiority, does he conclude! "With the most friendly wishes, my humble servant!" Good lack! friendly! Let him carry his friendly wishes to those he may think will receive them as a favour!'

Upon revolving in her mind all the circumstances of her behaviour towards Mr. Trueworth, she could find nothing, except what passed at his last visit, that could give him any occasion of disgust, and even that she looked upon as a very insufficient plea for that high resentment he now expressed, much more for his resolving to throw off a passion he had a thousand and a thousand times vowed should be as lasting as his life.

The anonymous letter sent her by Miss Flora, some time since, now came fresh into her head; that passage in it which insinuated that Mr. Trueworth had no real design of marrying her, that he but trifled with her, and on the arrival of her brothers would find some pretence or other to break entirely with her, seemed now to tally exactly with his present manner of proceeding. 'The devil,' said she, 'may sometimes speak truth; Mr. Trueworth has but too well verified the words of that malicious girl; and what she herself then thought a falsehood is now confirmed by fact: yet, wherefore,' cried she, 'did he take all this pains; if he never loved me, never hoped any recompense for his dissimulation, what end could he propose by practicing it? What advantage, what pleasure, could it give him to affront the sister of his friend, and impose upon the credulity of a woman he had no design upon?' It would be endless to repeat the many contradictory surmizes which rose alternately in her distracted mind; so I shall only say, she sought, but the more she did so, the more she became incapable of fathoming, the bottom of this mysterious event.

The butler was laying the cloth in the parlour for supper when she came home; Mr. Goodman had waited for her some time, thinking she might be undressing, and now sent to desire she would come down: but she begged to be excused, said she could not eat, and then called for Nanny, who was the maid that usually attended her in her chamber, to come up and put her to bed.

This prating wench, who would always know the whole secrets of every body in the family, whether they thought fit to entrust her with them or not, used frequently to divert Miss Betsy with her idle stories: but it was not now in her power, that young lady had no attention for any thing but the object of her present meditations; which the other not happening to hit upon, was answered only with peevishness and ill-humour.

But as every little circumstance, if any was adapted to the passion we at that time are possessed of, touches upon the jarring string, and seems a missionary from fate, an accident, the most trifling that can be imagined, served to renew in Miss Betsy, the next morning, those anxieties which sleep had in some measure abated.

A ballad singer happening to be in the street, the first thing she heard, on her waking, was these words, sung in a sonorous voice, just under the window—

'Young Philander woo'd me long,

I was peevish, and forbade him;

I would not hear his charming song;

But now I wish, I wish I had him!'

Though this was a song at that time much in vogue, and Miss Betsy had casually heard it an hundred times; yet, in the humour she now was, it beat an alarm upon her heart. It reminded her how inconsiderate she had been, and shewed the folly of not knowing how to place a just value on any thing, till it was lost, in such strong colours before her eyes, as one could scarce think it possible an incident in itself so merely bagatelle could have produced.

Again she fell into very deep reveries; and, divesting herself of all passion, pride, and the prejudice her vanity had but too much inspired her with, she found, that though Mr. Trueworth had carried his resentment farther than became a man who loved to that degree he pretended to have done; yet she could no way justify herself to her brother Frank, Lady Trusty or any of those friends who had espoused his cause, for having given him the provocation.

To heighten the splenetick humour she was in, Mr. Goodman, who, having been taken up with his own affairs, had not mentioned Mr. Trueworth to her for some days, happened this morning, as they sat at breakfast, to ask her how the courtship of that gentleman went on, and whether there was like to be a wedding or not. Perceiving she blushed, hung down her head, and made no answer, 'Nay, nay,' said he, 'I told you long ago I would not interfere in these matters; and have less reason now than ever to do so, as your eldest brother is in town, and who is doubtless capable of advising you for the best.' Miss Betsy was in a good deal of confusion; she knew not as yet whether it would be proper for her to acquaint Mr. Goodman with what had passed between Mr. Trueworth and herself, or to be silent on that head, till she should see what a little time might bring about. As she was thinking in what manner she should reply, Mr. Goodman's lawyer, luckily for her relief, came in, and put an end to a discourse which, in the present situation of her mind, she was very unfit to bear a part in.

But, as if this was to be a day of continued admonitions to Miss Betsy, she was no sooner dressed, and ready to quit her chamber, than she heard Miss Mabel's voice upon the stairs. As that young lady was not accustomed to make her any morning visits, she was a little surprized; she ran, however, to meet her, saying, 'This is a favour I did not expect, and therefore have the more cause to thank you.'—'I do not know,' replied the other, as she entered the room, 'whether you will think I deserve thanks or no, when you hear the business that brought me; for I assure you I am come only to chide you.'—'I think,' said Miss Betsy, with a sigh, 'that all the world takes the liberty of doing so with me! but, pray, my dear,' continued she, 'how am I so unhappy as to deserve it from you?'

'Why, you must know,' replied Miss Mabel, 'that I have taken upon me to be the champion of distressed love; you have broken a fine gentleman's heart, and I am come to tell you, that you must either make it whole again, as it was before he saw you, or repair the damage he has sustained by giving him your own.'—'I plead Not Guilty,' said Miss Betsy, in a tone more sprightly than before: 'but, pray, who has gained so great an influence over you, as to send you on so doughty an errand?'—'No, my dear, you are quite mistaken in the matter,' replied the other; 'I assure you I am not sent—I am only led by my own generosity, and the sight of poor Mr. Trueworth's despair.'—'Trueworth!' cried Miss Betsy hastily; 'What do you mean?'—'I mean,' replied the other, 'to engage you, if the little rhetorick I am mistress of can prevail on you to consider, that while we use a man of sense and honour ill, we do ourselves a real injury. The love our beauty has inspired, may, for a time, secure our power; but it will grow weaker by degrees, and every little coquette-air we give ourselves, lessen the value of our charms. I know there is at present some very great brulée between you and Mr. Trueworth: he is a match every way deserving of you; he has the approbation of all your friends; and, I have heard you acknowledge, you are not insensible of his merit. To what end, then, do you study to perplex and give unnecessary pains to a heart, which you, according to all appearances, will one day take a pride in rendering happy?'

'This is an extreme fine harangue, indeed!' replied Miss Betsy; 'but I would fain know for what reason it is directed to me. If Mr. Trueworth imagines I have used him ill, I think it no proof of his understanding, to make a proclamation of it; but, for Heaven's sake! how came you to be the confidante of his complaints?'

'Indeed, I have not that honour,' said Miss Mabel: 'finding myself a little ill this morning, I thought the air would do me good; so went into the Park, taking only a little girl with me, who lives next door, because I would not go quite alone. Being in the deshabille you see, I crossed the grass, and was passing towards the back of the Bird Cage Walk, where who should I see among the trees but Mr. Trueworth, if I may call the object that then presented itself to me by that name; for, indeed, Miss Betsy, the poor gentleman seems no more than the shadow of himself. He saw me at a distance, and I believe would have avoided me; but, perceiving my eyes were upon him, cleared his countenance as well as he was able, and accosted me with the usual salutations of the morning. "It is somewhat surprizing, Madam," said he, with an air of as much gallantry as he could assume, "to find a lady so justly entitled to the admiration of the world, as Miss Mabel is, shun the gay company of the Mall, and chuse an unfrequented walk, like this!"—"I might retort the same exclamation of surprize," replied I, "at so unexpectedly meeting with Mr. Trueworth here."

'After this, as you know, my dear,' continued she, 'I have lately, on your account, had the pleasure pretty often of Mr. Trueworth's company; I took the liberty to ask him where he had buried himself, that I had not seen him for so many days: to which he answered, not without a confusion, which I saw he attempted, though in vain, to conceal from me—"Yes, Madam, I have indeed been buried from all pleasure, have been swallowed up in affairs little less tormenting than those of the grave: but," added he, "they are now over, and I am preparing to return to my country seat, where I hope to re-enjoy that tranquillity which, since my leaving it, has been pretty much disturbed."

'Nothing could equal my astonishment at hearing him speak in this manner: "To your country-seat!" cried I; "not to continue there for any long time?"—"I know not as yet, Madam," replied he; and then, after a pause, "perhaps for ever!" added he. "Bless me," said I, "this is strange, indeed! Miss Betsy did not tell me a word of it; and I saw her but last night."—"She might not then know it, Madam," answered he: "but, if she had, I am not vain enough to imagine, she would think a trifle, such as my departure, worth the pains of mentioning."

'I then,' pursued Miss Mabel, 'endeavoured to rally him out of this humour. After having told him I had a better opinion of your understanding and generosity, than to be capable of believing you thought so lightly of his friendship and affection, I added, that this was only some little pique between you, some jealous whim: but he replied to all I said on this subject with a very grave air, pretended business, and took his leave somewhat abruptly for a man of that politeness I had till now always observed in him.'

'He carries it off with a high hand, indeed,' cried Miss Betsy: 'but it is no matter; I shall give myself no trouble whether he stays in town, or whether he goes into the country, or whether I ever see him more. What! does the man think to triumph over me?'

'I do not believe that is the case with Mr. Trueworth,' said the discreet Miss Mabel; 'but I know it is the way of many men to recriminate in this manner: and pray, when they do, who can we blame for it but ourselves, in giving them the occasion? For my part, I should think it an affront to myself to encourage the addresses of a person I did not look upon worthy of being treated with respect.'

She urged many arguments to convince Miss Betsy of the vanity and ill consequences of trifling with an honourable and sincere passion; which, though no more than what that young lady had already made use of to herself, and was fully persuaded in the truth of, she was not very well pleased to hear from the mouth of another.

Though these two ladies perfectly agreed in their sentiments of virtue and reputation, yet their dispositions and behaviour in the affairs of love were as widely different as any two persons possibly could be: and this it was, which, during the course of their acquaintance, gave frequent interruptions to that harmony between them, which the mutual esteem they had for each other's good qualities, would otherwise have rendered perpetual.