'The same recommendation which introduced me to Mrs Murray, I can still command.'
'Hum.'
A long silence followed, for I had another conflict with my temper; but I was fully victorious before I spoke again.
'I am afraid, madam,' said I, 'that you will not think me entitled to use Mrs Murray's name with you so far as to beg that, upon her account, if you should hear of any situation in which I can be useful, you will have the goodness to recollect me.'
'It is not likely, Miss Percy, that I should hear of any thing to suit you. At any rate, I make it a rule never to interfere in people's domestic arrangements.'
My patience now quite exhausted, I took my leave with an air, I fear, not less ungracious than that of my hostess; and pursued my lonely way homewards, fully inclined to defer the revolting task of soliciting employment, till I should ascertain that Mrs Murray's plans made it indispensable.
How often, as I passed along the street, did I start, as my eye caught some slight resemblance to a known face, and sigh over the futility of my momentary hope! He who in the wildest nook of earth possesses one friend 'to whom he may tell that solitude is sweet,' knows not how cheerless it is to enter a home drearily secure from the intrusion of a friend. Yet, having now abundance of leisure for reflection, I should have been inexcusable, if I had made no use of this advantage; and if, in the single point of conduct which seemed left to my decision, I had acted with imprudence. There was evident impropriety in Murray's visits. To encourage his boyish admiration would have been cruel to him, ungenerous towards Mrs Murray, and incautious with respect to myself. It was hard, indeed, to resign the only social pleasure within my reach; but was pleasure to be deliberately purchased at the hazard of causing disquiet to the parent, and rebellion in the son? and this too by one engaged to exercise self-denial as the mere instrument of self-command? I peremptorily renounced the company of my young admirer; and whoever would know what this effort cost me, must reject earnest entreaty, and resist sorrowful upbraiding, and listen to a farewell which is the known prelude to utter solitude.
A dull unvaried week passed away, during which I never went abroad except to church. My landlady, indeed, insisted, that even women of condition might with safety and decorum traverse her native city unattended; and pointed out from my window persons whom she averred to be of that description; but the assured gait and gaudy attire of these ladies made me suspect that she was rather unfortunate in her choice of instances. At last, in a mere weariness of confinement, I one day consented to accompany her abroad.
We passed the singular bridge which delighted me with the strangely varied prospect of antique grandeur and modern regularity,—of a city cleft into a noble vista towards naked rock and cultivated plain,—seas busy with commerce, and mountains that shelter distant solitudes. I could scarcely be dragged away from this interesting spot; but my landlady, to whom it offered nothing new, was, soon after leaving it, much more attracted by a little scarlet flag, upon which was printed in large letters, 'A rouping in here.' This she told me announced a sale of household furniture, which she expressed much curiosity to see; and I suffered her to conduct me down a lane, or rather passage, so narrow as to afford us scarcely room to walk abreast, or light enough to guide us through the filth that encumbered our way. A second notice directed us to ascend a dark winding staircase; leading, as I afterwards learned, to the abodes of about thirty families. We had climbed, I think, about as high as the whispering gallery of St Paul's, when our progress was arrested by the crowd which the auction had attracted to one of the several compartments into which each floor seemed divided. I recoiled from joining a party apparently composed of the lowest orders of mankind. But my companion averring that in such places she could often make a good bargain, elbowed her way into the scene of action.