Miss Betsy blushed extremely, not through a conscious shame of imagining what she had done deserved the least rebuke, but because her spirit, yet unbroke, could not bear control: she replied, that as she meant no ill, those who censured her were most in fault. 'That is very true,' answered Mr. Goodman; 'but, my dear child, you cannot but know it is a fault which too many in the world are guilty of. I doubt not of your innocence, but would have you consider, that reputation is also of some value; that the honour of a young maid, like you, is a flower of so tender and delicate a nature, that the least breath of scandal withers and destroys it. In fine, that it is not enough to be good, without behaving in such a manner as to make others acknowledge us to be so.'
Miss Betsy had too much understanding not to be sensible what her guardian said on this occasion was perfectly just; and also that he had a right to offer his advice whenever her conduct rendered it necessary; but could not help being vexed, that any thing she did should be liable to censure, as she thought it merited none: she made no farther reply, however, to what Mr. Goodman said, though he continued his remonstrances, and probably would have gone on much longer, if not interrupted by the coming in of Mr. Chatfree. This gentleman having parted from the two wounded rivals, came directly to Mr. Goodman's, in order to see how Miss Betsy would receive the intelligence he had to bring her.
After paying his compliments to Mr. Goodman, and the other ladies, he came towards Miss Betsy; and looking on her with a more than ordinary earnestness in his countenance, 'Ah, Madam!' said he, 'I shall never hereafter see you without remembering what Cowley says of a lady who might, I suppose, be like you—
"So fatal, and withal so fair,
We're told destroying-angels are."'
Though Miss Betsy was not at that time in a humour to have any great relish for raillery, yet she could not forbear replying to what this old gentleman said, in the manner in which she imagined he spoke. 'You are at least past the age of being destroyed by any weapons I carry about me,' cried she: 'but, pray, what meaning have you in this terrible simile?'—'My meaning is as terrible as the simile,' answered he; 'and though I believe you to be very much the favourite of Heaven, I know not how you will atone for the mischief you have been the occasion of this morning: but it may be,' continued he, 'you think it nothing that those murdering eyes of yours have set two gentlemen a fighting.'
Miss Betsy, supposing no other than that he had heard of the quarrel between Mr. Bloomacre and Lord ——, replied merrily, 'Pray accuse my eyes of no such thing; they are very innocent, I assure you.'—'Yes,' cried Mr. Goodman, and Lady Mellasin at the same time, 'we can clear Miss Betsy of this accusation.'
'What!' rejoined Mr. Chatfree, hastily, 'were not Mr. Staple and Mr. Trueworth rivals for her love?'—'Mr. Staple and Mr. Trueworth!' said Miss Betsy, in a good deal of consternation; 'pray what of them?'—'Oh, the most inveterate duel!' answered he; 'they fought above half an hour, and poor Mr. Staple is dead of his wounds.'—'Dead!' cried Miss Betsy, with a great scream. Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora seemed very much alarmed; but Mr. Goodman was ready to sink from his chair, till Mr. Chatfree, unseen by Miss Betsy, winked upon him, in token that he was not in earnest in what he said.
The distraction in which this young lady now appeared, the concern she expressed for Mr. Staple, and her indignation against Mr. Trueworth, would have made any one think the former had much the preference in her esteem; till Mr. Chatfree, after having listened to her exclamations on this score, cried out on a sudden, 'Ah, Madam! what a mistake has the confusion I was involved in made me guilty of! Alas, I have deceived you, though without designing to do so! Mr. Staple lives, it is Mr. Trueworth who has fallen a sacrifice to his unsuccessful passion for you.' 'Trueworth dead!' cried Miss Betsy; 'O God! and does his murderer live to triumph in the fall of the best and most accomplished man on earth? Oh! may all the miseries that Heaven and earth can inflict, light on him!—Is he not secured, Mr. Chatfree?—Will he not be hanged?'
Mr. Chatfree could hold his countenance no longer; but bursting into a violent fit of laughter, 'Ah, Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I have caught you. Mr. Trueworth, I find, then, is the happy man.'—'What do you mean, Mr. Chatfree?' cried Miss Betsy, very much amazed. 'I beg your pardon,' answered he, 'for the fright I have put you in; but be comforted, for Mr. Trueworth is not dead, I assure you; and, I doubt not, lives as much your slave as ever.'—'I do not care what he is, if he is not dead,' said Miss Betsy; 'but, pray, for what end did you invent this fine story?'—'Nay, Madam,' resumed he, 'it is not altogether my own inventing neither; for Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple have had a duel this morning, and both of them are wounded, though not so dangerously as I pretended, merely to try, by the concern you would express, which of them you were must inclined to favour; and I have done it i'faith—Mr. Trueworth is the man!'
Lady Mellasin, who had not spoke during all this conversation, now cried out, 'Aye, Mr. Chatfree, we shall soon have a wedding, I believe.'—'Believe, Madam!' said he, 'why your ladyship may swear it! for my part, I will not give above a fortnight for the conclusion; and I will venture to wish the fair bride joy on the occasion, for he is a fine gentleman—a very fine gentleman, indeed! and I think she could not have made a better choice.' With these words he wiped his mouth, and advanced to Miss Betsy, in order to salute her; but, pushing him scornfully back, 'None of your slights, good Mr. Chatfree,' said she; 'if I thought you were in earnest, I would never see the face of Mr. Trueworth more.'