When I went down, Mrs. Wharton desired me to step up and inform Eliza
that breakfast was ready. She told me she could not yet compose herself
sufficiently to see her mamma, and begged me to excuse her absence as I
thought proper. I accordingly returned for answer to Mrs. Wharton, that
Eliza had rested but indifferently, and being somewhat indisposed, would
not come down, but wished me to bring her a bowl of chocolate, when we
had breakfasted. I was obliged studiously to suppress even my thoughts
concerning her, lest the emotions they excited might be observed. Mrs.
Wharton conversed much of her daughter, and expressed great concern
about her health and state of mind. Her return to this state of
dejection, after having recovered her spirits and cheerfulness in a
great degree, was owing, she feared, to some cause unknown to her; and
she entreated me to extract the secret, if possible. I assured her of my
best endeavors, and doubted not, I told her, but I should be able in a
few days to effect what she wished.
Eliza came down and walked in the garden before dinner; at which she
commanded herself much better than I expected. She said that a little
ride might, she imagined, be of service to her, and asked me if I would
accompany her a few miles in the afternoon. Her mamma was much pleased
with the proposition, and the chaise was accordingly ordered.
I observed to Eliza, as we rode, that with her natural and acquired
abilities, with her advantages of education, with her opportunities of
knowing the world, and of tracing the virtues and vices of mankind to
their origin, I was surprised at her becoming the prey of an insidious
libertine, with whose character she was well acquainted, and whose
principles, she was fully apprised, would prompt him to deceive and
betray her.
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