Dr. Burney was well aware how valuable the Thrale connection was to him; a teacher of music is apt to look with sparkling eyes at a houseful of girls whose father possesses the possibilities of such wealth as was defined by Dr. Johnson in this particular case as beyond the dreams of avarice. Dr. Burney had a very nice judgment on the subject of an influential connection, and so was delighted to have a chance of doing a signal good turn to so deserving a patroness as Mrs. Thrale. Yes, he felt sure that his half-hour at Streatham Hall would be the most interesting of the many half-hours he had spent under the same hospitable roof.
And he was not mistaken in his surmise.
Mrs. Thrale had, as usual, several friends coming to partake of an early repast with her; and Dr. Burney had pictured to himself the effect of his announcement to the company that his daughter had written the book upon which he was pretty sure the conversation would turn—indeed, he felt that he would be greatly surprised if the conversation did not immediately rush to the question of “Evelina” and remain there for the rest of the afternoon; for the enterprising ladies would doubtless bring with them some fresh suggestions or new cues to its authorship. He pictured himself allowing them to go on for some time until perhaps a statement would be made which he should have to contradict point-blank. They would all look at him in surprise. What did he know about the matter? Was he interested in the question? Had he found out anything?
How he would smile while saying quietly:
“Well, I am more or less interested in the matter, the fact being that ‘Evelina’ is the work of my daughter, Fanny Burney!”
That would be, he thought, a fitting moment in which to divulge the secret; he saw the whole scene clearly before him.
But before he had reached his destination that intuition of what would commend itself to a patron which had been so important an auxiliary to his ability in placing him above his rivals in his profession, overcame his desire to play the most important part in a dramatic scene; he perceived that such a rôle should be taken by an influential patroness, and not by himself. Thus it was that when Mrs. Thrale was giving him a cup of chocolate after his journey he smiled, saying:
“I was greatly interested in the conversation between Mrs. Cholmondeley and the other ladies when I was last here.”
“About ‘Evelina’?” she inquired. “Ah, I wonder if Mrs. Cholmondeley has yet paid over her twenty guineas to the discoverer of the author. It seems that she has as arduous a task in regard to ‘Evelina’ as Raleigh had in regard to his El Dorado.”
“So it would appear,” said Dr. Burney. “Let us hope that his efforts will be more highly valued than those of poor Sir Walter. Have you yourself no suspicions on the subject, madam?”