 I forgot to tell you that I had three children during the first five years of my marriage. The first was a boy. He was born dead, and my lord and all his odious relations laid blame upon me, because I would not be kept prisoner half a year by an old mother of his, a vile Cassandra, who was always prophesying that my child would not be born alive. My second child was a girl, but a poor diminutive sickly thing. It was the fashion at this time for fine mothers to suckle their own children. So much the worse for the poor brats, fine nurses never made fine children. There was a prodigious route made about the matter, a vast deal of sentiment and sympathy and compliments and inquiries. But after the novelty was over, I became heartily sick of the business, and at the end of about three months my poor child was sick too. I don't much like to think of it. It died. If I had put it out to nurse, I should have been thought by my friends as an unnatural mother, but I should have saved its life. I should have bewailed the loss of the infant more. Lord Delacour's relations and my own had not made such lamentations upon the occasion that I was stunned. I couldn't, or wouldn't shed a tear. And I left it to the old dowager to perform in public, as she wished, the part of the chief mourner, and to comfort herself in private by lifting up her hands and eyes and railing at me as the most insensible of mothers. All this time I suffered more than she did. But that is what she shall never have the satisfaction of knowing. I determined that if I ever had another child, I would not have the barbarity to nurse it myself. Accordingly, when my third child, a girl, was born, I sent it off immediately to the country, to a stout, healthy, broad-faced nurse, under whose care it could grow and be flourished, so that at three years old, when it was brought back to me, I could scarcely believe the chubby little thing was my own child. The same reasons which convinced me I ought not to nurse my own child determined me a pre-faltre zone, not to undertake its education. Lord De La Cour could not bear the child, because it was not a boy. The girl was put under the care of a governess, who plagued my heart out with her heirs and tracasseries for three or four years, at the end of which time, as she turned out to be Lord De La Cour's mistress in form, I was obliged in form, to beg she would leave my house, and I put her pupil into better hands, I hope, at a celebrated academy for young ladies. There she will, at any rate, be better instructed than she could be at home. I beg your pardon, my dear, for this digression on nursing and schooling, but I only wanted to explain to you why it was that, when I was weary of the business. I still went on in a course of dissipation. You see, I had nothing at home, either in the shape of husband or children, to engage my affections. I believe it was this aching void in my heart, which made me, after looking abroad some time for a bosom friend, take such a prodigious fancy to Mrs. Frick. She was just then coming into fashion. She struck me the first time I met her, as being downright ugly. There was a wild oddity in her countenance, which made one stare at her, and she was delighted to be stared at, especially by me. So we were mutually agreeable to each other. I as stare, and she as starey. Harriet Frick had, without comparison, more assurance than any man or woman I ever saw. She was downright brass, but of the finest kind, Corinthian brass. She was one of the first who brought what I call harem scarum manners into fashion. I told you that she had insurance. Impudence, I should have called it, for no other word is strong enough. Such things as I have heard Harriet Frick say. You will not believe it, but her conversation at first absolutely made me, like an old-fashioned fool, wish I had a fan to play with. But, to my astonishment, all this took, surprisingly, with a set of fashionable young men. I found it necessary to reform my manners. If I had not taken heart of grace, and publicly abjured the heresies of false delicacy, I should have been excommunicated. Lady Delacour's sprightly elegance allow me to speak of myself in the style in which the newspaper writers talk of me. Lady Delacour's sprightly elegance was pale, not to say faded pink, compared with the scarlet of Mrs. Freck's dashing audacity. As my rival she would on certain ground have beat me hollow. It was therefore good policy to make her my friend. We joined forces and nothing could stand against us. But I have no right to give myself credit for good policy in forming this intimacy. I really followed I really followed the dictates of my heart, or my imagination. There was a frankness in Harriet's manner, which I mistook for artlessness of character. She spoke with such unbounded freedom on certain subjects that I gave her credit for unbounded sincerity on all subjects. She had the talent of making the world believe that virtue to be invulnerable by nature, which disdained the common outworks of art for its defence. I, amongst others, took it for granted that the woman who could make it her sport to touch the brink of all we hate, must have a stronger head than other people. I have since been convinced, however, of my mistake. I am persuaded that few can touch the brink without trembling headlong down the precipice. Don't apply this, my dear, literally, to the person of whom we are speaking. I am not base enough to betray her secrets. However, I may have been provoked by her treachery. Of her character and history, you shall hear nothing but what is necessary for my own justification. The League of Amity between us was scarcely ratified before my Lord Delacour came, with his wise, remonstrating face, to beg me to consider what was due to my honour and his. Like the cosmogony man in the vicar of Wakefield, he came out over and over with this cant phrase which had once stood him instead. Do you think, my Lord, said I, that because I gave up poor lawless to oblige you, I shall give up all common sense to suit myself to your taste? Harriet Freck is visited by everybody but old dowagers and old maids. I am neither an old dowager nor an old maid. The consequence is obvious, my Lord. Purtness and dialogue, my dear, often succeeds better with my Lord than wit. I therefore save the sterling gold and bestowed upon him nothing but counters. I tell you this to save the credit of my taste and judgment. But to return to my friendship for Harriet Freck, I, of course, repeated to her every word which had passed between my husband and me. She outheroded Herod upon the occasion and laughed so much at what she called my folly in pleading guilty in the lawless cause, that I was downright ashamed of myself. And, purely to prove my innocence, I determined, upon the first convenient opportunity, to renew my intimacy with the Colonel. The opportunity which I so ardently desired of redeeming my independence was not long wanting. Lawless, as my stars, which you know are always more in fault than ourselves, would have it, returned just at this time from the Continent, where he had been with his regiment. He returned with a wound across his forehead and a black filet which made him look something more like a hero and ten times more like a coxcomb than ever. He was in fashion at all the events and, amongst other ladies, Mrs. Lutridge, odious Mrs. Lutridge, smiled upon him. The Colonel, however, had taste enough to know the difference between smile and smile. He laid himself and his laurels at my feet, and I carried him and them about in triumph. Wherever I went, especially to Mrs. Lutridge's envy and scandal, joined hands to attack me, and I heard wondering and whispering wherever I went. I had no object in view but to provoke my husband. Therefore, conscious of the purity of my intentions, it was my delight to brave the opinion of the wondering world. I gave myself no concern about the effect my coquetry might have upon the object of this flirtation. Poor Lawless. Heart, I took it for granted, he had none. How should a coxcomb come by a heart? Vanity, I knew he had in abundance. But this gave me no alarm, as I thought that if it should ever make him forget himself—I mean, forget what was due to me—I could, by one flash of my wit, strike him to the earth, or blast him for ever. One night we had been together at Mrs. Lutridge's. She, amongst other things, kept a farrow bank, and, I am convinced, cheated. Be that as it may, I lost an immensity of money, and it was my pride to lose with as much gaiety as anybody else could win. So I was, or it appeared to be, in uncommonly high spirits, and Lawless had his share of my good humor. We left Mrs. Lutridge's together early, about half past one. As the Colonel was going to hand me to my carriage, a smart-looking young man, as I thought, came up close to the coach door, and stared me full in the face. I was not a woman to be disconcerted at such things as this, but I really was startled when the young fellow jumped into the carriage after me. I thought he was mad. I had only courage enough to scream. Lawless seized hold of the intruder to drag him out, and he dragged the youth exclaiming in a high tone. What is the meaning of all this, sir? Who the devil are you? My name is Lawless. Who the devil are you? The answer to this was a convulsion of laughter. By the lap I knew it to be Harriet Frack. Who am I? Only a frack, cried she, shake hands. I gave her my hand into the carriage she sprang, and desired the Colonel to follow her. Lawless laughed, we all laughed, and drove away. Where do you think I've been? said Harriet, in the gallery of the House of Commons, almost squeezed to death these few hours. But I swore I'd hear Sheridan's speech tonight, and I did. Bet it fifty guineas I would with Mrs. Luttridge, and have won. Fun and frack forever, huzzah! Harriet was mad with spirits, and so noisy and unmanageable. That, as I told her, I was sure she was drunk. Lawless in his silly way, laughed incessantly, and I was so taken up with her oddities, that for some time I did not perceive. We were going, the Lord knows where. Till at last, when the lairum of Harriet's voice ceased for an instant, I was struck with the strange sound of the carriage. Where are we, not upon the stones, I'm sure, said I, and putting my head out of the window, I saw we were beyond the turnpike. The coachman's drunk as well as you, Harriet, said I, and I was going to pull the string to stop him. But Harriet had hold of it. The man is going very right, she said. I've told him where to go. Now don't fancy that Lawless and I are going to run away with you. All this is unnecessary nowadays, thank God. To this I agreed and laughed, for fear of being ridiculous. Guess where you are going, said Harriet. I guessed and guessed, but could not guess right, and my merry companions were infinitely diverted with my perplexity and impatience, more especially, as I believe, in spirit of all my efforts. I grew rather graver than usual. We went on to the end of Sloan Street, and quite out of town. At last we stopped. It was dark. The footman's flame was out. I could only just see by the lamps that were at the door of a lone odd-looking house. The house door opened and an old woman appeared with a lantern in her hand. Where is this farce or freak or whatever you call it to end, said I, as Harriet pulled me into the dark passage along with her? Alas, my dear Belinda, said Lady Delacour, pausing. I little foresaw where or how it was to end. But I have not come yet to the tragical part of my story, and as long as I can laugh I will. As the old woman and her miserable light went on before us, I could almost have thought of Serbertrand, or of some German horrifications. But I heard Lawless, who never could help laughing at the wrong time, bursting behind me with a sense of his own superiority. Now you will learn your destiny, Lady Delacour, said Harriet, in a solemn tone. Yes, from the celebrated Mrs. W., the modern dealer and art-magic, I said, laughing. For now, I guess, whereabouts I am. Colonel Lawless's laugh broke the spell. Harriet Frack, never whilst you live, expect to succeed in the sublime. Harriet swore at the Colonel for the various spoilsport she had ever seen, and she whispered to me, The reason he laughs is because he is afraid of our suspecting the truth of him, that he believes Tute Bonne in conjuration and the devil and all that. The old woman whose cue I found was to be dumb, opened a door at the top of a narrow staircase, and pointing to a tall figure completely enveloped in fur, left us to our fate. I will not trouble you with a pompous description of all the memory of the scene, my dear, as I despair of being able to frighten you out of your wits. I should have been downright angry with Harriet Frack for bringing me to such a place. But that I knew women of the first fashion had been with Mrs. W., before us, some in sober sadness, some by way of frolic. So as there was no fear of being ridiculous, there was no shame, you know, and my conscience was quite at ease. Harriet had no conscience, she was always at ease, and never more so than in male attire, which she had been told became her particularly. She supported the character of a young Greek with such spirit and truth that I am sure no common conjurer could have discovered anything feminine about her. She rattled on with a set of nonsensical questions, and among other things she asked, How soon will Lady Delacour marry again after her lord's death? She will never marry after her lord's death, answered the oracle. Then she will marry during his lifetime, said Harriet. True, answered the oracle, Colonel Lawless laughed. I was angry, and the Colonel would have been quiet for he was a gentleman. But there was no such thing as managing Mrs. Frack, who, though she had laid aside the modesty of her own sex, had not acquired the decency of the other. Who is to be Lady Delacour's second husband? cried she. You'll not offend any of the present company by naming the man. Her second husband I cannot name, replied the oracle, but let her beware of a lawless lover. Mrs. Frack and Colonel Lawless, encouraged by her, triumphed over me without mercy. I may say without shame. Well, my dear, I'm in a hurry to have done with all this, though I doted upon Folly. Yet I was terrified at the thoughts of anything worse. The idea of a divorce, the public brand of a shameful life, shocked me in spite of all my real and my assumed levity. Oh, that I had, at this instant, dared to be myself. But my fear of ridicule was greater than my fear of vice. Bless me, my dear, Lady Delacour, whispered Harriet as we left the house. What can make you in such a desperate hurry to get home? You gape and fidget? One would think you had never sat up a night before in your life. I verily believe you are afraid to trust yourself with us. Which of us are you afraid of? Lawless? Or me? Or yourself? There was a tone of contempt in the last words which peaked me to the quick. And however strange it may seem, I was now anxious only to convince Harriet that I was not afraid of myself. False shame made me act as if I had no shame. You would not suspect me of knowing anything of false shame. But depend on it, my dear, many who appeared to have as much assurance as I have are secretly its slaves. I moralize because I am come to the part of my story, which I should almost be glad to omit. But I promised you that there should be no sins of omission. It was light, but not broad daylight, when we got to Kingsbridge. Lawless encouraged, for I cannot deny it. By the levity of my manner as well as of Harriet's was in higher and more familiar spirits than I ever saw him. Mrs. Freck desired me to set her down at her sisters who lived in Grosvenor Place. So I did, and I beg you to believe that I was in an agony to get rid of my Colonel at the same time. But you know I could not, before Harriet Freck absolutely say to him get out, indeed to tell things as they were it was scarcely possible to guess by my manner that I was under anxiety. I acted my part so well, or so ill, as Harriet Freck jumped out of the coach, a cock crowned in the area of her sister's house. There, cried Harriet, do you hear the cock crow, Lady Delacour? Now it's to be hoped your fear of goblins is over, else I would not be so cruel as to leave the pretty deer all alone. All alone, answered I. Your friend the Colonel is much obliged to you for making nobody of him. My friend the Colonel, whispered Harriet, leaning with her bold, masculine arms on the coach door. My friend the Colonel, is much obliged to me, I am sure, for remembering what the cunning or the knowing woman told us just now. So when I said I left you alone, I was not guilty of a bull, was I? I had the grace to be heartily ashamed of this speech and called out in utter confusion to Berkeley Square. But where shall I set you down, Colonel? Harriet, good morning, don't forget you are in man's clothes. I did not dare to repeat the question of where shall I set you down, Colonel, at this instant, because Harriet gave me such an arch, sneering look as much as to say, still afraid of yourself. We drove on, I'm persuaded that the confusion which, in spite of all my efforts, broke through my affected levity. Encouraged, lawless, who was naturally a cox-comb and a fool, to believe that I was actually his, else he never could have been so insolent. In short, my dear, before we got through the turnpike, I was downright obliged to say to him, get out, which I did with a degree of indignation that quite astonished him. He mattered something about ladies knowing their minds and I own, though I went off with flying colours, I secretly blamed myself as much as I did him. And I blamed Harriet more than I did either. I sent for her the next day as soon as I could to consult her. She expressed such astonishment and so much concern at this catastrophe of our night's frolic, and blamed herself with so many oaths, and execrated lawless for a cox-comb, so much to the ease and satisfaction of my conscience. But I was confirmed in my good opinion of her, and indeed felt for the most lively affection and esteem, for observe with me esteem ever followed affection, instead of affection following esteem. Woe be to all who in morals preposterously put the cart before the horse, but to proceed with my history all fashionable historians stop to make reflections, supposing that no one else can have the sense to make any. My esteemed friend agreed with me that it would be best for all parties concerned to hush up this business, that as lawless was going out of town in a few days to be elected for a borough we should get rid of him in the best possible way, without more last words, that he had been punished sufficiently on the spot, and that to punish twice for the same offense, once in private and once in public, would be contrary to the laws of English men and English women, and in my case would be contrary to the evident dictates of prudence, because I could not complain without calling upon Lord Delacour to call lawless out. This I could not do without acknowledging that his lordship had been in the right, in warning me about his honor and my own, which old phrase I dreaded to hear for the 99th time. Besides, Lord Delacour was the last man in the world I should have chosen for my night, though, unluckily, he was my lord. Besides, all things considered, I thought the whole story might not tell so well in the world for me, tell it which way I would, we therefore agreed that it would be most expedient to hold our tongues. We took it for granted that lawless would hold his, as for my people. They knew nothing, I thought, or if they did, I was sure of them. How the thing got abroad I could not at the time conceive. Though now I'm well acquainted with the baseness and treachery of the woman I called my friend. The affair was known and talked out everywhere the next day, and the story was told especially at odious Mrs. Luttrages with such exaggerations as drove me almost mad. I was enraged, inconceivably enraged with lawless, for whom I imagined the reports originated. I was venting my indignation against him in a room full of company, where I had just made my story good, when a gentleman to whom I was a stranger came in breathless, with the news that Colonel Lawless was killed in a duel by Lord Delacour, that they were carrying him home to his mother's, and that the body was just going by the door. The company all crowded to the windows immediately, and I was left standing alone till I could stand no longer. What was said or done after this I do not remember. I only know that when I came to myself the most dreadful sensation I ever experienced was the certainty that I had the blood of a fellow creature to answer for. I wonder, said Lady Delacour, breaking off at this part of her history and rising suddenly. I wonder what has become of Marriott. Surely it is time for me to have my drops. Miss Portman have the goodness to ring, for I must have something immediately. Belinda was terrified at the wildness of her manner. Lady Delacour became more composed, or more constrained upon herself, at the sight of Marriott. Marriott brought from the closet in her lady's room the drops, which Lady Delacour swallowed with precipitation. Then she ordered coffee and afterwards chase cafe, and at last, turning to Belinda with a forced smile, she said. Now shall the Princess Scheherazade go on with her story? End of Section 4. Lady Delacour's History. Part 2. Recording by Sandra Estenson. Chapter 4 of Belinda. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth, Chapter 4. Lady Delacour's History continued. I left off with the true skill of a good storyteller at the most interesting part, a duel. And yet duels are so common now that they are really vulgar incidents. But we think that a duel concerning ourselves must be more extraordinary than any other. We hear of men being shot in duels about nothing every day, so it's really a weakness in me to think so much about poor lawless's death as Harriet Freak said to me at the time. She expected to see me show sorrow in public, but very fortunately for me she roused my pride, which was always stronger than my reason, and I behaved myself upon the occasion as became a fine lady. There were some things, however, I could hardly stand. You must know that lawless, fool, and coxcomb as he was had some magnanimity and showed it, as some people do from whom it is least expected, on his deathbed. The last words he said were, Lady Delacour is innocent, I charge you, don't prosecute Lord Delacour. This he said to his mother, who, to complete my misery, is one of the most respectable women in England, and was most desperately fond of lawless, who was an only son. She never has recovered his loss. Do you remember asking me who a tall elderly lady in mourning was, that you saw getting into her carriage one day at South Audley Street Chapel, as we passed by in our way to the park? That was Lady Lawless. I believe I didn't answer you at the time. I meet her every now and then, to me a specter of dismay. But as Harriet Freak said, certainly such a man as poor lawless was a useless being in society. However, he may be regretted by a doting mother. We should see things in a philosophical light, if we can. I should not have suffered half as much as I did, if he had been a man of a stronger understanding. But he was a poor, vain, weak creature, that I actually drew on and duped with my own cocketry, whilst all the time I was endeavouring only to plague Lord Delacour. I was punished enough by the heirs his lordship doubly gave himself upon the strength of his valor and his judgment. They roused me completely, and I blamed him with all my might, and got an enormous party of my friends. I meant my acquaintance to run him down full cry for having fought for me. It was absurd, it was rash, it was want of proper confidence in his wife, thus we said. Lord Delacour had his partisans, it is true, amongst whom the loudest was odious Mrs. Luttridge. I embraced the first opportunity I met with of retaliation. You must know that Mrs. Luttridge, besides being a great faro player, was a great dabbler in politics, for she was almost as fond of power as of money. She talked loud and fluently, and had, somehow or other, partly by intriguing, partly by relationship, connected herself with some of the leading men in Parliament. There was to be a contested election in our country. Mr. Luttridge had a good estate there, next to Lord Delacour's, and being of an ancient family, and keeping a good table, the Luttridge's were popular enough. At the first news of an election out comes a flaming advertisement from Mr. Luttridge, a way posted Mrs. Luttridge to begin her canvas, and a way posted Lady Delacour after her to canvas for a cousin of Harriet Freak. This was a new scene for me, but I peaked myself on the versatility of my talents, and I laid myself out in place all the squires, and what was more difficult, all the squires, ladies, in the shire. I was ambitious to have it said of me, that I was the finest figure that ever appeared upon a canvas. O ye shirons, how hard did I work to obtain your praise? All that the combined force of vanity and hatred could inspire, I performed, and with success. You have but little curiosity, I presume, to know how many hogsheads of port went down the throat of John Bol, or how many hecatoms were offered up to the genius of English liberty. My hatred to Mrs. Luttridge was, of course, called love of my country. Lady Delacour was defied by all true patriots, and luckily a handsome legacy left me for my spirit by an uncle who died six weeks before the election, enabled us to sustain the expense of my apotheosis. The day of election came. Harriet Freak and I made our appearance on the hustings dressed in splendid party uniforms, and before us our knights and squires held two enormous panniers full of ribbons and cockades, which we distributed with a grace that won all hearts. If not all votes Mrs. Luttridge thought the panniers would carry the election, and forthwith she sent off an express for a pair of panniers twice as large as ours. I took out my pencil and drew a caricature of the ass and her panniers, wrote an epigram at the bottom of it, and the epigram and the caricature was soon in the hands of half the shire. The verses were as bad as impromptuus usually are, and the drawing was not much better than the writing, but the goodwill of the critics supplied all my deficiencies, and never was more praised bestowed upon the pen of Burke or the pencil of Reynolds than was lavished upon me by my honest friends. My dear Belinda, if you will not quarrel with the quality, you may have what quantity of praise you please. Mrs. Luttridge, as I hoped and expected, was beyond measure enraged at the sight of the caricature and epigram. She was, besides being a gangster and a politician, what do you think? An excellent shot. She wished, she said, to be a man, that she might be qualified to take proper notice of my conduct. The same kind friends who showed her my epigram repeated to me her observation upon it. Harriet Freak was at my elbow, and offered to take any message I might think proper to Mrs. Luttridge. I scarcely thought her in earnest till she added that the only way left nowadays for a woman to distinguish herself was by spirit, as everything else was grown cheap and vulgar in the eyes of men. That she knew one of the cleverest young men in England, and a man of fashion into the bargain, was just going to publish a treatise upon the propriety and necessity of female dueling, and that he had demonstrated beyond a possibility of doubt that civilized society could not exist half a century longer without this necessary improvement. I had prodigious deference for the masculine superiority, as I thought it of Harriet's understanding. She was a philosopher and a fine lady. I was only a fine lady. I had never fired a pistol in my life, and I was a little inclined to cowardice. But Harriet offered to bet any wager upon the steadiness of my hand, and assured me that I should charm all beholders in male attire. In short, as my second, if I would furnish her with proper credentials, she swore she would undertake to furnish me with clothes and pistols and courage and everything I wanted. I sat down to pen my challenge. When I was writing it, my hand did not tremble much, not more than my Lord Delacour's always does. The challenge was very prettily worded. I believe I can repeat it. Lady Delacour presents her compliments to Mrs. Lutridge. She is informed that Mrs. Lutridge wishes she were a man that she might be qualified to take proper notice of Lady Delacour's conduct. Lady Delacour begs leave to assure Mrs. Lutridge that though she has the misfortune to be a woman, she is willing to account for her conduct in any manner Mrs. Lutridge may think proper, and at any hour and place she may upon. Lady Delacour leaves the choice of the weapons to Mrs. Lutridge. Mrs. Harriet Freek, who has the honor of presenting this note, is Lady Delacour's friend upon this occasion. I cannot repeat Mrs. Lutridge's answer. All I know is it was not half as neatly worded as my note, but the essential part of it was that she accepted my challenge with pleasure and should do herself the honor of meeting me at six o'clock the next morning. That Miss Honor O'Grady would be her friend upon the occasion, and that pistols were the weapons she preferred. The place of appointment was behind an old barn about two miles from the town. The hour was fixed to be early in the morning to prevent all probability of interruption. In the evening Harriet and I rode to the ground. There were several bullets sticking in the posts of the barn. This was the place where Mrs. Lutridge had been accustomed to exercise herself in firing at a mark. I own my carriage-oost out a little at this site. The Duke de la Rochefoucauld, I believe, said truly that many would be cowards if they dared. There seemed to me to be no physical and less moral necessity for my fighting this duel, but I did not venture to reason on a point of honor with my spirited second. I bravaded to Harriet most magnanimously, but at night when Marit was undressing me, I could not forebear giving her a hint which I thought might tend to preserve the king's peace and the peace of the county. I went to the ground in the morning in good spirits and with a safe conscience. Harriet was in admiration of my lion-port, and to do her justice she conducted herself with great coolness upon the occasion. But then it may be observed that it was I who was to stand fire, and not she. I thought of poor lawless a billion of times, at least as we were going to the ground, and I had my presentiments and my confused notions of poetic justice. But poetic justice and all other sorts of justice went clear out of my head when I saw my antagonist and her friend, actually pistol in hand, waiting for us. They were both in men's clothes. I secretly called upon the name of Marit with fervency, and I looked round with more anxiety than ever Blue Bear's wife, or Anne's sister Anne, looked to see if anybody was coming. Nothing was to be seen but the grass blown by the wind. No Marit to throw herself to a plurée between the combatants, no peace officers to bind us over to our good behavior, no deliverance at hand. And Mrs. Luttridge, by all the laws of honour, as challenged, was to have the first shot. Oh, those laws of honour! I was upon the point of making an apology in spite of them all, when, to my inexpressible joy, I was relieved from the dreadful alternative of being shot through the head, or of becoming a laughing stock for life. By an incident less heroic I'll grant you then opportune. But you shall have the whole seen as well as I can recollect it, as well. For those who, for the first time go into a field of battle, do not, as I am credibly informed and internally persuaded, always find the clearness of their memories improved by the novelty of their situation. Mrs. Luttridge, when we came up, was leaning with a truly martial negligence against the wall of the barn with her pistol, as I told you in her hand. She spoke not a word, but her second, Miss Honour O'Grady, advanced towards us immediately, and taking off her hat, very manfully addressed herself to my second. Mr. Harriet Freak, I presume? If I mistake not? Harriet bowed slightly and answered. Miss Honour O'Grady, I presume, if I mistake not? The same at your service, replied Miss Honour. I have a few words to suggest that may save a great deal of noise and bloodshed and ill-will. As to noise, said Harriet, it is a thing in which I delight, therefore I beg that may not be spared on my account. As to bloodshed, I beg that may not be spared on Lady Delacour's account. For her honour, I am sure, is dearer to her than her blood, and as to ill-will, I should be concerned to have that saved on Mrs. Luttridge's account, as we all know it is a thing in which she delights, even more than I do in noise, or Lady Delacour in blood. But pray, proceed, Miss Honour O'Grady. You have a few words to suggest. Yes, I would willingly observe as it is my duty to my principal, said Honour, that one who is compelled to fire her pistol with her left hand, though ever so good a shot, naturally, is by no means on a footing with one who has the advantage of her right hand. Harriet rubbed my pistol with a sleeve of her coat, and I, recovering my wit with my hopes of being witty, with impunity answered. Unquestionably, left-handed wisdom and left-handed courage are neither of them the very best of their kinds, but we must content ourselves with them if we can have no other. That if, cried Honour O'Grady, is not like most of the family of the ifs a peacemaker. My Lady Delacour, I was going to observe that my principal has met with an unfortunate accident in the shape of a whitlow on the forefinger of her right hand, which incapacitates her from drawing a trigger, but I am at your service, ladies, either of you, that can put up with a disappointment with good humor. I never, during the whole course of my existence, was more disposed to bear a disappointment with good humor to prove that I was incapable of bearing malice, and to oblige the second for form's sake, I agreed that we should take our ground and fire our pistols into the air. Mrs. Lutridge, with her left-handed wisdom, fired first, and I, with great magnanimity, followed her example. I must do my adversaries' second, Miss Honour O'Grady, the justice to observe, that in this whole affair she conducted herself, not only with a spirit, but with a good nature and generosity characteristic of our nation. We met enemies and parted friends. Life is a tragic comedy, though this critics will allow of no such thing in their books. It is a true representation of what passes in the world, and of all lives mine has been the most grotesque mixture or alternation, I should say, of tragedy and comedy. All this is a propose to something I have not told you yet. This comic jewel ended tragically for me. How, you say? Why, it is clear that I was not shot through the head, but it would have been better a hundred times better for me, if I had. I should have been spared in this life at least the torments of the damned. I was not used to priming and loading. My pistol was overcharged. When I fired it, it recoiled, and I received a blow on my breast, the consequences of which you have seen. The pain was nothing at the moment compared with what I have since experienced, but I will not complain till I cannot avoid it. I had not at the time I received the blow, much leisure for lamentation, for I had scarcely discharged my pistol when we heard a loud shout on the other side of the barn, and a crowd of townspeople, country people, and haymakers came pouring down the lane towards us with rakes and pitchforks in their hands. An English mob is really a formidable thing. Marriott had mismanaged her business most strangely. She had indeed spread a report of a jewel, a female jewel, but the untutored sense of propriety amongst these rustics was so shocked at the idea of a jewel fought by women in men's clothes that I barely believed they would have thrown us into the river with all their hearts. Stupid blockheads! I am convinced that they would not have been half so much scandalized if we had boxed in petticoats. The want of these petticoats had nearly proved our destruction, or at least our disgrace. A pearis, after being ducked, could never have held her head above water again with any grace. The mob had just closed round us, crying, shame, shame, shame, duck him, duck him, gentle or simple, duck him, duck him, when their attention was suddenly turned towards a person who was driving up the lane a large herd of squeaking, grunting pigs. The person was clad in splendid regimentals, and he was armed with a long pool to the end of which hung a bladder, and his pigs were frightened, and they ran squeaking from one side of the road to the other, and the pig-driver in regimentals in the midst of the noise could not without difficulty make his voice heard. But at last he was understood to say that a bet of a hundred guineas depended upon his being able to keep these pigs ahead of a flock of turkeys that were following them, and he begged the mob to give him his pigs fair play. At the news of this wager and at the sight of the gentleman turned pig-driver, the mob were in raptures, and at the sound of his voice, Harriet Freak immediately exclaimed, Clarence Harvey, by all that's lucky. Clarence Harvey, interrupted Belinda. Clarence Harvey, my dear, said Lady Delacour Cooley. He can do everything, you know, even drive pigs better than anybody else, but let me go on. Harriet Freak shouted in a stentorian voice, which actually made your pig-driver start. She explained to him in French how distressed, and the course of it. Clarence was, as I suppose you have discovered long ago, that cleverest young man in England who had written on the propriety and necessity of female dueling. He answered Harriet in French, To attempt your rescue by force would be vain, but I will do better. I will make a diversion in your favour. Immediately our hero dressing himself to the sturdy fellow who held me in custody exclaimed, Hussama voice, old England forever, yonder comes a Frenchman with a flock of turkeys. My pigs will beat them for a hundred guineats, old England forever. Hussah! As he spoke, the French officer, with whom Clarence Harvey had laid the wager, appeared at the turn of the lane. His turkeys half flying, half hobbling up the road before him. The Frenchman waved a red streamer over the heads of his flock. Clarence shook a pool from the top of which hung a bladder full of beans. The pigs grunted, the turkeys gobbled, a rid-the-mop shouted, eager for the fame of old England. The crowd followed Clarence with loud acclamations. The French officer was followed with groans and hisses. So great was the confusion, and so great the seal of the Patriots, that even the pleasure of ducking the female duelists was forgotten in the general enthusiasts. All eyes and all hearts were intent upon the race, and now the turkeys got foremost, and now the pigs. But when we came within sight of the horse pond, I heard one man cry, Don't forget the ducking, how I trembled. But our night shouted to his followers, For the love of old England, my brave boys, keep it between my pigs and the pond. If our pigs see the water, they'll run to it, and England's undone. The whole fury of the mob was by this speech conducted away from us. On, on, my boys, into town, to the marketplace, whoever gains the marketplace first wins the day. Our general shook the rattling bladder in triumph over the heads of the swinish multitude, and we followed in perfect security in his train into the town. Men, women, and children crowded to the windows and doors. Retreat into the first place you can, whispered Clarence to us. We were close to him. Harriet Freak pushed her way into a milliner's shop. I could not get in after her, for a frightened pig turned back suddenly, and almost threw me down. Clarence Harvey caught me, and favoured my retreat into the shop. But poor Clarence lost his pet by his gallantry. Whilst he was manoeuvring in my favour, the turkeys got several yards ahead of the pigs, and reaching the marketplace first won the race. The French officer found great difficulty in getting safe out of the town, but Clarence represented to the mob that he was a prisoner on his parole, and that it would be unlike Englishmen to insult the prisoner. So he got off without being pelted, and they both returned in safety to the house of General White, where they were to dine, and where they entertained a large party of officers with the account of this adventure. Mrs. Freak and I rejoiced in our escape, and we thought that the whole business was now over, but in this we were mistaken. The news of our duel, which had spread in the town, raised such an uproar as had never been heard, even at the noisest election. Would you believe it? The fate of the election turned upon this duel. The common people, one and all, declared that they would not vote either for Mr. Luttridge or Mr. Freak, because, as how, but I need not repeat all the platitudes that they said, in short, neither ribbons nor brandy could bring them to reason. With true English pigheadedness, they went every man of them and polled for an independent candidate of their own choosing, whose wife, forsooth, was a proper behaved woman. The only thing I had to console me for all this was Clarence Harvey's opinion, that I looked better in man's clothes than my friend Harriet Freak. Clarence was charmed with my spirit and grace, but he had not leisure at that time to attach himself seriously to me or to anything. He was then about nineteen or twenty. He was all vivacity, presumption, and paradox. He was enthusiastic in support of his opinions, but he was at the same time the most candid man in the world. For there was no set of tenets which could be called exclusively his. He adopted in liberal rotation every possible absurdity, and, to do him justice, defended each in his turn with the most ingenious arguments that could be devised, and with the flow of words which charmed the ear, if not the sense. His essay on female dueling was a most extraordinary performance. It was handed about in manuscript till it was worn out. He talked of publishing it and dedicating it to me. However, this scheme amongst a million of others he talked of, but never put into execution. Luckily for him many of his follies evaporated in words. I saw but little either of him or his follies at this time. All I know about him is that after he had lost his bet of a hundred guineas as a pig driver, by his night errantry in rescuing the female duelists from a mob. He wrote a very charming copy of verses upon the occasion, and that he was so much provoked by the stupidity of some of his brother officers who could not understand the verses, that he took a disgust to the army and sold his commission. He set out upon a tour to the continent, and I returned with Harriet Freak to London, and forgot the existence of such a person as Clarence Hervey for three or four years. Unless people can be of some use, or unless they are actually present, let them be ever so agreeable or meritorious. We are very apt to forget them. One grows strangely selfish by living in the world. This is a perfect cure for romantic notions of gratitude, and love, and so forth. If I had lived in the country in an old manor house, Clarence Hervey would have doubtless rain paramount in my imagination as the deliverer of my life, etc. But in London, one has no time for thinking of deliverers, and yet what I did with my time I cannot tell you. It is gone, and no trace left. One day after another went, I know not how. Had I wept for every day I lost, I am sure I should have cried my eyes out before this time. If I had enjoyed any amusement in the midst of this dissipation, it would all have been very well. But I declare to you in confidence, I have been tired to death. Nothing can be more monotonous than the life of a hackneyed fine lady. I question whether a stray horse or a horse in a mill would willingly exchange places with one if they could know as much of the matter as I do. You are surprised at hearing all this from me? My dear Belinda, how I envy you. You are not yet tired of everything. The world has still the gloss of novelty for you. But don't expect that can last above a season. My first winter was certainly entertaining enough. One begins with being charmed with a bustle and glare, and what the French call spectacle. This is over. I think in six months. I can but just recollect having been amused at the theatres and the opera and the pantheon and Ranele, and all those places for their own sakes. Soon, very soon, we go out to see people, not things. Then we grow tired of seeing people, then we grow tired of being seen by people, and then we go out merely because we can't stay at home. A dismal story, and a true one. Excuse me for showing you the simple truth. Well-dressed falsehood is a personage much more presentable. I'm now come to an epoch in my history in which there is a dearth of extraordinary events. What shall I do? Shall I invent? I would if I could, but I cannot. Then I must confess to you that during these last four years I should have died of ennui if I had not been kept alive by my hatred of Mrs. Latteridge and of my husband. I don't know which I hate most. Oh, yes, I do. I certainly hate Mrs. Latteridge the most, for a woman can always hate a woman more than she can hate a man, unless she has been in love with him, which I never was with poor Lord Delacour. Yes, I certainly hate Mrs. Latteridge the most. I cannot count the number of extravagant things I have done on purpose to eclipse her. We have had rival routs, rival concerts, rival galas, rival theaters. She has cost me more than she's worth, but then I certainly have mortified her once a month at least. My hatred to Mrs. Latteridge, my dear, is the remote cause of my love for you, for it was the cause of my intimacy with your aunt, Stanhope. Mrs. Stanhope is really a clever woman. She knows how to turn the hatred of all her friends and acquaintance to her own advantage. To serve lovers is a thankless office compared with that of serving haters, polite haters, I mean. It may be dangerous, for ought I know, to interpose in the quarrels of those who hate their neighbors, not only with all their souls, but with all their strength. The barbarians fight it out, kiss and are friends. The quarrels which never come to blows are safer for a go-between, but even these are not to be compared to such as never come to words. Your true silent hatred is that which lasts forever. The moment it was known that Mrs. Latteridge and I had come to the resolution, never to speak to one another, your aunt, Stanhope, began to minister to my hatred, so that she made herself quite agreeable. She one winter gave me notice that my adversary had set her heart upon having a magnificent entertainment on a particular day. On that day I determined, of course, to have a rival gala. Mrs. Stanhope's maid had a lover, a gardener, who lived at Chelsea, and the gardener had an aloe, which was expected soon to blow. Now a plant that blows, but once in a hundred years is worth having. The gardener intended to make a public exhibition of it, by which he expected to gain about a hundred guineas. Your aunt's Stanhope's maid got it from him for me for fifty, and I had it whispered about that an aloe in full blow would stand in the middle of one of Lady Delacour's supper tables. The difficulty was to make Mrs. Latteridge fix upon the very day we wanted, for, you know, we could not possibly put off the blowing of our aloe. Your aunt's Stanhope managed the thing admirably by means of a common friend, who was not a suspected person with the Latteridge's. In short, my dear, I gained my point. Everybody came from Mrs. Latteridge's to me, or to my aloe. She had a prodigiously fine supper, but scarcely a soul stayed with her. They all came to see what could be seen but once in a hundred years. Now the aloe, you know, is of a cumbersome height for a supper ornament. My saloon luckily has a dome, and under the dome we placed it. Around the huge china vase, in which it was planted, we placed the most beautiful, or rather the most expensive, hot-house plants we could procure. After all, the aloe was an ugly thing, but it answered my purpose. It made Mrs. Latteridge, as I am credibly informed, absolutely weep with vexation. I was excessively obliged to your aunt's Stanhope, and I assured her that if ever it were in my power, she might depend upon my gratitude. Pray, when you write, repeat the same thing to her, and tell her that since she has introduced Belinda Portman to me, I am a hundred times more obliged to her than ever I was before. But to proceed with my important history. I will not tire you with fighting over again all my battles in my seven years' war with Mrs. Latteridge. I believe love is more to your taste than hatred. Therefore I will go on as fast as possible to Clarence Harvey's return from his travels. He was much improved by them, or at least I thought so, for he was heard to declare that after all he had seen in France and Italy, Lady de la Cour appeared to him the most charming woman of her age in Europe. The words of her age piqued me, and I spared no pains to make him forget them. A stupid man cannot readily be persuaded out of his senses, what he sees he sees, and neither more nor less, but this the easiest thing in the world to catch hold of a man of genius. You have nothing to do but to appeal from his senses to his imagination, and then he sees with the eyes of his imagination, and hears with the ears of his imagination, and then no matter what the age, beauty or wit of the charmer may be, nor matter whether it be Lady de la Cour or Belinda Portman. I think I know Clarence Harvey's character of Fanfond, and I could lead him where I pleased. But don't be alarmed, my dear. You know I can't lead him into matrimony. You look at me and from me, and you don't well know which way to look. You are surprised, perhaps, after all that past, all that I felt, and all that I still feel about poor lawless. I should not be cured of cockatry. So am I surprised, but habit, fashion, the devil, I believe, lead us on. And then Lady de la Cour is so obstinate and jealous. You can't have forgotten the polite conversation that passed one morning at breakfast between his lordship and me about Clarence Harvey. But neither does his lordship know, nor does Clarence Harvey suspect that my object with him is to conceal from the world what I cannot conceal from myself, that I am a dying woman. I am, and I see you think me a strange, weak, inconsistent creature. I was intended for something better, but now it is too late. A cooket I have lived, and a cooket I shall die. I speak frankly to you. Let me have the glory of leading Clarence Harvey about with me in public for a few months longer. Then I must quit the stage. As to love, you know with me that is out of the question. All I ask or wish for is admiration. Lady de la Cour paused and leaned back on the sofa. She appeared in great pain. Oh, I am sometimes, resumed she, as you see in terrible pain. For two years after I gave myself that blow with a pistol, I neglected the warning-twings that I felt from time to time. At last I was terrified. Marriott was the only person to whom I mentioned my fears, and she was profoundly ignorant. She flattered me with false hopes, till, alas, it was in vain to doubt of the nature of my complaint. Then she urged me to consult a physician that I would not do. I could not. I never will consult a physician. I would not for the universe have my situation known. You stare? You cannot enter into my feelings. Why, my dear, if I lose admiration, what have I left? Would you have me live upon pity? Consider what a dreadful thing it must be to me who have no friends, no family, to be confined to a sick room. A sick bed is what I must come to at last, but not yet. Not yet. I have fortitude. I should despise myself if I had no species of marriott. Besides, it is still some occupation to me to act my part in public, and bustle, noise, nonsense, if they do not amuse or interest me, yet they stifle reflection. May you never know what it is to feel remorse. The idea of that poor wretch lawless, whom I actually murdered as much as if I had shot him, haunts me whenever I am alone. It is now between eight and nine years since he died, and I have lived ever since in a constant course of dissipation. But it won't do. Conscience, conscience will be heard. Since my health has been weakened, I believe I have acquired more conscience. I really think that my stupid lord, who has neither ideas nor sensations, except when he is intoxicated, is a hundred times happier than I am. But I will spare you, Belinda. I promise that you should not have a scene, and I will keep my word. It is, however, a great relief to open my mind to one who has some feeling. Harriet Freak has none. I am convinced that she has no more feeling than this table. I am not yet told you how she has used me. You know that it was she who led or rather dragged me into that scrape with lawless. For that I never reproached her. You know it was she who frightened me into fighting that duel with Mrs. Lutridge. For this I never reproached her. She has cost me my peace of mind, my health, my life. She knows it, and she forsakes, betrays, insults, and leaves me to die. I cannot command my temper sufficiently to be coherent when I speak of her. I cannot express in words what I feel. How could that most treacherous of beings for ten years make me believe that she was my friend? Whilst I thought she really loved me, I pardoned her all her faults, all what a comprehensive word. All, all I forgave, and continually said, but she has a good heart, a good heart, she has no heart, she has no feeling for any living creature but herself. I always thought that she cared for no one but for me, but now I find she can throw me off as easily as she would her glove. And this too, I suppose, she calls a frolic, or in her own vulgar language, fun. Can you believe it? What do you think she has done, my dear? She has gone over at last to odious Mrs. Lutridge. Actually, she has gone down with the Lutreous to the Shire. The independent member having taken the Chilton Hundreds, vacates his seat. A new election comes on directly. The Lutridish are to bring in Freak. Not Harrod's cousin. They have cut him. But her husband, who is now to commend Senator, he is to come in for the county upon condition that Lutridge shall have Freak's borrow. Lord Elacor, without saying one syllable, has promised his interest to this precious Junto, and Lady Delacor is left a miserable scifer. My Lord's motives I can clearly understand. He lost a thousand guineas to Mrs. Lutridge this winter, and this is a convenient way of paying her. Why Harrod should be so anxious to serve a husband whom she hates, bitterly hates, might surprise anybody who did not know Lady Sur de Cart, as well as I do. You are but just coming to the world, Belinda, the world of wickedness. I mean, my dear, or you would have heard what a piece of work there was a few years ago about Harriet Freak and this cousin of hers. Without betraying her confidence, I must tell you what is known to everybody, that she went so far that, if it had not been for me, not a soul would have visited her. She swam in the sea of folly out of her depth, the tide of fashion ebbed, and there was she left sticking knee-deep in the mud, a ridiculous, scandalous figure. I had the courage and foolish good nature to hazard myself for her, and actually dragged her to terra firma. How she has gone on since I cannot tell you precisely, because I am in the secret, but the catastrophe is public. To make her peace with her husband, she gives up her friend. Well, that I could have pardoned if she had not been so base as to go over to Mrs. Lutridge. Mrs. Lutridge offered, I have seen the letter and Harriet's answer, to bring in Freak the husband, and to make both a county and a family piece, on condition that Harriet should give you up all connection with Lady Delacour. Mrs. Lutridge knew this would provoke me beyond measure, and there is nothing she would not do to gratify her mean malevolent passions. She has succeeded for once in her life. The blame of the jewel, of course, is all thrown upon me. And would you believe it, Harriet Freak? I am credibly informed, throws all the blame of Lawless's business on me. Nay, hints that Lawless's deathbed declaration of my innocence was very generous. Oh, the treachery, the baseness of this woman! And it was my fate to hear all this last night at the Masquerade. I waited and waited and looked everywhere for Harriet. She was to be the widow Brady, I knew. At last the widow Brady made her appearance, and I accosted her with all my usual familiarity. The widow was dumb. I insisted upon knowing the course of this sudden loss of speech. The widow took me into another apartment, unmasked, and there I beheld Mr. Freak, the husband. I was astonished, had no idea of the truth. Where is Harriet, I believe, were the first words I said? Gone to the country. To the country? Yes, to the shire, with Mrs. Lutridge. Mrs. Lutridge! Oh, just Mrs. Lutridge! I could scarcely believe my senses. But Freak, who always hated me, believing that I led his wife instead of her leading me into mischief, would have enjoyed my astonishment and my rage. So I concealed both with all possible presence of mind. He went on overwhelming me with explanations and copies of letters, and declared it was at Mrs. Freak's request he did and said all this, and that he was to follow her early the next morning to the shire. I broke from him simply wishing him a good journey, and as much family peace as his patients merited. He knows that I know his wife's history, and though she has no shame, he has some. I had the satisfaction to leave him blushing with anger, and I supported the character of the comic muse a full hour afterwards to convince him that all their combined malice would fail to break my spirit in public. What I suffer in private is known only to my own heart. As she finished these words, Lady Delacour rose abruptly and hummed a new opera air. Then she retired to her boudoir, saying with an air of levity to Belinda as she left the room. Good-bye, my dear Belinda. I leave you to ruminate sweet and bitter thoughts, to think of the last speech and confession of Lady Delacour, or what will interest you much more, the first speech and confession of Clarence Harvey. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth, Chapter 5 Birthday Dresses Lady Delacour's history and the manner in which it was related excited in Belinda's mind astonishment, pity, admiration, and contempt, astonishment at her inconsistency, pity for her misfortunes, admiration of her talents, and contempt for her conduct. To these emotions succeeded the recollection of the promise which she had made, not to leave her in her last illness at the mercy of an insolent attendant. This promise Belinda thought of with terror. She dreaded the sight of sufferings which she knew must end in death. She dreaded the sight of that affected Gehete, and of the real levity which so ill became the condition of a dying woman. She trembled at the idea of being under the guidance of one who was so little able to conduct herself, and she could not help blaming her aunt Stanhope severely for placing her in such a perilous situation. It was obvious that some of Lady Delacour's history must have been known to Mrs. Stanhope, and Belinda, the more she reflected, was the more surprised that her aunts having chosen such a chaperone for a young woman just entering into the world. When the understanding is suddenly roused and forced to exert itself, what a multitude of deductions it makes in a short time. Belinda saw things in a new light, and for the first time in her life she reasoned for herself upon what she saw and felt. It is sometimes safer for young people to see then to hear of certain characters. At a distance Lady Delacour had appeared to Miss Portman, the happiest person in the world. Upon a nearer view, she discovered that her ladyship was one of the most miserable of human beings. To have married her niece to such a man as Lord Delacour, Mrs. Stanhope would have thought the most fortunate thing imaginable, but it was now obvious to Belinda that neither the title of vicontesse nor the pleasure of spending three fortunes could ensure felicity. Lady Delacour confessed that in the midst of the utmost luxury and dissipation, she had been a constant prey to ennui, that the want of domestic happiness could never be supplied by that public admiration of which she was so ambitious, and that the immoderate indulgence of her vanity had led her by inevitable steps into follies and imprudences which had ruined her health and destroyed her peace of mind. If Lady Delacour, with all the advantages of wealth, rank, wit and beauty, has not been able to make herself happy in this life of fashionable dissipation, said Belinda to herself, why should I follow the same course and expect to be more fortunate? It is singular that the very means which Mrs. Stanhope had taken to make a fine lady of her niece tended to produce an effect diametrically opposite to what might have been expected. The result of Belinda's reflections upon Lady Delacour's history was a resolution to benefit by her bad example, but this resolution it was more easy to form than to keep. Her ladyship, where she wished to please or to govern, had fascinating manners, and could alternately use the sarcastic powers of wit and the fond tone of persuasion to accomplish her purposes. It was Belinda's intention, in pursuance of her new plans of life, to spend whilst she remained in London as little money as possible upon superfluities and dress. She had at her own disposal only a hundred pounds per annum, the interest of her fortune, but besides this, her aunt, who was desirous that she should go to court and make a splendid figure there, had sent her a draft on her banker for two hundred guineas. You will, I trust, said her aunt, at the conclusion of the letter. Repay me when you are established in the world, as I hope and believe. From what I hear from Lady Delacour of the power of your charms, you will soon be to the entire satisfaction of all your friends. Pray do not neglect to mention my friend Clarence Harvey, particularly, when you, right next, I understand, from one who is well acquainted with him, and who has actually seen his rent roll, that he has a clear ten thousand pounds a year. Belinda resolved neither to go to court, nor to touch her aunt's two hundred guineas, and she wrote a long letter to her, in which she explained her feelings and views at large. In this letter she meant to have returned Mrs. Stanhurst's draft, but her feelings and views changed between the writing of this episode and the going out of the post. Mrs. Franks, the milliner, came in the interim and brought home Lady Delacour's beautiful dress. It was not the sight of this, however, which changed Belinda's mind, but she could not resist Lady Delacour's railery. Why, my dear, said her ladyship, after having listened to all Miss Portman could say about her love of independence, and the necessity of economy to preserve that independence. All this is prodigiously fine, but shall I translate it into plain English? You were mortally wounded the other night by some random reflections of a set of foolish young men, Clarence Harvey amongst the number, and instead of punishing them, you sagely and generously determined to punish yourself. Then, to convince this youth that you have not a thought of those odious nets and cages, that you have no design whatever upon his heart, and that he has no manner of influence on yours, you very judiciously determined at the first hint from him to change your dress, your manners, and your character, and thus to say to him in as plain terms as possible. You see, sir, a word to the wise is enough. I understand you disapprove of showy dress and cocketry, and therefore as I dressed and cocketed only to please you, now I shall lay aside dress and cocketry, since I find that they are not to your taste. And I hope, sir, you like my simplicity. Depend upon it, my dear Clarence Harvey, understand simplicity as well as you or I do. All this would be vastly well if he did not know that you overheard that conversation, but as he does know it, trust me, he will attribute any sudden change in your manners and appearance right or wrong to the motives I have mentioned. So, don't novice as you are, set about to manoeuvre you for yourself. Leave all that to your aunt Stanhope, or to me, and then you know your conscience will be all the time as white as your hands, which by the by Clarence Harvey the other day said were the whitest hands he had ever seen. Perhaps all this time you have taken it into your head that full dress will not become you, but I assure you that it will. You look well in anything, but from the hoops bewitching round the very shoe has powered to wound. So, come down to Mrs. Franks and order your birth night dress like a reasonable creature. Like a reasonable creature, Miss Portman followed Lady Delacour, and bespoke, or rather let her ladyship speak for her, fifty Guinness worth of elegance and fashion. You must go to the drawing room with me next week and be presented, said Lady Delacour. And then as it is the first time you must be elegantly dressed, and you must not wear the same dress on the birth night. So, Mrs. Franks, let this be finished first, as fast as you can, and by that time perhaps we shall think of something superlatively charming for the night of nights. Mrs. Franks departed and Belinda sighed. A silver penny for your thoughts, cried Lady Delacour. You are thinking that you are like Camilla, and I like Mrs. Mitten. Novel reading, as I dare say you have been told by your governess, as I was told by mine, and she by hers, I suppose. Novel reading for young ladies is the most dangerous. Oh, Clarence Hireway, I protest, cried Lady Delacour, as he at this instant entered the room. Do pray, Clarence, help me out for the sake of this young lady, with a moral sentence against Novel reading, but that might go against your conscience or your interest. So we'll spare you, how I regret that we had not the charming serpent at the masquerade the other night. The moment her ladyship mentioned the masquerade, the conversation which had passed at Lady Singleton's came full into Clarence Hireway's recollection, and his embarrassment was evident, not indeed to Belinda, who had turned away to look over some new music that lay upon a stand at the farthest end of the room, and she found this such a wonderfully interesting occupation, that she did not for some minutes hear or appear to hear one word on the conversation which was going on between Mr. Harvey and Lady Delacour. Had lost her ladyship tapped her upon the shoulder, saying in a playful tone, Miss Portman, I rest your attention at the suit of Clarence Hireway. This gentleman is passionately fond of music, to my curse, for he never sees my harp, but he worries me with reproaches for having lift off playing upon it. Now he has just given me his word that he will not reproach me again for a month to come, if you will favour us with one air. I assure you, Clarence, that Belinda touches a harp divinely. She would absolutely charm. Your ladyship should not waste such valuable praise, interrupted Belinda. Do you forget that Belinda Portman and her accomplishments have already been as well advertised as Packwood's racer's drops? The manner in which these words were pronounced made a great impression upon Clarence Hireway, and he began to believe it was possible that a niece of the matchmaking, Mrs. Danhope, might not be a compound of art and affection. Though her aunt has advertised her, said it to himself, she seems to have too much dignity to advertise herself, and it would be very unjust to blame her for the faults of another person. I will see more of her. Some morning visitors were announced who, for the time, suspended Clarence Hireway's reflections. The effect of them, however, immediately appeared, for, as his good opinion of Belinda increased, his ambition to please her was strongly excited. He displayed all his powers of wit and humor, and not only Lady Delacour, but everybody present observed, that Mr. Hireway, who was always the most entertaining man in the world, this morning surpassed himself, and was absolutely the most entertaining man in the universe. He was mortified notwithstanding, for he distinctly perceived, that whilst Belinda joined with ease and dignity in the general conversation, her manner towards him was grave and reserved. The next morning he called earlier than usual, but though Lady Delacour was always at home to him, she was then un-luckily dressing to go to court. He inquired whether Miss Portman would accompany her ladyship, and he learned from his friend Marriott that she was not to be presented this day, because Mrs. Franks had not brought home her dress. Mr. Hireway called again two hours afterwards. Lady Delacour was gone to court. He asked for Miss Portman, not at home, was the mortifying answer, though as he had passed by the windows, he had heard the delightful sound of her harp. He walked up and down in the square impatiently, till he saw Lady Delacour's carriage appear. The drawing-room has lasted an unconscionable time this morning, said he, as he handed her ladyship out of her coach. I am not I the most virtuous of virtuous women, said Lady Delacour, to go to court such a day as this. But, whispered she as she went upstairs, like all other amazingly good people, I have amazingly good reasons for being good. The queen is soon to give a charming breakfast at Frogmore, and I am paying my court with all my might in hopes of being asked. For Belinda must see one of their galas before we leave town. That I am determined upon. But where is she? Not at home, said Clarence smiling. Oh, not at home is nonsense, you know. Shine out, appear, be found, my lovely Sara, cried Lady Delacour opening the library door. Here she is, what doing I know not, studying harvest meditations on the tombs, I should guess, by the sanctification of her looks. If you be not totally above all sublunary considerations, admire my lilies of the valley, and let me give you a lecture, not upon heads or upon hearts, but on what is of much more consequence upon hoops. Everybody wear hoops, but how few, to some melancholy consideration, how very few can manage them. There's my friend Lady C, in an elegant undress she passes for very gentile, but put her into a hoop, and she looks as pitiful a figure, as much a prisoner, and as little able to walk, as a child in a go-cart. She gets on, I grant you, and so does the poor child, but getting on, you know, is not walking. Oh, Clarence, I wish you had seen the two Lady R's sticking close to one another, their father pushing them on together, like two decanters in a bottle coaster, with such magnificent diamond labels round their necks. Encouraged by Clarence Harvey's laughter, Lady de la Cour went on to mimic what she called the hoop awkwardness of all her acquaintance, and if these could have failed to divert Belinda, it was impossible for her to be serious, when she heard Clarence Harvey's declare that he was convinced he could manage a hoop as well as any woman in England, except Lady de la Cour. Now here, said he, is the purblind dowager Lady Boucher just at the door, Lady de la Cour. She would not know my face, she would not see my beard, and I will bet fifty guiness that I come into a room in a hoop, and that she does not find me out by my air, that I do not betray myself in short by my masculine awkwardness. I hold you to your word, Clarence, cried Lady de la Cour. They have let the purblind dowager in. I hear her on the stairs. Here, through this way you can go. As you do everything quicker than anybody else in the world, you will certainly be full dressed in a quarter of an hour. I'll engage to keep the dowager in scandal for that time. Go! Marriott has old hoops and old finery of mine, and you have all powerful influence. I know with Marriott, so go and use it, and let us see you in all your glory, though I vow I tremble for my fifty guiness. Lady de la Cour kept the dowager in scandal, according to her engagement, for a good quarter of an hour. Then the dresses at the drawing-room took up another quarter, and at last the dowager began to give an account of sundry wonderful cures that had been performed to her certain knowledge by her favorite concentrated extract of Anima and Quassia. She entered into the history of the negro-slave named Quassie, who discovered this medical wood, which he kept a close secret till Mr. Dalbury, a magistrate of Suriname, warmed it out of him, brought a branch of the tree to Europe, and communicated it to the great lineus, when Clarence Herway was announced by the title of The Countess Depominars. An emigre, a charming woman, whispered Lady de la Cour. She was to have been at the drawing-room to-day, but for a blunder of mine, ready dressed she was, and I didn't call for her. Ah, Madame Depominars, I am actually ashamed to see you, continued her ladyship, and she went forward to meet Clarence Herway, who really made his entree with very composed assurance and grace. He managed his hoop with such skill and dexterity, that he well deserved the praise of being a universal genius. The Countess Depominars spoke French and broken English incomparably well, and she made out that she was descended from the Poominars of the time of Madame de Sevigny. She said that she had in her possession several original letters of Madame de Sevigny, and a lock of Madame de Grignan's fine hair. I have sometimes fancied, but I believe it is only my fancy, said Lady de la Cour, that this young lady, turning to Belinda, is not unlike your Madame de Grignan, I have seen a picture of her at Strawberry Hill. Madame de Poominars acknowledged that there was a resemblance, but added that it was flattery in the extreme to Madame de Grignan to say so. It would be seen undoubtedly to waste flattery upon the dead, my dear Countess, said Lady de la Cour. But here without flattery to the living, as you have a lock of Madame de Grignan's hair, you can tell us whether La Belle Chevelleur, of which Madame de Sevigny talked so much, was anything to be compared to my Belinda's. As she spoke, Lady de la Cour, before Belinda was aware of her intentions, dexterously let down her beautiful tresses, and the Countess de Poominars was so much struck at the sight that she was incapable of paying the necessary compliments. Nay, touch it, said Lady de la Cour. It is so fine and so soft. At this dangerous moment her ladyship artfully let drop the comb. Clarence Hervé suddenly stooped to pick it up, totally forgetting his hoop and his character. He threw down the music stand with his hoop. Lady de la Cour exclaimed bravissima, and burst out a laughing. Lady Boucher, in amazement, looked from one to another for an explanation, and was a considerable time before, as she said, she could believe her own eyes. Clarence Hervé acknowledged he had lost his bet, joined in the laugh, and declared that Fifty Guinness was too little to pay for the sight of the finest hair that he had ever beheld. I declare he deserves a lock of labelle chevelleur for that speech, Miss Portman, cried Lady de la Cour. I'll appeal to all the world. Madame de Poominars must have a lock to measure with Madame de Grignan's. Come, a second rape of the lock, Belinda. Fortunately for Belinda, the glittering forfex was not immediately produced, as fine ladies do not now, as in former times, carry any such useless implements about with them. Such was the modest graceful dignity of Miss Portman's manners, that she escaped without even the charge of prudery. She retired her own apartment as soon as she could. She passes on in unblanched majesty, said Lady de la Cour. She is really a charming woman, said Clarence Hervé in a low voice to Lady de la Cour, drawing her into a resist window. He, in the same low voice, continued, Could I obtain a private audience, or a few minutes when your ladyship is at leisure? I have... I am never at leisure, interrupted Lady de la Cour. But if you have anything particular to say to me, as I guess you have, by my skill in human nature, come here to my concert tonight, before the rest of the world. Wait patiently in the music room, and perhaps I may grant you a private audience, as you have had the grace not to call it a tetatet. In the meantime, my dear Countess de Poominars, had we not better take off our hoops. In the evening, Clarence Hervé was in the music room, a considerable time before Lady de la Cour appeared. How patiently he waited is not known to anyone but himself. Have not I given you time to compose a charming speech? said Lady de la Cour as she entered the room. But make it as short as you can, unless you wish that Miss Portman should hear it, for she will be downstairs in three minutes. In one word, then, my dear Lady de la Cour, can you and will you make my peace with Miss Portman? I am much concerned about that foolish racer-struck dialogue which she overheard at Lady Singleton's. You are concerned that she overheard it, no doubt. No, said Clarence Hervé, I am rejoiced that she overheard it, since it has been the means of convincing me of my mistake, but I am concerned that I had the presumption and injustice to judge of Miss Portman so hastily. I am convinced that though she is a niece of Missy Stanhope's, she has dignity of mind and simplicity of character. Will you, my dear Lady de la Cour, tell her so? Stay, interrupted Lady de la Cour. Let me get it by heart. I should have made a terrible bad messenger of the gods and goddesses, for I never in my life could like Iris repeat a message in the same words in which it was delivered to me. Let me see, dignity of mind and simplicity of character, was it not? May not I say it once, my dear Belinda, Clarence Hervé decides me to tell you that he is convinced you are an angel. That single word angel is so expressive, so comprehensive, so comprehensible. It contains, believe me, all that can be said or imagined on these occasions. Depart et d'autre. But, said Mr. Harvey, perhaps Miss Portman has heard the song of what know we of angels, I spake it in jest. Then you are not in jest, but in downright sober earnest. Ha! said Lady de la Cour with an arch-look. I did not know it was already come to this with you. And her ladyship turning to her piano forty played. There was a young man in bellenacracy who wanted a wife to make him an acie. And thus in gentle strains he spoke her, Ara, will you marry me, my dear Alec Crocker? No, no! exclaimed Clarence, laughing. It is not come to that with me yet, Lady de la Cour. I promise you. But is not it possible to say that a young lady has dignity of mind and simplicity of character, without having or suggesting any thoughts of marriage? You make a most proper but not sufficiently emphatic difference between having or suggesting such thoughts, said Lady de la Cour. A gentleman sometimes finds it for his interest, his honour or his pleasure, to suggest what he would not for the world promise. I mean, perform. A scoundrel, cried Clarence Harvey. Not a gentleman may find it for his honour or his interest or his pleasure to promise what he would not perform. But I am not a scoundrel. I never made any promise to man or woman that I did not keep faithfully. I am not a swindler in love. And yet, said Lady de la Cour, you would have no scruple to trifle or flatter a woman out of her heart. C'est la et c'est long, said Clarence, smiling. A fair exchange, you know, is no robbery. When a fine woman robs me of my heart, surely Lady de la Cour could not expect that I should make no attempt upon hers. Is this part of my message to Miss Portman? Said Lady de la Cour. As your ladyship pleases, said Clarence, I trust entirely to your discretion. Why I really have a great deal of discretion, said Lady de la Cour. But you trust too much to it, when you expect that I should execute, both with propriety and success, the delicate commission of telling a young lady, who is under my protection, that a young gentleman, who is a professed admirer of mine, is in love with her, but has no thoughts and wishes to suggest, no thoughts of marriage. In love, exclaimed Clarence Harvey. But when did I ever use the expression? In speaking of Miss Portman, I simply expressed esteem and add no additions, said Lady de la Cour. Content yourself with esteem simply, and Miss Portman is safe. And you too. I presume, apropos, pray Clarence, how do your esteem and admiration. I may go as far as that, may not I, of Miss Portman agree with your admiration of Lady de la Cour. Perfectly well, replied Clarence, for all the world must be sensible that Clarence Harvey is a man of too much taste to compare a country novice in wit and accomplishments to Lady de la Cour. He might, as men of genius sometimes do, look forward to the idea of forming a country novice for a wife. A man must marry sometime or other, but my hour, thank heaven, is not come yet. Thank heaven, said Lady de la Cour, for you know a married man is lost to the world of fashion and gallantry. Not more so, I should hope, than a married woman, said Clarence Harvey. Here, aloud knocking at the door, announced the arrival of a company to the concert. You will make my peace, you promise me, with Miss Portman? cried Clarence eagerly. Yes, I will make your peace, and you shall see Belinda smile upon you once more, upon condition, continued Lady de la Cour speaking very quickly, as if she was harried by the sound of people coming upstairs. But we'll talk of that another time. Nay, nay, my dear Lady de la Cour, now, now, said Clarence, ceasing her hand, upon condition, upon what condition? Upon condition that you do a little job for me, indeed for Belinda. She is to go with me to the birth-night, and she has often hinted to me that our horses are shockingly shabby for people of our condition. I know she wishes that, upon such an occasion, her first appearance at court, you know, we should go in style. Now, my dear positive lord has said, he will not let us have a pair of the handsomest horses I ever saw, which are at tatter-salls, and on which Belinda, I know, has secretly set her heart, as I have openly in vain. Your ladyship and resportment cannot possibly set your hearts on anything in vain, especially on anything that is in the power of Clarence Harway to procure. Then, added he gallantly, kissing her hand, may I thus seal my treaty of peace? What audacity! Don't you see these people coming in? cried Lady Delacour, and she withdrew her hand, but with no great precipitation. She was evidently, at this moment as in all the past, neither afraid nor ashamed, that Mr. Harway's devotions to her should be paid in public, with much adress she had satisfied herself to his views with respect to Belinda. She was convinced that he had no immediate thoughts of matrimony, but that if he were condemned to marry, Miss Portman would be his wife, as this did not interfere with her plans. Lady Delacour was content.