Chapter 5

_Helen._ Lord Austencourt--true--this is his hour for persecuting me--very well, desire lord Austencourt to come in. (_exit servant_) I won't marry. They all say I shall. Some girls, now, would sit down and sigh, and moan, as if that would mend the matter--that will never suit me! Some indeed would run away with the man they liked better--but then the only man I ever liked well enough to marry--is--I believe, run away from _me_. Well! that won't do!--so I'll e'en laugh it off as well as I can; and though I wont marry his lordship, I'll teaze him as heartily as if I had been his wife these twenty years.

_Enter_ lord Austencourt.

_Lord A._ Helen! too lovely Helen! once more behold before you to supplicate for your love and pity, the man whom the world calls proud, but whom your beauty alone has humbled.

_Helen._ They say, my lord, that pride always has a fall some time or other. I hope the fall of your lordship's hasn't hurt you.

_Lord A._ Is it possible that the amiable Helen, so famed for gentleness and goodness, can see the victim of her charms thus dejected stand before her.

_Helen._ Certainly not, my lord--so pray sit down.

_Lord A._ Will you never be for one moment serious?

_Helen._ Oh, yes, my lord! I am never otherwise when _I think_ of your lordship's proposals--but when you are making love and fine speeches to me in person, 'tis with amazing difficulty I can help laughing.

_Lord A._ Insolent vixin. (_aside_) I had indulged a hope, madam, that the generosity and disinterested love I have evinced--

_Helen._ Why as to your lordship's generosity in condescending to marry a poor solitary spinster, I am certainly most duly grateful--and no one can possibly doubt your disinterestedness, who knows I am only heiress to 12,000l. a year--a fortune which, as I take it, nearly doubles the whole of your lordship's rent roll!

_Lord A._ Really, madam, if I am suspected of any mercenary motives, the liberal settlements which are now ready for your perusal, must immediately remove any such suspicion.

_Helen._ Oh, my lord, you certainly mistake me--only as my papa observes, our estates _do join so charmingly to one another_!

_Lord A._ Yes:--that circumstance is certainly advantageous to both parties (_exultingly._)

_Helen._ Certainly!--only, as mine is the biggest, perhaps yours would be the greatest gainer by the bargain.

_Lord A._ My dear madam, a title and the advantages of elevation in rank amply compensate the sacrifice on your part.

_Helen._ Why, as to a title, my lord (as Mr. O'Dedimus, your attorney, observes) there's no title in my mind better than a good title to a fine estate--and I see plainly, that although your lordship is a peer of the realm--you think this title of mine no mean companion for your own.

_Lord A._ Nay, madam--believe me--I protest--I assure you--solemnly, that those considerations have very little--indeed _no_ influence _at all_ with me.

_Helen._ Oh, no!--only it is natural that you should feel (as papa again observes) that the _contiguity_ of these estates seem to _invite_ a union by a marriage between us.

_Lord A._ And if you admit that fact, why do you decline the invitation?

_Helen._ Why, one doesn't accept _every_ invitation that's offered, you know--one sometimes has very disagreeable ones; and then one presents compliments, and is extremely sorry that a prior engagement obliges us to decline the honour.

_Lord A._ (_aside_) Confound the satirical huzzy--But should not the wishes of your parents have some weight in the scale?

_Helen._ Why, so they have; _their_ wishes are in one scale, and _mine_ are in the other; do all I can, I can't make mine weigh most, and so the beam remains balanced.

_Lord A._ I should be sorry to make theirs preponderate, by calling in their authority as auxiliaries to their wishes.

_Helen._ Authority!--Ho! what, you think to marry me by force! do ye my lord?

_Lord A._ _They_ are resolute, and if _you_ continue obstinate--

_Helen._ I dare say your lordship's education hasn't precluded your knowledge of a very true, though _rather_ vulgar proverb, "one man may lead a horse to the water, but twenty can't make him drink."

_Lord A._ The allusion may be classical, madam, though certainly it is not very elegant, nor has it even the advantage of being applicable to the point in question. However I do not despair to see this resolution changed. In the mean time, I did not think it in your nature to treat any man who loves you with cruelty and scorn.

_Helen._ Then why don't you desist, my lord? If you'd take an answer, you had a civil one: but if you will follow and teaze one, like a sturdy beggar in the street, you must expect at last a reproof for your impertinence.

_Lord A._ Yet even in their case perseverance often obtains what was denied to poverty.

_Helen._ Yes, possibly, from the feeble or the vain; but genuine Charity, and her sister, Love, act only from their own generous impulse, and scorn intimidation.

_Enter_ Tiffany.

_Tiffany._ Are you alone, madam?

_Helen._ No; I was only wishing to be so.

_Tiff._ A young woman is without, inquiring for sir Willoughby, ma'am; I thought he had been here.

_Helen._ Do you know her?

_Tiff._ Yes, ma'am; 'tis Fanny, the daughter of the odd man that lives on the common.

_Helen._ I'll see her myself--desire her to walk up. [_Exit Tiffany._

_Lord A._ (_seems uneasy_) Indeed! what brings her here?

_Helen._ Why, what can be the matter now? your lordship seems quite melancholy on a sudden.

_Lord A._ I, madam! oh no!--or if I am--'tis merely a head ach, or some such cause, or perhaps owing to the influence of the weather.

_Helen._ Your lordship is a very susceptible barometer--when you entered this room your countenance was _set fair_; but now I see the index points to _stormy_.

_Lord A._ Madam, you have company, or business--a good morning to you.

_Helen._ Stay, stay, my lord.

_Lord A._ Excuse me at present, I have an important affair--another time.

_Helen._ Surely, my lord, the arrival of this innocent girl does not drive you away!

_Lord A._ Bless me, madam, what an idea! certainly not; but I have just recollected an engagement of consequence--some other time--Madam, your most obedient-- [_Exit._

_Enter_ Fanny.

_Fan._ I beg pardon, madam, I'm fearful I intrude; but I inquired for sir Willoughby, and they showed me to this room. I wished to speak with him on particular business--your servant, madam.

_Hel._ Pray stay, my good girl--I rejoice in this opportunity of becoming acquainted with you--the character I have heard of you has excited an affectionate interest--you must allow me to become your friend.

_Fanny._ Indeed, indeed, madam, I am in want of friends; but you can never be one of them.

_Helen._ No! Why so?

_Fan._ You, madam! Oh no--you are the only enemy I ever had.

_Hel._ Enemy! This is very extraordinary! I have scarce ever seen you before--Assuredly I never injured you.

_Fan._ Heaven forbid I should wish any one to injure you as deeply.

_Hel._ I cannot understand you--pray explain yourself.

_Fan._ That's impossible, madam--my lord would never forgive me.

_Hel._ Your lord! Let me entreat you to explain your meaning.

_Fan._ I cannot, madam; I came hither on business of importance, and no trifling business should have brought me to a house inhabited by one who is the cause of all my wretchedness.

_Hel._ This is a very extraordinary affair! There is a mixture of cultivation and simplicity in your manner that affects me strongly--I see, my poor girl, you are distressed; and though what you have said leaves on my mind a painful suspicion--

_Fan._ Oh heavens, madam! stay, I beseech you!--I am not what you think me, indeed I am not--I must not, for a moment, let you think of me so injuriously: yet I have promised secrecy! but sure no promise can be binding, when to keep it we must sacrifice all that is valuable in life--hear me, then madam--the struggle is violent; but I owe it to myself to acknowledge all.

_Hel._ No, no, my dear girl! I now see what it would cost you to reveal your secret, and I will not listen to it; rest assured, I have no longer a thought to your disadvantage: curiosity gives place to interest: for though 'tis cruelty to inflict a wound, 'tis still more deliberate barbarity to probe when we cannot hope to heal it. (_going._)

_Fan._ Stay, madam, stay--your generosity overpowers me! oh madam! you know not how wretched I am.

_Hel._ What is it affects you thus?--come, if your story is of a nature that may be revealed, you are sure of sympathy.

_Fan._ I never should have doubted; but my father has alarmed me sadly--he says my lord Austencourt is certainly on the point of marriage with you.

_Hel._ And how, my dear girl, if it were so, could that affect you? Come, you must be explicit.

_Fan._ Affect me! merciful Heaven! can I see him wed another? He is my husband by every tie sacred and human.

_Hel._ Suffering, but too credulous girl! have you then trusted to his vows?

_Fan._ How, madam! was I to blame, loving as I did, to trust in vows so solemn? could I suppose he would dare to break them, because our marriage was performed in secret?

_Hel._ Your marriage, child! Good Heavens, you amaze me! but here we may be interrupted--this way with me. If this indeed be so all may be well again: for though he may be dead to _feeling_ be assured he is alive to _fear_: the man who once descends to be a villain is generally observed to be at heart a coward. [_Exeunt._