Part 5
MARLOW. How’s this? Sure I have not mistaken the house. Everything looks like an inn. The servants cry, coming; the attendance is awkward; the bar-maid, too, to attend us. But she’s here, and will further inform me. Whither so fast, child? A word with you.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Let it be short, then. I’m in a hurry. (Aside.) I believe he begins to find out his mistake. But it’s too soon quite to undeceive him.
MARLOW. Pray, child, answer me one question. What are you, and what may your business in this house be?
MISS HARDCASTLE. A relation of the family, sir.
MARLOW. What, a poor relation.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Yes, sir. A poor relation, appointed to keep the keys, and to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them.
MARLOW. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Inn! O law----what brought that in your head? One of the best families in the country keep an inn--Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle’s house an inn!
MARLOW. Mr. Hardcastle’s house! Is this Mr. Hardcastle’s house, child?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Ay, sure! Whose else should it be?
MARLOW. So then, all’s out, and I have been damnably imposed on. O, confound my stupid head, I shall be laughed at over the whole town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura in all the print-shops. The DULLISSIMO MACCARONI. To mistake this house of all others for an inn, and my father’s old friend for an innkeeper! What a swaggering puppy must he take me for! What a silly puppy do I find myself! There again, may I be hanged, my dear, but I mistook you for the bar-maid.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Dear me! dear me! I’m sure there’s nothing in my BEHAVIOUR to put me on a level with one of that stamp.
MARLOW. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I was in for a list of blunders, and could not help making you a subscriber. My stupidity saw everything the wrong way. I mistook your assiduity for assurance, and your simplicity for allurement. But it’s over. This house I no more show MY face in.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to disoblige you. I’m sure I should be sorry to affront any gentleman who has been so polite, and said so many civil things to me. I’m sure I should be sorry (pretending to cry) if he left the family upon my account. I’m sure I should be sorry if people said anything amiss, since I have no fortune but my character.
MARLOW. (Aside.) By Heaven! she weeps. This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, and it touches me. (To her.) Excuse me, my lovely girl; you are the only part of the family I leave with reluctance. But to be plain with you, the difference of our birth, fortune, and education, makes an honourable connexion impossible; and I can never harbour a thought of seducing simplicity that trusted in my honour, of bringing ruin upon one whose only fault was being too lovely.
MISS HARDCASTLE. (Aside.) Generous man! I now begin to admire him. (To him.) But I am sure my family is as good as Miss Hardcastle’s; and though I’m poor, that’s no great misfortune to a contented mind; and, until this moment, I never thought that it was bad to want fortune.
MARLOW. And why now, my pretty simplicity?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Because it puts me at a distance from one that, if I had a thousand pounds, I would give it all to.
MARLOW. (Aside.) This simplicity bewitches me, so that if I stay, I’m undone. I must make one bold effort, and leave her. (To her.) Your
## partiality in my favour, my dear, touches me most sensibly: and were I
to live for myself alone, I could easily fix my choice. But I owe too much to the opinion of the world, too much to the authority of a father; so that--I can scarcely speak it--it affects me. Farewell. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. I never knew half his merit till now. He shall not go, if I have power or art to detain him. I’ll still preserve the character in which I STOOPED TO CONQUER; but will undeceive my papa, who perhaps may laugh him out of his resolution. [Exit.]
Enter Tony and MISS NEVILLE.
TONY. Ay, you may steal for yourselves the next time. I have done my duty. She has got the jewels again, that’s a sure thing; but she believes it was all a mistake of the servants.
MISS NEVILLE. But, my dear cousin, sure you won’t forsake us in this distress? If she in the least suspects that I am going off, I shall certainly be locked up, or sent to my aunt Pedigree’s, which is ten times worse.
TONY. To be sure, aunts of all kinds are damned bad things. But what can I do? I have got you a pair of horses that will fly like Whistle-jacket; and I’m sure you can’t say but I have courted you nicely before her face. Here she comes, we must court a bit or two more, for fear she should suspect us. [They retire, and seem to fondle.]
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be sure. But my son tells me it was all a mistake of the servants. I shan’t be easy, however, till they are fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. But what do I see? fondling together, as I’m alive. I never saw Tony so sprightly before. Ah! have I caught you, my pretty doves? What, billing, exchanging stolen glances and broken murmurs? Ah!
TONY. As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now and then, to be sure. But there’s no love lost between us.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it burn brighter.
MISS NEVILLE. Cousin Tony promises to give us more of his company at home. Indeed, he shan’t leave us any more. It won’t leave us, cousin Tony, will it?
TONY. O! it’s a pretty creature. No, I’d sooner leave my horse in a pound, than leave you when you smile upon one so. Your laugh makes you so becoming.
MISS NEVILLE. Agreeable cousin! Who can help admiring that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtless (patting his cheek)--ah! it’s a bold face.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Pretty innocence!
TONY. I’m sure I always loved cousin Con.’s hazle eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that she twists this way and that over the haspicholls, like a parcel of bobbins.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Ah! he would charm the bird from the tree. I was never so happy before. My boy takes after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The jewels, my dear Con., shall be yours incontinently. You shall have them. Isn’t he a sweet boy, my dear? You shall be married to-morrow, and we’ll put off the rest of his education, like Dr. Drowsy’s sermons, to a fitter opportunity.
Enter DIGGORY.
DIGGORY. Where’s the ’squire? I have got a letter for your worship.
TONY. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my letters first.
DIGGORY. I had orders to deliver it into your own hands.
TONY. Who does it come from?
DIGGORY. Your worship mun ask that o’ the letter itself.
TONY. I could wish to know though (turning the letter, and gazing on it).
MISS NEVILLE. (Aside.) Undone! undone! A letter to him from Hastings. I know the hand. If my aunt sees it, we are ruined for ever. I’ll keep her employed a little if I can. (To MRS. HARDCASTLE.) But I have not told you, madam, of my cousin’s smart answer just now to Mr. Marlow. We so laughed.--You must know, madam.--This way a little, for he must not hear us. [They confer.]
TONY. (Still gazing.) A damned cramp piece of penmanship, as ever I saw in my life. I can read your print hand very well. But here are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head from the tail.--“To Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire.” It’s very odd, I can read the outside of my letters, where my own name is, well enough; but when I come to open it, it’s all----buzz. That’s hard, very hard; for the inside of the letter is always the cream of the correspondence.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Ha! ha! ha! Very well, very well. And so my son was too hard for the philosopher.
MISS NEVILLE. Yes, madam; but you must hear the rest, madam. A little more this way, or he may hear us. You’ll hear how he puzzled him again.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. He seems strangely puzzled now himself, methinks.
TONY. (Still gazing.) A damned up and down hand, as if it was disguised in liquor.--(Reading.) Dear Sir,--ay, that’s that. Then there’s an M, and a T, and an S, but whether the next be an izzard, or an R, confound me, I cannot tell.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. What’s that, my dear? Can I give you any assistance?
MISS NEVILLE. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody reads a cramp hand better than I. (Twitching the letter from him.) Do you know who it is from?
TONY. Can’t tell, except from Dick Ginger, the feeder.
MISS NEVILLE. Ay, so it is. (Pretending to read.) Dear ’Squire, hoping that you’re in health, as I am at this present. The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club has cut the gentlemen of Goose-green quite out of feather. The odds--um--odd battle--um--long fighting--um--here, here, it’s all about cocks and fighting; it’s of no consequence; here, put it up, put it up. (Thrusting the crumpled letter upon him.)
TONY. But I tell you, miss, it’s of all the consequence in the world. I would not lose the rest of it for a guinea. Here, mother, do you make it out. Of no consequence! (Giving MRS. HARDCASTLE the letter.)
MRS. HARDCASTLE. How’s this?--(Reads.) “Dear ’Squire, I’m now waiting for Miss Neville, with a post-chaise and pair, at the bottom of the garden, but I find my horses yet unable to perform the journey. I expect you’ll assist us with a pair of fresh horses, as you promised. Dispatch is necessary, as the HAG (ay, the hag), your mother, will otherwise suspect us! Yours, Hastings.” Grant me patience. I shall run distracted! My rage chokes me.
MISS NEVILLE. I hope, madam, you’ll suspend your resentment for a few moments, and not impute to me any impertinence, or sinister design, that belongs to another.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (Curtseying very low.) Fine spoken, madam, you are most miraculously polite and engaging, and quite the very pink of courtesy and circumspection, madam. (Changing her tone.) And you, you great ill-fashioned oaf, with scarce sense enough to keep your mouth shut: were you, too, joined against me? But I’ll defeat all your plots in a moment. As for you, madam, since you have got a pair of fresh horses ready, it would be cruel to disappoint them. So, if you please, instead of running away with your spark, prepare, this very moment, to run off with ME. Your old aunt Pedigree will keep you secure, I’ll warrant me. You too, sir, may mount your horse, and guard us upon the way. Here, Thomas, Roger, Diggory! I’ll show you, that I wish you better than you do yourselves. [Exit.]
MISS NEVILLE. So now I’m completely ruined.
TONY. Ay, that’s a sure thing.
MISS NEVILLE. What better could be expected from being connected with such a stupid fool,--and after all the nods and signs I made him?
TONY. By the laws, miss, it was your own cleverness, and not my stupidity, that did your business. You were so nice and so busy with your Shake-bags and Goose-greens, that I thought you could never be making believe.
Enter HASTINGS.
HASTINGS. So, sir, I find by my servant, that you have shown my letter, and betrayed us. Was this well done, young gentleman?
TONY. Here’s another. Ask miss there, who betrayed you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine.
Enter MARLOW.
MARLOW. So I have been finely used here among you. Rendered contemptible, driven into ill manners, despised, insulted, laughed at.
TONY. Here’s another. We shall have old Bedlam broke loose presently.
MISS NEVILLE. And there, sir, is the gentleman to whom we all owe every obligation.
MARLOW. What can I say to him, a mere boy, an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a protection?
HASTINGS. A poor contemptible booby, that would but disgrace correction.
MISS NEVILLE. Yet with cunning and malice enough to make himself merry with all our embarrassments.
HASTINGS. An insensible cub.
MARLOW. Replete with tricks and mischief.
TONY. Baw! damme, but I’ll fight you both, one after the other----with baskets.
MARLOW. As for him, he’s below resentment. But your conduct, Mr. Hastings, requires an explanation. You knew of my mistakes, yet would not undeceive me.
HASTINGS. Tortured as I am with my own disappointments, is this a time for explanations? It is not friendly, Mr. Marlow.
MARLOW. But, sir----
MISS NEVILLE. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mistake till it was too late to undeceive you.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. My mistress desires you’ll get ready immediately, madam. The horses are putting to. Your hat and things are in the next room. We are to go thirty miles before morning. [Exit Servant.]
MISS NEVILLE. Well, well: I’ll come presently.
MARLOW. (To HASTINGS.) Was it well done, sir, to assist in rendering me ridiculous? To hang me out for the scorn of all my acquaintance? Depend upon it, sir, I shall expect an explanation.
HASTINGS. Was it well done, sir, if you’re upon that subject, to deliver what I entrusted to yourself, to the care of another sir?
MISS NEVILLE. Mr. Hastings! Mr. Marlow! Why will you increase my distress by this groundless dispute? I implore, I entreat you----
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. Your cloak, madam. My mistress is impatient. [Exit Servant.]
MISS NEVILLE. I come. Pray be pacified. If I leave you thus, I shall die with apprehension.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT. Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam. The horses are waiting.
MISS NEVILLE. O, Mr. Marlow! if you knew what a scene of constraint and ill-nature lies before me, I’m sure it would convert your resentment into pity.
MARLOW. I’m so distracted with a variety of passions, that I don’t know what I do. Forgive me, madam. George, forgive me. You know my hasty temper, and should not exasperate it.
HASTINGS. The torture of my situation is my only excuse.
MISS NEVILLE. Well, my dear Hastings, if you have that esteem for me that I think, that I am sure you have, your constancy for three years will but increase the happiness of our future connexion. If----
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (Within.) Miss Neville. Constance, why Constance, I say.
MISS NEVILLE. I’m coming. Well, constancy, remember, constancy is the word. [Exit.]
HASTINGS. My heart! how can I support this? To be so near happiness, and such happiness!
MARLOW. (To Tony.) You see now, young gentleman, the effects of your folly. What might be amusement to you, is here disappointment, and even distress.
TONY. (From a reverie.) Ecod, I have hit it. It’s here. Your hands. Yours and yours, my poor Sulky!--My boots there, ho!--Meet me two hours hence at the bottom of the garden; and if you don’t find Tony Lumpkin a more good-natured fellow than you thought for, I’ll give you leave to take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. My boots, ho! [Exeunt.]
ACT THE FIFTH.
(SCENE continued.)
Enter HASTINGS and Servant.
HASTINGS. You saw the old lady and Miss Neville drive off, you say?
SERVANT. Yes, your honour. They went off in a post-coach, and the young ’squire went on horseback. They’re thirty miles off by this time.
HASTINGS. Then all my hopes are over.
SERVANT. Yes, sir. Old Sir Charles has arrived. He and the old gentleman of the house have been laughing at Mr. Marlow’s mistake this half hour. They are coming this way.
HASTINGS. Then I must not be seen. So now to my fruitless appointment at the bottom of the garden. This is about the time. [Exit.]
Enter SIR CHARLES and HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. Ha! ha! ha! The peremptory tone in which he sent forth his sublime commands!
SIR CHARLES. And the reserve with which I suppose he treated all your advances.
HARDCASTLE. And yet he might have seen something in me above a common innkeeper, too.
SIR CHARLES. Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for an uncommon innkeeper, ha! ha! ha!
HARDCASTLE. Well, I’m in too good spirits to think of anything but joy. Yes, my dear friend, this union of our families will make our personal friendships hereditary; and though my daughter’s fortune is but small--
SIR CHARLES. Why, Dick, will you talk of fortune to ME? My son is possessed of more than a competence already, and can want nothing but a good and virtuous girl to share his happiness and increase it. If they like each other, as you say they do--
HARDCASTLE. IF, man! I tell you they DO like each other. My daughter as good as told me so.
SIR CHARLES. But girls are apt to flatter themselves, you know.
HARDCASTLE. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest manner myself; and here he comes to put you out of your IFS, I warrant him.
Enter MARLOW.
MARLOW. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. I can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion.
HARDCASTLE. Tut, boy, a trifle! You take it too gravely. An hour or two’s laughing with my daughter will set all to rights again. She’ll never like you the worse for it.
MARLOW. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation.
HARDCASTLE. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow; if I am not deceived, you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me?
MARLOW. Really, sir, I have not that happiness.
HARDCASTLE. Come, boy, I’m an old fellow, and know what’s what as well as you that are younger. I know what has passed between you; but mum.
MARLOW. Sure, sir, nothing has passed between us but the most profound respect on my side, and the most distant reserve on hers. You don’t think, sir, that my impudence has been passed upon all the rest of the family.
HARDCASTLE. Impudence! No, I don’t say that--not quite impudence--though girls like to be played with, and rumpled a little too, sometimes. But she has told no tales, I assure you.
MARLOW. I never gave her the slightest cause.
HARDCASTLE. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is over-acting, young gentleman. You may be open. Your father and I will like you all the better for it.
MARLOW. May I die, sir, if I ever----
HARDCASTLE. I tell you, she don’t dislike you; and as I’m sure you like her----
MARLOW. Dear sir--I protest, sir----
HARDCASTLE. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the parson can tie you.
MARLOW. But hear me, sir--
HARDCASTLE. Your father approves the match, I admire it; every moment’s delay will be doing mischief. So--
MARLOW. But why won’t you hear me? By all that’s just and true, I never gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview, and that was formal, modest, and uninteresting.
HARDCASTLE. (Aside.) This fellow’s formal modest impudence is beyond bearing.
SIR CHARLES. And you never grasped her hand, or made any protestations?
MARLOW. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope you’ll exact no farther proofs of my duty, nor prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many mortifications. [Exit.]
SIR CHARLES. I’m astonished at the air of sincerity with which he parted.
HARDCASTLE. And I’m astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his assurance.
SIR CHARLES. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth.
HARDCASTLE. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her veracity.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely and without reserve: has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection?
MISS HARDCASTLE. The question is very abrupt, sir. But since you require unreserved sincerity, I think he has.
HARDCASTLE. (To SIR CHARLES.) You see.
SIR CHARLES. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one interview?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Yes, sir, several.
HARDCASTLE. (To SIR CHARLES.) You see.
SIR CHARLES. But did be profess any attachment?
MISS HARDCASTLE. A lasting one.
SIR CHARLES. Did he talk of love?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Much, sir.
SIR CHARLES. Amazing! And all this formally?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Formally.
HARDCASTLE. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied.
SIR CHARLES. And how did he behave, madam?
MISS HARDCASTLE. As most profest admirers do: said some civil things of my face, talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine; mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with pretended rapture.
SIR CHARLES. Now I’m perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his conversation among women to be modest and submissive: this forward canting ranting manner by no means describes him; and, I am confident, he never sat for the picture.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Then, what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half an hour, will place yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me in person.
SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. And if you don’t find him what I describe--I fear my happiness must never have a beginning. [Exeunt.]
## SCENE changes to the back of the Garden.
Enter HASTINGS.
HASTINGS. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I’ll wait no longer. What do I see? It is he! and perhaps with news of my Constance.
Enter Tony, booted and spattered.
HASTINGS. My honest ’squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks like friendship.
TONY. Ay, I’m your friend, and the best friend you have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding by night, by the bye, is cursedly tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach.
HASTINGS. But how? where did you leave your fellow-travellers? Are they in safety? Are they housed?
TONY. Five and twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it: rabbit me, but I’d rather ride forty miles after a fox than ten with such varment.
HASTINGS. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience.
TONY. Left them! Why where should I leave them but where I found them?
HASTINGS. This is a riddle.
TONY. Riddle me this then. What’s that goes round the house, and round the house, and never touches the house?
HASTINGS. I’m still astray.
TONY. Why, that’s it, mon. I have led them astray. By jingo, there’s not a pond or a slough within five miles of the place but they can tell the taste of.
HASTINGS. Ha! ha! ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while they supposed themselves going forward, and so you have at last brought them home again.