Soon after the mamma hobbled to me, and began a furious Panegyric upon my book, saying at the same time,
“I wonder, Miss, how you could get at them low characters. As to the lords and ladies, that's no wonder at all; but, as to t'others, why, I have not stirred night nor morning while I've been reading it; if I don't wonder how you could be so clever!”
And much, much more. And, scarcely had she unburthened herself, ere Miss L—trotted back to me, crying, in a tone of mingled triumph and vexation,
“Well, ma'am, Mr. Henry will be very much mortified when he knows who has been here; that he will, indeed; however, I'm sure he deserves it!”
I made some common sort of reply, that I hoped he was better engaged, which she vehemently declared was impossible.
We had now some music. Miss L— sung various old elegies of Jackson, Dr. Harrington, and Linley, and O how I dismalled in hearing them! Mr. Whalley, too, sung “Robin Gray,” and divers other melancholic ballads, and Miss Thrale Sang “Ti seguiro fedele.” But the first time there was a cessation of harmony, Miss L— again respectfully approaching me, cried,
“O well, all my comfort is that Mr. Henry will be prodigiously mortified! But there's a ball to-night, so I suppose he's gone to that. However, I'm sure if he had known of meeting you young ladies here—but it's all good enough for him, for not coming.”
“Nay,” cried I, “if meeting young ladies is a motive with him, he can have nothing to regret while at a ball, where he will see many more than he could here.”
“O, ma'am, as to that—but I say no more, because it mayn't be proper; but, to be sure, if Mr. Henry had known—however, he'll be well mortified!”...
I was not two minutes relieved, ere Miss I—returned, to again assure me how glad she was that Mr. Henry would be mortified. The poor lady was quite heart-broken that we did not meet.