Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress. Volume 3. Burney Fanny

sent for him?”

      “I believe—I fancy—Mr Delvile fetched him.”

      “My son?—is he here, then?”

      “No,—he went, the moment he left you, for Dr Lyster,—and Dr Lyster is come by himself.”

      “Does he write to you?”

      “No, indeed!—he writes not—he comes not—dearest madam be satisfied, he will do neither to me ever more!”

      “Exemplary young man!” cried she, in a voice hardly audible, “how great is his loss!—unhappy Mortimer!—ill-fated, and ill-rewarded!”

      She sighed, and said no more; but this short conversation, the only one which had passed between them since her illness, agitated her so much, that Dr Lyster, who now came up stairs, found her in a state of trembling and weakness that both alarmed and surprised him. Cecilia, glad of an opportunity to be gone, left the room, and sent, by Dr Lyster’s desire, for the physician and surgeon who had already attended.

      After they had been some time with their patient, they retired to a consultation, and when it was over, Dr Lyster waited upon Cecilia in the parlour, and assured her he had no apprehension of danger for Mrs Delvile, “Though, for another week,” he added, “I would have her continue your patient, as she is not yet fit to be removed. But pray mind that she is kept quiet; let nobody go near her, not even her own son. By the way he is waiting for me at the inn, so I’ll just speak again to his mother, and be gone.”

      Cecilia was well pleased by this accidental information, to learn both the anxiety of Delvile for his mother, and the steadiness of his forbearance for himself. When Dr Lyster came down stairs again, “I shall stay,” he said, “till to-morrow, but I hope she will be able in another week to get to Bristol. In the mean time I shall leave her, I see, with an excellent nurse. But, my good young lady, in your care of her, don’t neglect yourself; I am not quite pleased with your looks, though it is but an old fashioned speech to tell you so.—What have you been doing to yourself?”

      “Nothing;” said she, a little embarrassed; “but had you not better have some tea?”

      “Why yes, I think I had;—but what shall I do with my young man?”

      Cecilia understood the hint, but coloured, and made no answer.

      “He is waiting for me,” he continued, “at the inn; however, I never yet knew the young man I would prefer to a young woman, so if you will give me some tea here, I shall certainly jilt him.”

      Cecilia instantly rang the bell, and ordered tea.

      “Well now,” said he, “remember the sin of this breach of appointment lies wholly at your door. I shall tell him you laid violent hands on me; and if that is not, enough to excuse me, I shall desire he will try whether he could be more of a stoic with you himself.”

      “I think I must unorder the tea,” said she, with what gaiety she could assume, “if I am to be responsible for any mischief from your drinking it.”

      “No, no, you shan’t be off now; but pray would it be quite out of rule for you to send and ask him to come to us?”

      “Why I believe—I think—” said she, stammering, “it’s very likely he may be engaged.”

      “Well, well, I don’t mean to propose any violent incongruity. You must excuse my blundering; I understand but little of the etiquette of young ladies. ‘Tis a science too intricate to be learned without more study than we plodding men of business can well spare time for. However, when I have done writing prescriptions, I will set about reading them, provided you will be my instructress.”

      Cecilia, though ashamed of a charge in which prudery and affectation were implied, was compelled to submit to it, as either to send for Delvile, or explain her objections, was equally impossible. The Miss Charltons, therefore, joined them, and they went to tea.

      Just as they had done, a note was delivered to Dr Lyster; “see here,” cried he, when he had read it, “what a fine thing it is to be a young man! Why now, Mr Mortimer understands as much of all this etiquette as you ladies do yourselves; for he only writes a note even to ask how his mother does.”

      He then put it into Cecilia’s hand.

      To Dr Lyster.

      Tell me, my dear Sir, how you have found my mother? I am uneasy at your long stay, and engaged with my friend Biddulph, or I should have followed you in person.

      M.D.

      “So you see,” continued the doctor, “I need not do penance for engaging myself to you, when this young gentleman can find such good entertainment for himself.”

      Cecilia who well knew the honourable motive of Delvile’s engagement, with difficulty forbore speaking in his vindication. Dr Lyster immediately began an answer, but before he had finished it, called out, “Now as I am told you are a very good young woman, I think you can do no less than assist me to punish this gay spark, for playing the macaroni, when he ought to visit his sick mother.”

      Cecilia, much hurt for Delvile, and much confused for herself, looked abashed, but knew not what to answer.

      “My scheme,” continued the doctor, “is to tell him, that as he has found one engagement for tea, he may find another for supper; but that as to me, I am better disposed of, for you insist upon keeping me to yourself. Come, what says etiquette? may I treat myself with this puff?”

      “Certainly,” said Cecilia, endeavouring to look pleased, “if you will favour us with your company, Miss Charltons and myself will think the puffing should rather be ours than yours.”

      “That, then,” said the doctor, “will not answer my purpose, for I mean the puff to be my own, or how do I punish him? So, suppose I tell him I shall not only sup with three young ladies, but be invited to a tete-a-tete with one of them into the bargain?”

      The young ladies only laughed, and the doctor finished his note, and sent it away; and then, turning gaily to Cecilia, “Come,” he said, “why don’t you give me this invitation? surely you don’t mean to make me guilty of perjury?”

      Cecilia, but little disposed for pleasantry, would gladly now have dropt the subject; but Dr Lyster, turning to the Miss Charltons, said, “Young ladies, I call you both to witness if this is not very bad usage: this young woman has connived at my writing a downright falsehood, and all the time took me in to believe it was a truth. The only way I can think of to cure her of such frolics, is for both of you to leave us together, and so make her keep her word whether she will or no.”

      The Miss Charltons took the hint, and went away; while Cecilia, who had not at all suspected he meant seriously to speak with her, remained extremely perplexed to think what he had to say.

      “Mrs Delvile,” cried he, continuing the same air of easy good humour, “though I allowed her not to speak to me above twenty words, took up near ten of them to tell me that you had behaved to her like an angel. Why so she ought, cried I; what else was she sent for here to look so like one? I charged her, therefore, to take all that as a thing of course; and to prove that I really think what I say, I am now going to make a trial of you, that, if you are any thing less, will induce you to order some of your men to drive me into the street. The truth is, I have had a little commission given me, which in the first place I know not how to introduce, and which, in the second, as far as I can judge, appears to be absolutely superfluous.”

      Cecilia now felt uneasy and alarmed, and begged him to explain himself. He then dropt the levity with which he had begun the discourse, and after a grave, yet gentle preparation, expressive of his unwillingness to distress her, and his firm persuasion of her uncommon worthiness, he acquainted her that he was no stranger to her situation with respect to the Delvile family.

      “Good God!” cried she, blushing and much amazed; “and who”–

      “I knew it,” said he, “from the moment I attended Mr Mortimer in his illness at Delvile Castle. He could not conceal from me that the seat of his disorder was his mind; and I could not know that, without