“Certainly,” said Mr. Percival: “Miss Portman shows her usual prudence.”
“The children are so good tempered, that I am sure they will forgive me,” continued Belinda; “and Mr. Vincent will be ashamed not to follow their example, though he seems to be rather angry with me at present for obliging him to turn back—out of the path of danger.”
“You must not be surprised at that,” said Mr. Percival, laughing; “for Mr. Vincent is a lover and a hero. You know it is a ruled case, in all romances, that when a lover and his mistress go out riding together, some adventure must befal them. The horse must run away with the lady, and the gentleman must catch her in his arms just as her neck is about to be broken. If the horse has been too well trained for the heroine’s purpose, ‘some footpad, bandit fierce, or mountaineer,’ some jealous rival must make his appearance quite unexpectedly at the turn of a road, and the lady must be carried off—robes flying—hair streaming—like Bürger’s Leonora. Then her lover must come to her rescue just in the proper moment. But if the damsel cannot conveniently be run away with, she must, as the last resource, tumble into a river to make herself interesting, and the hero must be at least half drowned in dragging her out, that she may be under eternal obligations to him, and at last be forced to marry him out of pure gratitude.”
“Gratitude!” interrupted Mr. Vincent: “he is no hero, to my mind, who would be content with gratitude, instead of love.”
“You need not alarm yourself: Miss Portman does not seem inclined to put you to the trial, you see,” said Mr. Percival, smiling. “Now it is really to be regretted, that she deprived you of an opportunity of fighting some of the gentlemen in Mrs. Freke’s train, or of delivering her from the perilous height of one of those rocking-stones. It would have been a new incident in a novel.”
“How that poor girl screamed!” said Belinda. “Was her terror real or affected?”
“Partly real, partly affected, I fancy,” said Mr. Percival.
“I pity her,” said Mr. Vincent; “for Mrs. Freke leads her a weary life.”
“She is certainly to be pitied, but also to be blamed,” said Mr. Percival. “You do not know her history. Miss Moreton ran away from her friends to live with this Mrs. Freke, who has led her into all kinds of mischief and absurdity. The girl is weak and vain, and believes that every thing becomes her which Mrs. Freke assures her is becoming. At one time she was persuaded to go to a public ball with her arms as bare as Juno’s, and her feet as naked as Mad. Tallien’s. At another time Miss Moreton (who unfortunately has never heard the Greek proverb, that half is better than the whole,) was persuaded by Mrs. Freke to lay aside, her half boots, and to equip herself in men’s whole boots; and thus she rode about the country, to the amazement of all the world. These are trifles; but women who love to set the world at defiance in trifles seldom respect its opinion in matters of consequence. Miss Moreton’s whole boots in the morning, and her bare feet in the evening, were talked of by every body, till she gave them more to talk of about her attachment to a young officer. Mrs. Freke, whose philosophy is professedly latitudinarian in morals, laughed at the girl’s prejudice in favour of the ceremony of marriage. So did the officer; for Miss Moreton had no fortune. It is suspected that the young lady did not feel the difficulty, which philosophers are sometimes said to find in suiting their practice to their theory. The unenlightened world reprobated the theory much, and the practice more. I am inclined, in spite of scandal, to think the poor girl was only imprudent: at all events, she repents her folly too late. She has now no friend upon earth but Mrs. Freke, who is, in fact, her worst enemy, and who tyrannizes over her without mercy. Imagine what it is to be the butt of a buffoon!”
“What a lesson to young ladies in the choice of female friends!” said Belinda. “But had Miss Moreton no relations, who could interfere to get her out of Mrs. Freke’s hands?”