There were two young ladies, who had an apartment at the palace of St. James's, (their father having an office there) who exactly suited with her in the most volatile of her moments: they had wit, spirit, and were gay almost to wildness, without the least mixture of libertinism or indecency. How perfectly innocent they were, is not the business of this history to discuss; but they preserved as good a reputation as their neighbours, and were well respected in all publick places.
There it was Miss Betsy chiefly found an asylum from those perplexing thoughts which, in spite of her pride, and the indifference she had for mankind, would sometimes intrude upon her mind on Mr. Trueworth's account; here she was certain of meeting a great variety of company; here was all the news and scandal the town could furnish; here was musick, dancing, feasting, flattery: in fine, here was every thing that was an enemy to care and contemplation.
Among the number of those who filled the circle of those two court belles, there was a gentleman named Munden: he appeared extremely charmed with Miss Betsy at first sight; and after having informed himself of the particulars of her family and fortune, took an opportunity, as he was conducting her home one night, to entreat she would allow him to pay his respects to her where she lived. This was a favour Miss Betsy was never very scrupulous of granting; and consented the now more readily, as she thought the report of a new lover would gall Mr. Trueworth, who, she heard by some, who had very lately seen him, was not yet gone out of town.
Mr. Munden, to testify the impatience of his love, waited on her the very next day, as soon as he thought dinner would be over, at Mr. Goodman's: he had the satisfaction of finding her alone; but, fearing she might not long be so, suffered but a very few minutes to escape before he acquainted her with the errand on which he came: the terms in which he declared himself her admirer, were as pathetick as could be made use of for the purpose; but though this was no more than Miss Betsy had expected, and would have been strangely mortified if disappointed by his entertaining her on any other score, yet she affected, at first, to treat it with surprize, and then, on his renewing his protestations, to answer all he said with a sort of raillery, in order to put him to the more expence of oaths and asseverations.
It is certain, that whoever pretended to make his addresses to Miss Betsy, stood in need of being previously provided with a good stock of repartees, to silence the sarcasms of the witty fair, as well as fine speeches to engage her to more seriousness. Mr. Munden often found himself at his ne plus ultra, but was not the least disconcerted at it; he was a courtier; he was accustomed to attend at the levees of the great; and knew very well, that persons in power seldom failed to exercise it over those who had any dependance on them: and looking on the case of a lover with his mistress, as the same with one who is soliciting for a pension or employment, had armed himself with patience, to submit to every thing his tyrant should inflict, in the hope that it would one day be his turn to impose those laws, according to the poet's words—
'The humbled lover, when he lowest lies,
But kneels to conquer, and but falls to rise.'
Miss Betsy was indeed a tyrant, but a very gentle one; she always mingled some sweet with the sharpness of her expressions: if in one breath she menaced despair, in the next she encouraged hope; and her very repulses were sometimes so equivocal, as that they might be taken for invitations. She played with her lovers, as she did with her monkey; but expected more obedience from them: they must look gay or grave, according as she did so; their humour, and even their very motions, must be regulated by her influence, as the waters by the moon. In fine, an exterior homage was the chief thing to be required; for, as to the heart, her own being yet untouched, she gave herself but little trouble how that of her lovers stood affected.
Mr. Munden, with less love perhaps than any man who had addressed her, knew better how to suit himself to her humour: he could act over all the delicacies of the most tender passion, without being truly sensible of any of them; and though he wished, in reality, nothing so much as attaining the affections of Miss Betsy, yet wishing it without those timid inquietudes, those jealous doubts, those perplexing anxieties, which suspense inflicts on a more stolid mind, he was the more capable of behaving towards her in the way she liked.
He was continually inviting her to some party of pleasure or other; he gallanted her to all publick shews, he treated her with the most exquisite dainties of the season, and presented her with many curious toys. Being to go with these ladies, at whose appointment he first commenced his acquaintance with her, and some other company, to a masquerade, he waited on her some hours before the time; and taking out of his pocket a ruby, cut in the shape of a heart, and illustrated with small brilliants round about, 'I beg, Madam,' said he, 'you will do me the honour of wearing this to-night, either on your sleeve or breast, or some other conspicuous place. There will be a great deal of company, and some, perhaps, in the same habit as yourself: this will direct my search, prevent my being deceived by appearances, which otherwise I might be, and prophanely pay my worship to some other, instead of the real goddess of my soul.'