LETTER XVII
Clouds are impending, and I know not whether they will clash together, and elicit lightning, or mingle into one, and descend in refreshing showers.
This morning, Montmorenci, the hostess, and myself, breakfasted early, and then went shopping. I purchased a charming scarf, a bonnet, two dresses, a diamond cross, and a pair of pearl ear-rings. His lordship borrowed a guinea from me, and then bought a small casket, which he presented to me in the handsomest manner.
We next visited Westminster Abbey; the first that I have ever seen, though I had read of thousands. To my great disappointment, I found in it no cowled monks with scapulars, and no veiled nuns with rosaries. Nothing but statues of statesmen and warriors, in stone wigs and marble regimentals.
Soon after we had returned home, Higginson entered my room, stealing, and with a look of terror.
'My mother presents her respectful compliments,' said he in a whisper, 'and begs you will honour her with your presence, that she may do herself the pleasure of saving you from destruction.'
'Tell me,' said I, with a look that pierced into his soul, 'which character do you mean to support on this occasion? that of my friend, or of an accomplice in the plot against me?'
Higginson looked aghast.
'As to your being a principal,' continued I, 'that is not likely; but I must ascertain if your object is to be—excuse me—an understrapping ruffian. Never fear, speak your mind candidly.'
'And I was writing verses on you all the morning, and it was for you that I clipped my eyebrows, and it was for you that I—dear me, dear me!' cried the poor man, and began whimpering like a child.