Scene II. Indiana’s Lodgings.
Enter Isabella and Indiana.
Isabella
Yes, I say ’tis artifice, dear child. I say to thee again and again ’tis all skill and management.
Indiana
Will you persuade me there can be an ill design in supporting me in the condition of a woman of quality? attended, dressed, and lodged like one; in my appearance abroad and my furniture at home, every way in the most sumptuous manner, and he that does it has an artifice, a design in it?
Isabella
Yes, yes.
Indiana
And all this without so much as explaining to me that all about me comes from him!
Isabella
Ay, ay, the more for that. That keeps the title to all you have the more in him.
Indiana
The more in him! He scorns the thought—
Isabella
Then he—he—he—
Indiana
Well, be not so eager. If he is an ill man, let us look into his stratagems. Here is another of them. Showing a letter. Here’s two hundred and fifty pounds in bank notes, with these words: “To pay for the set of dressing-plate which will be brought home tomorrow.” Why, dear aunt, now here’s another piece of skill for you, which I own I cannot comprehend; and it is with a bleeding heart I hear you say anything to the disadvantage of Mr. Bevil. When he is present I look upon him as one to whom I owe my life and the support of it; then, again, as the man who loves me with sincerity and honour. When his eyes are cast another way, and I dare survey him, my heart is painfully divided between shame and love. Oh! could I tell you—
Isabella
Ah! you need not; I imagine all this for you.
Indiana
This is my state of mind in his presence; and when he is absent, you are ever dinning my ears with notions of the arts of men; that his hidden bounty, his respectful conduct, his careful provision for me, after his preserving me from utmost misery, are certain signs he means nothing but to make I know not what of me.
Isabella
Oh! You have a sweet opinion of him, truly.
Indiana
I have, when I am with him, ten thousand things, besides my sex’s natural decency and shame, to suppress my heart, that yearns to thank, to praise, to say it loves him. I say, thus it is with me while I see him; and in his absence I am entertained with nothing but your endeavours to tear this amiable image from my heart; and in its stead, to place a base dissembler, an artful invader of my happiness, my innocence, my honour.
Isabella
Ah, poor soul! has not his plot taken? don’t you die for him? has not the way he has taken, been the most proper with you? Oh! oh! He has sense, and has judged the thing right.
Indiana
Go on then, since nothing can answer you; say what you will of him. Heigh! ho!
Isabella
Heigh! ho! indeed. It is better to say so, as you are now, than as many others are. There are, among the destroyers of women, the gentle, the generous, the mild, the affable, the humble, who all, soon after their success in their designs, turn to the contrary of those characters. I will own to you, Mr. Bevil carries his hypocrisy the best of any man living, but still he is a man, and therefore a hypocrite. They have usurped an exemption from shame for any baseness, any cruelty towards us. They embrace without love; they make vows without conscience of obligation; they are partners, nay, seducers to the crime, wherein they pretend to be less guilty.
Indiana
That’s truly observed. Aside.—But what’s all this to Bevil?
Isabella
This it is to Bevil and all mankind. Trust not those who will think the worse of you for your confidence in them; serpents who lie in wait for doves. Won’t you be on your guard against those who would betray you? Won’t you doubt those who would contemn you for believing ’em? Take it from me, fair and natural dealing is to invite injuries; ’tis bleating to escape wolves who would devour you! Such is the world—Aside. and such (since the behaviour of one man to myself) have I believed all the rest of the sex.
Indiana
I will not doubt the truth of Bevil, I will not doubt it. He has not spoke of it by an organ that is given to lying. His eyes are all that have ever told me that he was mine. I know his virtue, I know his filial piety, and ought to trust his management with a father to whom he has uncommon obligations. What have I to be concerned for? my lesson is very short. If he takes me forever, my purpose of life is only to please him. If he leaves me (which Heaven avert) I know he’ll do it nobly, and I shall have nothing to do but to learn to die, after worse than death has happened to me.
Isabella
Ay, do, persist in your credulity! flatter yourself that a man of his figure and fortune will make himself the jest of the town, and marry a handsome beggar for love.
Indiana
The town! I must tell you, madam, the fools that laugh at Mr. Bevil will but make themselves more ridiculous; his actions are the result of thinking, and he has sense enough to make even virtue fashionable.
Isabella
O’ my conscience he has turned her head.—Come, come, if he were the honest fool you take him for, why has he kept you here these three weeks, without sending you to Bristol in search of your father, your family, and your relations?
Indiana
I am convinced he still designs it, and that nothing keeps him here, but the necessity of coming to a breach with his father in regard to the match he has proposed him. Beside, has he not writ to Bristol? and has not he advice that my father has not been heard of there almost these twenty years?
Isabella
All sham, mere evasion; he is afraid, if he should carry you thither, your honest relations may take you out of his hands, and so blow up all his wicked hopes at once.
Indiana
Wicked hopes! did I ever give him any such?
Isabella
Has he ever given you any honest ones? Can you say, in your conscience, he has ever once offered to marry you?
Indiana
No! but by his behaviour I am convinced he will offer it, the moment ’tis in his power, or consistent with his honour, to make such a promise good to me.
Isabella
His honour!
Indiana
I will rely upon it; therefore desire you will not make my life uneasy, by these ungrateful jealousies of one, to whom I am, and wish to be, obliged. For from his integrity alone, I have resolved to hope for happiness.
Isabella
Nay, I have done my duty; if you won’t see, at your peril be it!
Indiana
Let it be—This is his hour of visiting me.
Isabella
Oh! to be sure, keep up your form; don’t see him in a bedchamber—Apart. This is pure prudence, when she is liable, wherever he meets her, to be conveyed where’er he pleases.
Indiana
All the rest of my life is but waiting till he comes. I live only when I’m with him.
Exit.
Isabella
Well, go thy ways, thou wilful innocent!—Aside. I once had almost as much love for a man, who poorly left me to marry an estate; and I am now, against my will, what they call an old maid—but I will not let the peevishness of that condition grow upon me, only keep up the suspicion of it, to prevent this creature’s being any other than a virgin, except upon proper terms.
Exit.
Reenter Indiana, speaking to a Servant.
Indiana
Desire Mr. Bevil to walk in—Design! impossible! A base designing mind could never think of what he hourly puts in practice. And yet, since the late rumour of his marriage, he seems more reserved than formerly—he sends in too, before he sees me, to know if I am at leisure—such new respects may cover coldness in the heart; it certainly makes me thoughtful—I’ll know the worst at once; I’ll lay such fair occasions in his way, that it shall be impossible to avoid an explanation, for these doubts are insupportable!—But see, he comes, and clears them all.
Enter Bevil.
Bevil Jr.
Madam, your most obedient—I am afraid I broke in upon your rest last night; ’twas very late before we parted, but ’twas your own fault. I never saw you in such agreeable humour.
Indiana
I am extremely glad we were both pleased; for I thought I never saw you better company.
Bevil Jr.
Me, madam! you rally; I said very little.
Indiana
But I am afraid you heard me say a great deal; and, when a woman is in the talking vein, the most agreeable thing a man can do, you know, is to have patience to hear her.
Bevil Jr.
Then it’s pity, madam, you should ever be silent, that we might be always agreeable to one another.
Indiana
If I had your talent or power, to make my actions speak for me, I might indeed be silent, and you pretend to something more than the agreeable.
Bevil Jr.
If I might be vain of anything in my power, madam, ’tis that my understanding, from all your sex, has marked you out as the most deserving object of my esteem.
Indiana
Should I think I deserve this, ’twere enough to make my vanity forfeit the very esteem you offer me.
Bevil Jr.
How so, madam?
Indiana
Because esteem is the result of reason, and to deserve it from good sense, the height of human glory. Nay, I had rather a man of honour should pay me that, than all the homage of a sincere and humble love.
Bevil Jr.
You certainly distinguish right, madam; love often kindles from external merit only.
Indiana
But esteem rises from a higher source, the merit of the soul.
Bevil Jr.
True—And great souls only can deserve it. Bowing respectfully.
Indiana
Now I think they are greater still, that can so charitably part with it.
Bevil Jr.
Now, madam, you make me vain, since the utmost pride and pleasure of my life is, that I esteem you as I ought.
Indiana
Aside. As he ought! still more perplexing! he neither saves nor kills my hope.
Bevil Jr.
But, madam, we grow grave, methinks. Let’s find some other subject—Pray how did you like the opera last night?
Indiana
First give me leave to thank you for my tickets.
Bevil Jr.
Oh! your servant, madam. But pray tell me, you now, who are never partial to the fashion, I fancy must be the properest judge of a mighty dispute among the ladies, that is, whether Crispo or Griselda is the more agreeable entertainment.
Indiana
With submission now, I cannot be a proper judge of this question.
Bevil Jr.
How so, madam?
Indiana
Because I find I have a partiality for one of them.
Bevil Jr.
Pray which is that?
Indiana
I do not know; there’s something in that rural cottage of Griselda, her forlorn condition, her poverty, her solitude, her resignation, her innocent slumbers, and that lulling dolce sogno that’s sung over her; it had an effect upon me that—in short I never was so well deceived, at any of them.
Bevil Jr.
Oh! Now then, I can account for the dispute. Griselda, it seems, is the distress of an injured innocent woman, Crispo, that only of a man in the same condition; therefore the men are mostly concerned for Crispo, and, by a natural indulgence, both sexes for Griselda.
Indiana
So that judgment, you think, ought to be for one, though fancy and complaisance have got ground for the other. Well! I believe you will never give me leave to dispute with you on any subject; for I own, Crispo has its charms for me too. Though in the main, all the pleasure the best opera gives us is but mere sensation. Methinks it’s pity the mind can’t have a little more share in the entertainment. The music’s certainly fine, but, in my thoughts, there’s none of your composers come up to old Shakespeare and Otway.
Bevil Jr.
How, madam! why if a woman of your sense were to say this in a drawing-room—
Enter a Servant.
Servant
Sir, here’s Signor Carbonelli says he waits your commands in the next room.
Bevil Jr.
Apropos! you were saying yesterday, madam, you had a mind to hear him. Will you give him leave to entertain you now?
Indiana
By all means; desire the gentleman to walk in.
Exit Servant.
Bevil Jr.
I fancy you will find something in this hand that is uncommon.
Indiana
You are always finding ways, Mr. Bevil, to make life seem less tedious to me.
Enter Music Master.
When the gentleman pleases.
After a Sonata is played, Bevil waits on the Master to the door, etc.
Bevil Jr.
You smile, madam, to see me so complaisant to one whom I pay for his visit. Now, I own, I think it is not enough barely to pay those whose talents are superior to our own (I mean such talents as would become our condition, if we had them). Methinks we ought to do something more than barely gratify them for what they do at our command, only because their fortune is below us.
Indiana
You say I smile. I assure you it was a smile of approbation; for, indeed, I cannot but think it the distinguishing part of a gentleman to make his superiority of fortune as easy to his inferiors as he can.—Now once more to try him. Aside.—I was saying just now, I believed you would never let me dispute with you, and I daresay it will always be so. However, I must have your opinion upon a subject which created a debate between my aunt and me, just before you came hither; she would needs have it that no man ever does any extraordinary kindness or service for a woman, but for his own sake.
Bevil Jr.
Well, madam! Indeed I can’t but be of her mind.
Indiana
What, though he should maintain and support her, without demanding anything of her, on her part?
Bevil Jr.
Why, madam, is making an expense in the service of a valuable woman (for such I must suppose her), though she should never do him any favour, nay, though she should never know who did her such service, such a mighty heroic business?
Indiana
Certainly! I should think he must be a man of an uncommon mould.
Bevil Jr.
Dear madam, why so? ’tis but, at best, a better taste in expense. To bestow upon one, whom he may think one of the ornaments of the whole creation, to be conscious, that from his superfluity, an innocent, a virtuous spirit is supported above the temptations and sorrows of life! That he sees satisfaction, health, and gladness in her countenance, while he enjoys the happiness of seeing her (as that I will suppose too, or he must be too abstracted, too insensible), I say, if he is allowed to delight in that prospect; alas, what mighty matter is there in all this?
Indiana
No mighty matter in so disinterested a friendship!
Bevil Jr.
Disinterested! I can’t think him so; your hero, madam, is no more than what every gentleman ought to be, and I believe very many are. He is only one who takes more delight in reflections than in sensations. He is more pleased with thinking than eating; that’s the utmost you can say of him. Why, madam, a greater expense than all this, men lay out upon an unnecessary stable of horses.
Indiana
Can you be sincere in what you say?
Bevil Jr.
You may depend upon it, if you know any such man, he does not love dogs inordinately.
Indiana
No, that he does not.
Bevil Jr.
Nor cards, nor dice.
Indiana
No.
Bevil Jr.
Nor bottle companions.
Indiana
No.
Bevil Jr.
Nor loose women.
Indiana
No, I’m sure he does not.
Bevil Jr.
Take my word then, if your admired hero is not liable to any of these kind of demands, there’s no such preeminence in this as you imagine. Nay, this way of expense you speak of is what exalts and raises him that has a taste for it; and, at the same time, his delight is incapable of satiety, disgust, or penitence.
Indiana
But still I insist his having no private interest in the action, makes it prodigious, almost incredible.
Bevil Jr.
Dear madam, I never knew you more mistaken. Why, who can be more a usurer than he who lays out his money in such valuable purchases? If pleasure be worth purchasing, how great a pleasure is it to him, who has a true taste of life, to ease an aching heart; to see the human countenance lighted up into smiles of joy, on the receipt of a bit of ore which is superfluous and otherwise useless in a man’s own pocket? What could a man do better with his cash? This is the effect of a human disposition, where there is only a general tie of nature and common necessity. What then must it be when we serve an object of merit, of admiration!
Indiana
Well! the more you argue against it the more I shall admire the generosity.
Bevil Jr.
Nay, nay—Then, madam, ’tis time to fly, after a declaration that my opinion strengthens my adversary’s argument. I had best hasten to my appointment with Mr. Myrtle, and begone while we are friends, and before things are brought to an extremity.
Exit carelessly.
Enter Isabella.
Isabella
Well, madam, what think you of him now, pray?
Indiana
I protest, I begin to fear he is wholly disinterested in what he does for me. On my heart, he has no other view but the mere pleasure of doing it, and has neither good or bad designs upon me.
Isabella
Ah! dear niece! don’t be in fear of both! I’ll warrant you, you will know time enough that he is not indifferent.
Indiana
You please me when you tell me so; for, if he has any wishes towards me, I know he will not pursue them but with honour.
Isabella
I wish I were as confident of one as t’other. I saw the respectful downcast of his eye, when you caught him gazing at you during the music. He, I warrant, was surprised, as if he had been taken stealing your watch. Oh! the undissembled guilty look!
Indiana
But did you observe any such thing, really? I thought he looked most charmingly graceful! How engaging is modesty in a man, when one knows there is a great mind within. So tender a confusion! and yet, in other respects, so much himself, so collected, so dauntless, so determined!
Isabella
Ah! niece! there is a sort of bashfulness which is the best engine to carry on a shameless purpose. Some men’s modesty serves their wickedness, as hypocrisy gains the respect due to piety. But I will own to you, there is one hopeful symptom, if there could be such a thing as a disinterested lover. But it’s all a perplexity—till—till—till—
Indiana
Till what?
Isabella
Till I know whether Mr. Myrtle and Mr. Bevil are really friends or foes.—And that I will be convinced of before I sleep; for you shall not be deceived.
Indiana
I’m sure I never shall, if your fears can guard me. In the meantime I’ll wrap myself up in the integrity of my own heart, nor dare to doubt of his.
As conscious honour all his actions steers,
So conscious innocence dispels my fears.
Exeunt.