History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter vi.
1321 words | Chapter 338
In which Mrs Miller pays a visit to Sophia.
Access to the young lady was by no means difficult; for, as she lived
now on a perfect friendly footing with her aunt, she was at full
liberty to receive what visitants she pleased.
Sophia was dressing when she was acquainted that there was a
gentlewoman below to wait on her. As she was neither afraid, nor
ashamed, to see any of her own sex, Mrs Miller was immediately
admitted.
Curtsies and the usual ceremonials between women who are strangers to
each other, being past, Sophia said, “I have not the pleasure to know
you, madam.” “No, madam,” answered Mrs Miller, “and I must beg pardon
for intruding upon you. But when you know what has induced me to give
you this trouble, I hope----” “Pray, what is your business, madam?”
said Sophia, with a little emotion. “Madam, we are not alone,” replied
Mrs Miller, in a low voice. “Go out, Betty,” said Sophia.
When Betty was departed, Mrs Miller said, “I was desired, madam, by a
very unhappy young gentleman, to deliver you this letter.” Sophia
changed colour when she saw the direction, well knowing the hand, and
after some hesitation, said--“I could not conceive, madam, from your
appearance, that your business had been of such a nature.--Whomever
you brought this letter from, I shall not open it. I should be sorry
to entertain an unjust suspicion of any one; but you are an utter
stranger to me.”
“If you will have patience, madam,” answered Mrs Miller, “I will
acquaint you who I am, and how I came by that letter.” “I have no
curiosity, madam, to know anything,” cries Sophia; “but I must insist
on your delivering that letter back to the person who gave it you.”
Mrs Miller then fell upon her knees, and in the most passionate terms
implored her compassion; to which Sophia answered: “Sure, madam, it is
surprizing you should be so very strongly interested in the behalf of
this person. I would not think, madam”--“No, madam,” says Mrs Miller,
“you shall not think anything but the truth. I will tell you all, and
you will not wonder that I am interested. He is the best-natured
creature that ever was born.”--She then began and related the story of
Mr Anderson.--After this she cried, “This, madam, this is his
goodness; but I have much more tender obligations to him. He hath
preserved my child.”--Here, after shedding some tears, she related
everything concerning that fact, suppressing only those circumstances
which would have most reflected on her daughter, and concluded with
saying, “Now, madam, you shall judge whether I can ever do enough for
so kind, so good, so generous a young man; and sure he is the best and
worthiest of all human beings.”
The alterations in the countenance of Sophia had hitherto been chiefly
to her disadvantage, and had inclined her complexion to too great
paleness; but she now waxed redder, if possible, than vermilion, and
cried, “I know not what to say; certainly what arises from gratitude
cannot be blamed--But what service can my reading this letter do your
friend, since I am resolved never----” Mrs Miller fell again to her
entreaties, and begged to be forgiven, but she could not, she said,
carry it back. “Well, madam,” says Sophia, “I cannot help it, if you
will force it upon me.--Certainly you may leave it whether I will or
no.” What Sophia meant, or whether she meant anything, I will not
presume to determine; but Mrs Miller actually understood this as a
hint, and presently laying the letter down on the table, took her
leave, having first begged permission to wait again on Sophia; which
request had neither assent nor denial.
The letter lay upon the table no longer than till Mrs Miller was out
of sight; for then Sophia opened and read it.
This letter did very little service to his cause; for it consisted of
little more than confessions of his own unworthiness, and bitter
lamentations of despair, together with the most solemn protestations
of his unalterable fidelity to Sophia, of which, he said, he hoped to
convince her, if he had ever more the honour of being admitted to her
presence; and that he could account for the letter to Lady Bellaston
in such a manner, that, though it would not entitle him to her
forgiveness, he hoped at least to obtain it from her mercy. And
concluded with vowing that nothing was ever less in his thoughts than
to marry Lady Bellaston.
Though Sophia read the letter twice over with great attention, his
meaning still remained a riddle to her; nor could her invention
suggest to her any means to excuse Jones. She certainly remained very
angry with him, though indeed Lady Bellaston took up so much of her
resentment, that her gentle mind had but little left to bestow on any
other person.
That lady was most unluckily to dine this very day with her aunt
Western, and in the afternoon they were all three, by appointment, to
go together to the opera, and thence to Lady Thomas Hatchet's drum.
Sophia would have gladly been excused from all, but would not
disoblige her aunt; and as to the arts of counterfeiting illness, she
was so entirely a stranger to them, that it never once entered into
her head. When she was drest, therefore, down she went, resolved to
encounter all the horrors of the day, and a most disagreeable one it
proved; for Lady Bellaston took every opportunity very civilly and
slily to insult her; to all which her dejection of spirits disabled
her from making any return; and, indeed, to confess the truth, she was
at the very best but an indifferent mistress of repartee.
Another misfortune which befel poor Sophia was the company of Lord
Fellamar, whom she met at the opera, and who attended her to the drum.
And though both places were too publick to admit of any
particularities, and she was farther relieved by the musick at the one
place, and by the cards at the other, she could not, however, enjoy
herself in his company; for there is something of delicacy in women,
which will not suffer them to be even easy in the presence of a man
whom they know to have pretensions to them which they are disinclined
to favour.
Having in this chapter twice mentioned a drum, a word which our
posterity, it is hoped, will not understand in the sense it is here
applied, we shall, notwithstanding our present haste, stop a moment to
describe the entertainment here meant, and the rather as we can in a
moment describe it.
A drum, then, is an assembly of well-dressed persons of both sexes,
most of whom play at cards, and the rest do nothing at all; while the
mistress of the house performs the part of the landlady at an inn, and
like the landlady of an inn prides herself in the number of her
guests, though she doth not always, like her, get anything by it.
No wonder then, as so much spirits must be required to support any
vivacity in these scenes of dulness, that we hear persons of fashion
eternally complaining of the want of them; a complaint confined
entirely to upper life. How insupportable must we imagine this round
of impertinence to have been to Sophia at this time; how difficult
must she have found it to force the appearance of gaiety into her
looks, when her mind dictated nothing but the tenderest sorrow, and
when every thought was charged with tormenting ideas!
Night, however, at last restored her to her pillow, where we will
leave her to soothe her melancholy at least, though incapable we fear
of rest, and shall pursue our history, which, something whispers us,
is now arrived at the eve of some great event.
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