Juliet. And who else?
Madeline. Nobody else. Now don't look as if you were ready to run through the wall to get away from me; but listen and understand. Our nursery-maid, Kitty, has permission to go this evening and stay all night with a sick sister. So when she is off, I can easily slip into her room and select a suit of her clothes, (which I believe will nearly fit me,) and she has a tolerably large wardrobe for a servant. Then I will steal in the back way, bringing a suit for you. Don't look shocked. I shall tell my father and mother that being very low-spirited, I am coming in here to spend a quiet evening with you. I heard Mrs. Lansdowne, when I was here yesterday, propose to your father to leave her at her sister, Mrs. Wilmar's, on his way to the Wistar party to-night, and call for her as he comes back; which of course will not be before ten o'clock at the very earliest. Therefore the coast will be clear, as I suppose Ned will go to his beloved Athenæum. So you see every thing seems to conspire fortunately to forward our plot.
Juliet. Our plot. O! do not call it ours. I never will have any thing to do with a plot.
Madeline. Yes, but you must though. Why this is nothing. I have plotted a hundred things in the course of my life, and so I shall again. Well, now hear the whole. I will slip in the back-way, and you must be alone in your room ready to receive me. After we have put on our disguises, we will go down stairs very softly and steal out at the alley gate. Then we will make the best of our way to the theatre, and go in at the gallery-door, passing, of course as two servant-girls. When we have reached the gallery we will mix with the crowd, and sit at our ease and enjoy the play; at least the masquerade-scene, which I would not miss for the world. I am absolutely dying to see the French dancers. Nobody can possibly discover us under our disguises. We will not go till the first act is over, and the audience settled; and we will come away before the last scene of the comedy. Then after we get home we will resume our proper dresses, and present ourselves to our parents, looking as demure as if we had been sitting by the fire, and talking sensibly, all the evening. No one will ever know what we have really been doing. It will be a most charming frolic, and something for you and I to laugh about, ten years hence. I always enjoy these queer exploits that no one else has courage to undertake.
Juliet (firmly.) Madeline, I will not disguise myself like a servant-girl; and I will never accompany you secretly to the theatre, nor to any other place.
Juliet spoke in so firm a tone, that Madeline was at first abashed, and remained for a few moments silent. But, not easily repelled, she soon recovered from her confusion, and exerted all her eloquence to prevail on her dear friend, as she called her, to join in the scheme. By turns she flattered, caressed, and ridiculed her, and then tried to win her consent by representing the delights of the masquerade-scene, as she had heard it described by a lady who had recently seen the comedy of the Belle's Stratagem. Juliet held out steadily for a long time. But at length her firmness gave way, and she finally yielded; as Madeline had foreseen. Her reluctance was so great, that her consent was, after all, rather extorted than given, and Madeline, having kissed her rather oftener than usual, ran gayly to her own home, singing "I won't be a nun."
After Madeline had gone, Juliet felt so uneasy at having suffered herself to be persuaded against her conscience, that she was on the point of calling her back and retracting her promise. When she went to dinner, the consciousness of her intended deceit destroyed her appetite, and made her feel as if she could not raise her eyes towards her parents, or answer them when they spoke to her.
Edward bent on her a scrutinizing glance, and saw that all was not right; but supposing that she had committed some fault in the course of the morning for which her mother had seriously reprimanded her, he was unwilling to notice her apparent mortification, and tried to divert the attention of his parents by talking to them of Cooper's last novel, which had been published that morning, and of which he had already gone through the first volume.
Mrs. Lansdowne, however, remarking that her daughter did not eat, inquired if she felt unwell, and Juliet replied that she had a violent headache: which was literally true. After dinner, her mother recommended that she should retire to her room and lie down, which she gladly did: her mind being too much agitated to take interest in any occupation. Once in the afternoon, she heard Edward come up stairs and tap at her door; but fearing that he had observed her confusion at dinner, and that he might ask her some question concerning it, she lay still, and did not answer to his knock, so that, supposing her to be asleep, he softly withdrew.
Towards evening, her mother came to inquire after her: and Juliet, unwilling to meet the family at table in her present state of discomposure, requested to have her tea sent up. "My dear," said Mrs. Lansdowne, "as you are not well, I will not go to my sister Wilmar's this evening, but I will stay at home and sit with you."