And this, breaking silence, he mentioned; saying, "I gave you hope, my dear, that I should procure you the honour of a visit from a lady who put herself under my care at Oxford."
I bowed my head to the Countess; but my tears being ready to start, I kissed my Billy: "Dearest baby," said I, "you are not going to cry, are you?"—I would have had him just then to cry, instead of me.
The tea equipage was brought in. "Polly, carry the child to nurse." I gave it another kiss, and the Countess desired another. I grudged it, to think her naughty lips should so closely follow mine. Her sister kissed it also, and carried him to Mr. B. "Take him away," said he, "I owe him my blessing."
"O these young gentlemen papas!" said the Countess—"They are like young unbroken horses, just put into the traces!"
—"Are they so?" thought I. "Matrimony must not expect your good word,
I doubt."
Mr. B. after tea, at which I was far from being talkative (for I could not tell what to say, though I tried, as much as I could not to appear sullen), desired the Countess to play one tune upon the harpsichord.—She did, and sung, at his request, an Italian song to it very prettily; too prettily, I thought. I wanted to find some faults, some great faults in her: but, O Madam, she has too many outward excellencies!—pity she wants a good heart.
He could ask nothing, that she was not ready to oblige him; indeed he could not.
She desired me to touch the keys. I would have been excused; but could not. And the ladies commended my performance; but neither my heart to play, nor my fingers in playing, deserved their praises. Mr. B. said, indeed—"You play better sometimes, my dear."—"Do I, Sir?" was all the answer I made.
The Countess hoped, she said, I would return her visit; and so said the Viscountess.
I replied, Mr. B. would command me whenever he pleased.