I must own I suffered great difficulty in refraining from laughing upon several occasions,-and several times, when they praised what they read, I was upon the point of saying, “You’are very good!” and so forth, and I could scarcely keep myself from making acknowledgments, and bowing my head involuntarily.  However, I got off perfectly safe.

Monday.—­Susan and I went to tea at Brompton, We met Miss Humphries coming to town.  She told us she had just finished “Evelina,” and gave us to understand that she could not get away till she had done it.  We heard afterwards from my aunt the most flattering praises; and Richard could talk Of nothing else.  His encomiums gave me double pleasure, from being wholly unexpected:  for I had prepared myself to hear that he held it extremely cheap. ’ It Seems, to my utter amazement, Miss Humphries has guessed the author to be Anstey, who wrote the “Bath Guide”!  How improbable and how extraordinary a supposition!  But they have both of them done it so much honour that, but for Richard’s anger at Evelina’s bashfulness, I never Could believe they did not suspect me.  I never went to Brompton without finding the third volume in Richard’s hands; he speaks of all the characters as if they were his acquaintance, and Praises different parts perpetually:  both he and Miss Humphries seem to have it by heart, for it is always `a propos to Whatever is the subject of discourse, and their whole conversation almost consists of quotations from it. 64

Chesington, June 18.—­I came hither the first week in May.  My recovery from that time to this, has been slow and sure ; but as I could walk hardly three yards in a day at first, I found so much time to spare, that I could not resist treating myself with a little private sport with “Evelina,” a young lady whom I think I have some right to make free with.  I had promised Hetty that she should read it to Mr. Crisp, at her own particular request ; but I wrote my excuses, and introduced it myself.

I told him it was a book which Hetty had taken to Brompton, to divert my cousin Richard during his confinement.  He was so indifferent about it, that I thought he would not give himself the trouble to read it, and often embarrassed me by unlucky questions, such as, “If it was reckoned clever?” and “What I thought of it?” and “Whether folks laughed at it?” I always evaded any direct or satisfactory answer; but he was so totally free from any idea of suspicion, that my perplexity escaped his notice.

At length, he desired me to begin reading to him.  I dared not trust my voice with the little introductory ode, for as that is no romance, but the sincere effusion of my heart, I could as soon read aloud my own letters, written in my own name and character :  I therefore skipped it, and have so kept the book out of his sight, that, to this day, he knows not it is there.  Indeed, I have, since, heartily repented that I read any of the book to him, for I found it a much more awkward thing than I had expected : my voice quite faltered when I began it, which, however, I passed off for the effect of remaining weakness of lungs; and, in short, from an invincible embarrassment, which I could not for a page together repress, the book, by my reading, lost all manner of spirit.