“Shall you go to Mrs. Ord's[169] to-morrow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought so,” said he, smiling, “and hoped it. Where shall you go to-night?”
“No where,—I shall be at home.”
“At home? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why, then, Miss Burney, my son[170] and I dine to-day in your neighbourhood, at the Archbishop of York's, and, if you please, we will come here in the evening.”
This was agreed to. And our evening was really a charming one. The two Mr. Cambridges came at about eight o'clock, and the good Mr. Hoole[171] was here. My father came downstairs to them in high spirits and good humour, and he and the elder Mr. Cambridge not only talked enough for us all, but so well and so pleasantly that no person present had even a wish to speak for himself. Mr. Cambridge has the best stock of good stories I almost ever heard; and, though a little too precise in his manner, he is always well-bred, and almost always entertaining. Our sweet father kept up the ball with him admirably, whether in anecdotes, serious disquisitions, philosophy, or fun; for all which Mr. Cambridge has both talents and inclination.
The son rises extremely in my opinion and liking. He is sensible, rational, and highly cultivated; very modest in all he asserts, and attentive and pleasing in his behaviour; and he is wholly free from the coxcombical airs, either of impertinence, or negligence and nonchalance, that almost all the young men I meet, except also young Burke, are tainted with. What chiefly, however, pleased me in him was observing that he quite adores his father. He attended to all his stories with a face that never told he had heard them before; and, though he spoke but little himself, he seemed as well entertained as if he had been the leading person in the company,—a post which, nevertheless, I believe he could extremely well sustain; and, no doubt, much the better for being in no haste to aspire to it. I have seldom, altogether, had an evening with which I have been better pleased.