“Why you would not have me say I am certain,
would you? these are no times for Popery and infallibility;
however, I assure you I think him perfectly safe.
He has done a foolish and idle trick, but no man is
wise always. We must get rid of his fever, and
then if his cold remains, with any cough, he may make
a little excursion to Bristol.”
“To Bristol! nay then,—I understand
you too well!”
“No, no, you don’t understand me at all;
I don’t send him to Bristol because he is in
a bad way, but merely because I mean to put him in
a good one.”
“Let him, then, go immediately; why should he
increase the danger by waiting a moment? I will
order—”
“Hold, hold! I know what to order myself!
’Tis a strange thing people will always teach
me my own duty! why should I make a man travel such
weather as this in a fever? do you think I want to
confine him in a mad-house, or be confined in one
myself?”
“Certainly you know best—but still
if there is any danger—”
“No, no, there is not! only we don’t chuse
there should be any. And how will he entertain
himself better than by going to Bristol? I send
him merely on a jaunt of pleasure; and I am sure he
will be safer there than shut up in a house with two
such young ladies as these.”
And then he made off. Mrs Delvile, too anxious
for conversation, left the room, and Cecilia, too
conscious for silence, forced herself into discourse
with Lady Honoria.
Three days she passed in this uncertainty what she
had to expect; blaming those fears which had deferred
an explanation, and tormented by Lady Honoria, whose
raillery and levity now grew very unseasonable.
Fidel, the favourite spaniel, was almost her only consolation,
and she pleased herself not inconsiderably by making
a friend of the faithful animal.
AN ANECDOTE.
On the fourth day the house wore a better aspect;
Delvile’s fever was gone, and Dr Lyster permitted
him to leave his room: a cough, however, remained,
and his journey to Bristol was settled to take place
in three days. Cecilia, knowing he was now expected
down stairs, hastened out of the parlour the moment
she had finished her breakfast; for affected by his
illness, and hurt at the approaching separation, she
dreaded the first meeting, and wished to fortify her
mind for bearing it with propriety.
In a very few minutes, Lady Honoria, running after
her, entreated that she would come down; “for
Mortimer,” she cried, “is in the parlour,
and the poor child is made so much of by its papa and
mama, that I wish they don’t half kill him by
their ridiculous fondness. It is amazing to me
he is so patient with them, for if they teized me half
as much, I should be ready to jump up and shake them.
But I wish you would come down, for I assure you it’s
a comical scene.”
“Your ladyship is soon diverted! but what is
there so comical in the anxiety of parents for an
only son?”
