Act 2 — SCENE I.—A library at Sir Willoughby’s. Enter Helen with Servant.

Helen. Lord Austencourt—true—this is his hour for persecuting me—very well, desire lord Austencourt to come in. (exit servant) I won’t marry. They all say I shall. Some girls, now, would sit down and sigh, and moan, as if that would mend the matter—that will never suit me! Some indeed would run away with the man they liked better—but then the only man I ever liked well enough to marry—is—I believe, run away from me. Well! that won’t do!—so I’ll e’en laugh it off as well as I can; and though I wont marry his lordship, I’ll teaze him as heartily as if I had been his wife these twenty years.

Enter lord Austencourt.

Lord A. Helen! too lovely Helen! once more behold before you to supplicate for your love and pity, the man whom the world calls proud, but whom your beauty alone has humbled.

Helen. They say, my lord, that pride always has a fall some time or other. I hope the fall of your lordship’s hasn’t hurt you.

Lord A. Is it possible that the amiable Helen, so famed for gentleness and goodness, can see the victim of her charms thus dejected stand before her.

Helen. Certainly not, my lord—so pray sit down.

Lord A. Will you never be for one moment serious?

Helen. Oh, yes, my lord! I am never otherwise when I think of your lordship’s proposals—but when you are making love and fine speeches to me in person, ’tis with amazing difficulty I can help laughing.

Lord A. Insolent vixin. (aside) I had indulged a hope, madam, that the generosity and disinterested love I have evinced—

Helen. Why as to your lordship’s generosity in condescending to marry a poor solitary spinster, I am certainly most duly grateful—and no one can possibly doubt your disinterestedness, who knows I am only heiress to 12,000l. a year—a fortune which, as I take it, nearly doubles the whole of your lordship’s rent roll!

Lord A. Really, madam, if I am suspected of any mercenary motives, the liberal settlements which are now ready for your perusal, must immediately remove any such suspicion.

Helen. Oh, my lord, you certainly mistake me—only as my papa observes, our estates do join so charmingly to one another!

Lord A. Yes:—that circumstance is certainly advantageous to both parties (exultingly.)

Helen. Certainly!—only, as mine is the biggest, perhaps yours would be the greatest gainer by the bargain.

Lord A. My dear madam, a title and the advantages of elevation in rank amply compensate the sacrifice on your part.

Helen. Why, as to a title, my lord (as Mr. O’Dedimus, your attorney, observes) there’s no title in my mind better than a good title to a fine estate—and I see plainly, that although your lordship is a peer of the realm—you think this title of mine no mean companion for your own.

Lord A. Nay, madam—believe me—I protest—I assure you—solemnly, that those considerations have very little—indeed no influence at all with me.

Helen. Oh, no!—only it is natural that you should feel (as papa again observes) that the contiguity of these estates seem to invite a union by a marriage between us.

Lord A. And if you admit that fact, why do you decline the invitation?

Helen. Why, one doesn’t accept every invitation that’s offered, you know—one sometimes has very disagreeable ones; and then one presents compliments, and is extremely sorry that a prior engagement obliges us to decline the honour.

Lord A. (aside) Confound the satirical huzzy—But should not the wishes of your parents have some weight in the scale?

Helen. Why, so they have; their wishes are in one scale, and mine are in the other; do all I can, I can’t make mine weigh most, and so the beam remains balanced.

Lord A. I should be sorry to make theirs preponderate, by calling in their authority as auxiliaries to their wishes.

Helen. Authority!—Ho! what, you think to marry me by force! do ye my lord?

Lord A. They are resolute, and if you continue obstinate—

Helen. I dare say your lordship’s education hasn’t precluded your knowledge of a very true, though rather vulgar proverb, “one man may lead a horse to the water, but twenty can’t make him drink.”

Lord A. The allusion may be classical, madam, though certainly it is not very elegant, nor has it even the advantage of being applicable to the point in question. However I do not despair to see this resolution changed. In the mean time, I did not think it in your nature to treat any man who loves you with cruelty and scorn.

Helen. Then why don’t you desist, my lord? If you’d take an answer, you had a civil one: but if you will follow and teaze one, like a sturdy beggar in the street, you must expect at last a reproof for your impertinence.

Lord A. Yet even in their case perseverance often obtains what was denied to poverty.

Helen. Yes, possibly, from the feeble or the vain; but genuine Charity, and her sister, Love, act only from their own generous impulse, and scorn intimidation.

Enter Tiffany.

Tiffany. Are you alone, madam?

Helen. No; I was only wishing to be so.

Tiff. A young woman is without, inquiring for sir Willoughby, ma’am; I thought he had been here.

Helen. Do you know her?

Tiff. Yes, ma’am; ’tis Fanny, the daughter of the odd man that lives on the common.

Helen. I’ll see her myself—desire her to walk up. [Exit Tiffany.

Lord A. (seems uneasy) Indeed! what brings her here?

Helen. Why, what can be the matter now? your lordship seems quite melancholy on a sudden.

Lord A. I, madam! oh no!—or if I am—’tis merely a head ach, or some such cause, or perhaps owing to the influence of the weather.

Helen. Your lordship is a very susceptible barometer—when you entered this room your countenance was set fair; but now I see the index points to stormy.

Lord A. Madam, you have company, or business—a good morning to you.

Helen. Stay, stay, my lord.

Lord A. Excuse me at present, I have an important affair—another time.

Helen. Surely, my lord, the arrival of this innocent girl does not drive you away!

Lord A. Bless me, madam, what an idea! certainly not; but I have just recollected an engagement of consequence—some other time—Madam, your most obedient—[Exit.

Enter Fanny.

Fan. I beg pardon, madam, I’m fearful I intrude; but I inquired for sir Willoughby, and they showed me to this room. I wished to speak with him on particular business—your servant, madam.

Hel. Pray stay, my good girl—I rejoice in this opportunity of becoming acquainted with you—the character I have heard of you has excited an affectionate interest—you must allow me to become your friend.

Fanny. Indeed, indeed, madam, I am in want of friends; but you can never be one of them.

Helen. No! Why so?

Fan. You, madam! Oh no—you are the only enemy I ever had.

Hel. Enemy! This is very extraordinary! I have scarce ever seen you before—Assuredly I never injured you.

Fan. Heaven forbid I should wish any one to injure you as deeply.

Hel. I cannot understand you—pray explain yourself.

Fan. That’s impossible, madam—my lord would never forgive me.

Hel. Your lord! Let me entreat you to explain your meaning.

Fan. I cannot, madam; I came hither on business of importance, and no trifling business should have brought me to a house inhabited by one who is the cause of all my wretchedness.

Hel. This is a very extraordinary affair! There is a mixture of cultivation and simplicity in your manner that affects me strongly—I see, my poor girl, you are distressed; and though what you have said leaves on my mind a painful suspicion—

Fan. Oh heavens, madam! stay, I beseech you!—I am not what you think me, indeed I am not—I must not, for a moment, let you think of me so injuriously: yet I have promised secrecy! but sure no promise can be binding, when to keep it we must sacrifice all that is valuable in life—hear me, then madam—the struggle is violent; but I owe it to myself to acknowledge all.

Hel. No, no, my dear girl! I now see what it would cost you to reveal your secret, and I will not listen to it; rest assured, I have no longer a thought to your disadvantage: curiosity gives place to interest: for though ’tis cruelty to inflict a wound, ’tis still more deliberate barbarity to probe when we cannot hope to heal it. (going.)

Fan. Stay, madam, stay—your generosity overpowers me! oh madam! you know not how wretched I am.

Hel. What is it affects you thus?—come, if your story is of a nature that may be revealed, you are sure of sympathy.

Fan. I never should have doubted; but my father has alarmed me sadly—he says my lord Austencourt is certainly on the point of marriage with you.

Hel. And how, my dear girl, if it were so, could that affect you? Come, you must be explicit.

Fan. Affect me! merciful Heaven! can I see him wed another? He is my husband by every tie sacred and human.

Hel. Suffering, but too credulous girl! have you then trusted to his vows?

Fan. How, madam! was I to blame, loving as I did, to trust in vows so solemn? could I suppose he would dare to break them, because our marriage was performed in secret?

Hel. Your marriage, child! Good Heavens, you amaze me! but here we may be interrupted—this way with me. If this indeed be so all may be well again: for though he may be dead to feeling be assured he is alive to fear: the man who once descends to be a villain is generally observed to be at heart a coward. [Exeunt.