Mr. Adam, Mr. Dudley Long, and others that I know not, Came from the committee to chat with Mrs. Crewe; but soon after one came not so unknown to me—Mr. Burke; and Mrs. Crewe, seeing him ascend, named him to me, but was herself a little surprised to see it was his purpose to name himself, for he immediately made up to me, and with an air of such frank kindness that, could I have forgot his errand in that Hall, would have made me receive him as formerly, when I was almost fascinated with him. But far other were my sensations. I trembled as he approached me, with conscious change of sentiments, and with a dread of his pressing from me a disapprobation he might resent, but which I knew not how to disguise.
“Near-sighted as I am,” cried he, “I knew you immediately. I knew you from our box the moment I looked up; yet how long it is, except for an instant here, since I have seen you!”
“Yes,” I hesitatingly answered, “I live in a monastery now.”
He said nothing to this. He felt, perhaps, it was meant to express my inaccessibility. I inquired after Mrs. Burke. He recounted to me the particulars of his sudden seizure when he spoke last, from the cramp in his stomach, owing to a draught of cold water which he drank in the midst of the heat of his oration.
I could not even wear a semblance of being sorry for him on this occasion; and my cold answers made him soon bend down to speak with Mrs. Crewe.
I was seated in the next row to her, just above.
Mr. Windham was now talking with her. My whole curiosity and desire being to hear him, which had induced me to make a point of coming this time, I was eager to know if my chance was wholly gone. “You are aware,” I cried, when he spoke to me, “what brings me here this morning?”
“No;” he protested he knew not.
Mrs. Crewe, again a little surprised, I believe, at this second opposition acquaintance, began questioning how often I had attended this trial.
Mr. Windham, with much warmth of regret, told her very seldom, and that I had lost Mr. Burke on his best day.