Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress — Volume 2Burney, Fanny
General
Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress — Volume 2
Burney, Fanny
England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Love stories; Young women -- Fiction
“I am very sorry, indeed,” said Cecilia, much disconcerted, “if
there has been any mistake through my neglect; but I had hoped I was
understood, and I have been so much occupied--”
“Ay, ay,” interrupted he, “fine work! rare doings! a merry Vauxhalling,
with pistols at all your noddles! thought as much! thought he'd tip
the perch; saw he wasn't stanch; knew he'd go by his company,--a set of
jackanapes! all blacklegs! nobody warm among 'em; fellows with a month's
good living upon their backs, and not sixpence for the hangman in their
pockets!”
Mrs Delvile now, with a look of arch congratulation at Cecilia as the
object of this agreeable visit, finding it not likely to be immediately
concluded, returned to her chair; but Mr Delvile, leaning sternly upon
his cane, moved not from the spot where he stood at his entrance, but
surveyed him from head to foot, with the most astonished contempt at his
undaunted vulgarity.
“Well I'd all your cash myself; seized that, else!--run out the
constable for you, next, and made you blow out your brains for company.
Mind what I say, never give your mind to a gold lace hat! many a one
wears it don't know five farthings from twopence. A good man always
wears a bob wig; make that your rule. Ever see Master Harrel wear such
a thing? No, I'll warrant! better if he had; kept his head on his own
shoulders. And now, pray, how does he cut up? what has he left behind
him? a twey-case, I suppose, and a bit of a hat won't go on a man's
head!”
Cecilia, perceiving, with great confusion, that Mr Delvile, though
evidently provoked by this intrusion, would not deign to speak, that Mr
Briggs might be regarded as belonging wholly to herself, hastily said “I
will not, Sir, as your time is precious, detain you here, but, as soon
as it is in my power, I will wait upon you in the city.”
Mr Briggs, however, without listening to her, thought proper to continue
his harangue.
“Invited me once to his house; sent me a card, half of it printed like a
book! t'other half a scrawl could not read; pretended to give a supper;
all a mere bam; went without my dinner, and got nothing to eat; all
glass and shew; victuals painted all manner of colours; lighted up like
a pastry-cook on twelfth-day; wanted something solid, and got a great
lump of sweetmeat; found it as cold as a stone, all froze in my mouth
like ice; made me jump again, and brought the tears in my eyes; forced
to spit it out; believe it was nothing but a snowball, just set up for
show, and covered over with a little sugar. Pretty way to spend money!
Stuffing, and piping, and hopping! never could rest till every farthing
was gone; nothing left but his own fool's pate, and even that he could
not hold together.”
“At present, Sir,” said Cecilia, “we are all going out of town; the
carriage is waiting at the door, and therefore--”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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