she starts up; says she, ‘I’ll lay #100 I know the gentleman.’
‘I am sorry you do,’ says I, ‘for I would not have him exposed
on any account in the world; he has had injury enough already
by me, and I would not be instrumental to do him any more.’
‘No, no,’ says she, ‘I will do him no injury, I assure you, but
you may let me satisfy my curiosity a little, for if it is he, I
warrant you I find it out.’ I was a little startled at that, and
told her, with an apparent concern in my face, that by the same
rule he might find me out, and then I was undone. She returned
warmly, ‘Why, do you think I will betray you, child? No, no,’
says she, ‘not for all he is worth in the world. I have kept your
counsel in worse things than these; sure you may trust me in
this.’ So I said no more at that time.
She laid her scheme another way, and without acquainting me
of it, but she was resolved to find it out if possible. So she
goes to a certain friend of hers who was acquainted in the
family that she guessed at, and told her friend she had some
extraordinary business with such a gentleman (who, by the
way, was no less than a baronet, and of a very good family),
and that she knew not how to come at him without somebody
to introduce her. Her friend promised her very readily to do
it, and accordingly goes to the house to see if the gentleman
was in town.
The next day she come to my governess and tells her that
Sir —- was at home, but that he had met with a disaster and
was very ill, and there was no speaking with him. ‘What
disaster?’ says my governess hastily, as if she was surprised
at it. ‘Why,’ says her friend, ‘he had been at Hampstead to
visit a gentleman of his acquaintance, and as he came back
again he was set upon and robbed; and having got a little drink
too, as they suppose, the rogues abused him, and he is very ill.’
‘Robbed!’ says my governess, ‘and what did they take from
him?’ ‘Why,’ says her friend, ‘they took his gold watch and
his gold snuff-box, his fine periwig, and what money he had
in his pocket, which was considerable, to be sure, for Sir —-
never goes without a purse of guineas about him.’
‘Pshaw!’ says my old governess, jeering, ‘I warrant you he
has got drunk now and got a whore, and she has picked his
pocket, and so he comes home to his wife and tells her he has
been robbed. That’s an old sham; a thousand such tricks are
put upon the poor women every day.’
‘Fie!’ says her friend, ‘I find you don’t know Sir —-; why he
is a civil a gentleman, there is not a finer man, nor a soberer,
graver, modester person in the whole city; he abhors such things;
there’s nobody that knows him will think such a thing of him.’
‘Well, well,’ says my governess, ‘that’s none of my business;
if it was, I warrant I should find there was something of that
kind in it; your modest men in common opinion are sometimes
no better than other people, only they keep a better character,
or, if you please, are the better hypocrites.’
‘No, no,’ says her friend, ‘I can assure you Sir —- is no
hypocrite, he is really an honest, sober gentleman, and he has
certainly been robbed.’ ‘Nay,’ says my governess, ‘it may be
he has; it is no business of mine, I tell you; I only want to
speak with him; my business is of another nature.’ ‘But,’ says
her friend, ‘let your business be of what nature it will, you
cannot see him yet, for he is not fit to be seen, for he is very
ill, and bruised very much,’ ‘Ay,’ says my governess, ‘nay,
then he has fallen into bad hands, to be sure,’ And then she
asked gravely, ‘Pray, where is he bruised?’ ‘Why, in the head,’