“Good heaven!” exclaimed he.  “Tell me, however, but what it is, and if I have said any thing unguardedly, I am extremely sorry, and I most sincerely beg your pardon.  If You would tell me, I am sure I could explain it off, because I am sure it has been done undesignedly.” 208

“No, it does not admit of any explanation ; so pray don’t mention it any more.”

“Only tell me what part of the day it was.”

Whether this unconsciousness was real, or only to draw me in so that he might come to the point, and make his apology with greater ease, I know not; but I assured him it was in vain he asked, and again desired him to puzzle himself with no further recollections.

“Oh,” cried he, “but I shall think of every thing I have ever said to you for this half year.  I am sure, whatever it was, it must have been unmeant and unguarded.”

“That, Sir, I never doubted; and probably you thought me hard enough to hear any thing without minding it.”

“Good heaven, Miss Burney! why, there is nobody I would not sooner offend,—­nobody in the world!  Queeny knows it.  If Queeny would speak, she could tell you so.  Is it not true, Miss Thrale?”

“I shall say nothing about it; if I can keep my own neck out of the collar, it’s enough for me.”

“But won’t it plead something for me that you are sure, and must be sure, it was by blunder, and not design? . . .  I beg you will think no more of it.  I—­I believe I know what it is; and, indeed, I was far from meaning to give you the smallest offence, and I most earnestly beg your pardon.  There is nothing I would not do to assure you how sorry I am.  But I hope it will be all over by the time the candles come.  I shall look to see, and I hope—­I beg—­you will have the same countenance again.”

I now felt really appeased, and so I told him.  We then talked of other matters till we reached home, though it was not without difficulty I could even yet keep him quiet.  I see that Mr. Crutchley, though of a cold and proud disposition, is generous, amiable, and delicate, and, when not touched upon the tender string of gallantry, concerning which he piques himself upon invariable hardness and immoveability, his sentiments are not merely just, but refined.

Too much of many things.

Sunday.-We had Mr. and Mrs. Davenant here.  They are very lively and agreeable, and I like them more’ and more.  Mrs. Davenant is one of the saucy women of the ton, indeed; but she has good parts, and is gay and entertaining; and her 209

sposo, who passionately adores her, though five years her junior, is one of the best-tempered and most pleasant-charactered young men imaginable . . .

“Mrs. Davenant is very agreeable,” said I to Mr. Crutchley, “I like her much.  Don’t you?”

“Yes, very much,” said he; “she is lively and entertaining;” and then a moment after, “’Tis wonderful,” he exclaimed, “that such a thing as that can captivate a man!”