Two young ladies, who seemed about eighteen, and sat above us were so much shocked by the death of Douglas, that both burst into a loud fit of roaring, like little children,—and sobbed on, afterwards, for almost half the farce! I was quite astonished; and Miss Weston complained that they really disturbed her sorrows; but Captain Bouchier was highly diverted, and went to give them comfort, as if they had been babies, telling them it was all over, and that they need not cry any more.
Monday.—At breakfast, Mrs. Thrale said,
“Ah, you never tell me your love-secrets, but I could tell you one if I chose it!”
This produced entreaties—-and entreaties thus much further—
“Why, I know very well who is in love with Fanny Burney!”
I told her that was more than I did, but owned it was not difficult to guess who she meant, though I could not tell what.
“Captain Bouchier,” said she. “But you did not tell me so, nor he either; I had it from Mr. Tyson, our master of the ceremonies, who told me you made a conquest of him at the ball; and he knows these matters pretty well; 'tis his trade to know them.”
“Well-a-day!” quoth I—“'tis unlucky we did not meet a little sooner, for this very day he is ordered away with his troop into Norfolk.”