 CHAPTER X A custom to study human nature, Dr. X had acquired peculiar sagacity in judging of character. Notwithstanding the address with which Lady Delacorte concealed the real motives for her apparently thoughtless conduct, he quickly discovered that the hatred of Mrs. Letridge was her ruling passion. Above nine years of continual warfare had exasperated the tempers of both parties, and no opportunities of manifesting their mutual antipathy were ever neglected. Extravagantly as Lady Delacorte loved admiration, the highest possible degree of positive praise was insipid to her taste if it did not imply some superiority over the woman whom she considered as a perpetual rival. Now it had been said by the coach-maker that Mrs. Letridge would sport a most elegant new vis-à-vis on the king's birthday. Lady Delacorte was immediately ambitious to outshine her in équipage, and it was this paltry ambition which made her condescend to all the meanness of the transaction by which she obtained Miss Portman's draft and Clarence Hervey's two hundred guineas. The great, the important day, at length arrived, her ladyship's triumph in the morning at the drawing-room was complete. Mrs. Letridge's dress, Mrs. Letridge's vis-à-vis, Mrs. Letridge's horses were nothing, absolutely nothing in comparison with Lady Delacorte's. Her ladyship enjoyed the full exaltation of vanity, and at night she went in high spirits to the ball. Oh, my dearest Belinda, said she, as she left her dressing-room! How terrible a thing it is that you cannot go with me! None of the joys of this life are without alloy! It would be too much to see in one night Mrs. Letridge's mortification and my Belinda's triumph. Adieu, my love! We shall live to see another birthday, it is to be hoped. Marry it, my drops! Oh, I have taken them. Belinda, after her ladyship's departure, retired to the library. Her time passed so agreeably during Lady Delacorte's absence that she was surprised when she heard the clock strike twelve. Is it possible, thought she, that I have spent two hours by myself in a library without being tired of my existence? How different are my feelings now from what they would have been in the same circumstances six months ago? I should then have thought the loss of a birth-night ball a mighty trial of temper. It is singular that my having spent a winter with one of the most dissipated women in England should have sobered my mind so completely. If I had never seen the utmost extent of the pleasures of the world, as they are called, my imagination might have misled me to the end of my life. Now I can judge from my own experience, and I am convinced that the life of a fine lady would never make me happy. Dr. X told me the other day that he thinks me formed for something better, and he is incapable of flattery. The idea of Clarence Hervey was so intimately connected with that of his friend that Miss Portman could seldom separate them in her imagination, and she was just beginning to reflect upon the manner in which Clarence looked whilst he declared to Sir Philip Baddily that he would never give up Dr. X when she was startled by the entrance of Marriott. Oh, Miss Portman, what shall we do? What shall we do? My lady, my poor lady, cried she. What is the matter, said Belinda? The horses, the young horses. Oh, I wish my lady had never seen them. Oh, my lady, my poor lady, what will become of her? It was some minutes before Belinda could obtain from Marriott any intelligible account of what had happened. All I know, ma'am, is what James has just told me, said Marriott. My lady gave the coachman orders upon no account to let Mrs. Lutridge's carriage get before hers. Mrs. Lutridge's coachman would not give up the point, either. My lady's horses were young and ill-broke, they tell me, and there was no managing of them no ways. The carriages got somehow across one another, and my lady was overturned and all smashed to atoms. Oh, ma'am, continued Marriott, if it had not been for Mr. Hervey, they say, my lady would never have got out of the crowd alive. He's bringing her home in his own carriage, God bless him. But his lady Delacour hurt, cried Belinda. She must, to be sure, she must, ma'am, cried Marriott, putting her hand upon her bosom. But let her be ever so much hurt, my lady will keep it to herself. The footmen swear she did not give a scream, not a single scream. So it's their opinion she was no ways hurt. But that, I know, can't be. And indeed, they are thinking so much about the carriage that they can't give one rational account of anything. And as for myself, I'm sure I'm in such a flutter. Lord knows I advised my lady not to go with the young horses no later than— Hark! cried Belinda. Here they are. She ran downstairs instantly. The first object that she saw was Lady Delacour in convulsions. The street door was open, the hall was crowded with servants. Belinda made her way through them, and in a calm voice requested that Lady Delacour might immediately be brought to her own dressing room, and that she should there be left to Marriott's care and hers. Mr. Hervey assisted in carrying Lady Delacour. She came to her senses as they were taking her upstairs. Set me down, set me down, she exclaimed, I am not hurt, I am quite well. Where's Marriott? Where's Miss Portman? Here we are. You shall be carried quite safely. As to me, said Belinda in a firm tone, and do not struggle. Lady Delacour submitted. She was in agonizing pain, but her fortitude was so great that she never uttered a groan. It was the constraint which she had put upon herself by endeavouring not to scream which threw her into convulsions. She is hurt, I'm sure she is hurt, though she will not acknowledge it, cried Clarence Hervey. My ankle has sprained, that's all, said Lady Delacour. Lay me on this sofa, and leave me to Belinda. What's all this? cried Lord Delacour, staggering into the room. He was much intoxicated, and in this condition had just come home, as they were carrying Lady Delacour upstairs. He could not be made to understand the truth, but as soon as he heard Clarence Hervey's voice he insisted upon going up to his wife's dressing-room. It was a very unusual thing, but neither champ for nor anyone else could restrain him the moment that he had formed this idea. He forced his way into the room. What's all this? Colonel Lawless, said he, addressing himself to Clarence Hervey, whom in the confusion of his mind he mistook for the Colonel the first object of his jealousy. Colonel Lawless, cried his lordship, You are a villain, I always knew it. Softly, she is in great pain, my lord, said Belinda, catching Lord Delacour's arm just as he was going to strike Clarence Hervey. She led him to the sofa where Lady Delacour lay, and uncovering her ankle, which was much swelled, showed it to him. His lordship, who was a humane man, was somewhat moved by this appeal to his remaining senses, and he began roaring as loud as he possibly could for Arquabousade. Lady Delacour rested her head upon the back of the sofa. Her hands moved with convulsive twitches. She was perfectly silent. Mariette was in a great bustle, running backwards and forwards, for she knew not what, and continually repeating, I wish nobody would come in here but Miss Portman and me. My lady says nobody must come in. Lord bless me, my lord, here too. Have you any arquabousade, Mariette? Arquabousade, for your lady, directly, cried his lordship, following her to the door of the boudoir, where she was going for some drops. Oh, my lord, you can't come in. I assure you, my lord, there's nothing here, my lord, nothing of the sort, said Mariette, setting her back against the door. Her terror and embarrassment instantly recalled all the jealous suspicions of Lord Delacour. Woman, cried he, I will see whom you have in this room. You have someone concealed there, and I will go in. Then, with brutal oaths, he dragged Mariette from the door and snatched the key from her struggling hand. Lady Delacour started up and gave a scream of agony. My lord, Lord Delacour, cried Belinda, springing forward, hear me. Lord Delacour stopped short. Tell me, then, cried Lord Delacour, is not a lover of Lady Delacour's concealed there? No, no, no, answered Belinda. Then a lover of Miss Portman, said Lord Delacour. God, we have hid it now, I believe. Believe whatever you please, my lord, said Belinda hastily, but give me the key. Clarence Hervey drew the key from Lord Delacour's hand, gave it to Miss Portman without looking at her, and immediately withdrew. Lord Delacour followed him with a sort of drunken laugh, and no one remained in the room but Mariette, Belinda, and Lady Delacour. Mariette was so much fluttered, as she said, that she could do nothing. Miss Portman locked the room door and began to undress Lady Delacour, who lay motionless. Are we by ourselves? said Lady Delacour, opening her eyes. Yes, are you much hurt? said Belinda. Oh, you are a charming girl, said Lady Delacour. Who would have thought you had so much presence of mind and courage? Had you the key safe? Here it is, said Belinda, producing it, and she repeated her question. Are you much hurt? I am not in pain now, said Lady Delacour, but I have suffered terribly. If I could get rid of all this finery, if you could put me to bed, I could sleep perhaps. Whilst Belinda was undressing Lady Delacour, she shrieked several times, but between every interval of pain, she repeated, I shall be better to-morrow. As soon as she was in bed, she desired Mariette to give her double her usual quantity of laudanum, for that all the inclination which she had felt to sleep was gone, and that she could not endure the shooting pains that she felt in her breast. Leave me alone with your Lady Mariette, said Miss Portman, taking the bottle of laudanum from her trembling hand, and go to bed, for I am sure you are not able to sit up any longer. As she spoke she took Mariette into the adjoining dressing-room. Oh, dear Miss Portman, said Mariette, who was sincerely attached to her Lady, and who at this instant forgot all her jealousies and all her love of power. I'll do anything you ask me, but pray let me stay in the room, though I know I'm quite helpless. It will be too much for you to be here all night by yourself, the convulsions may take my Lady, what shrieks she gives every now and then, and nobody knows what's the matter but ourselves, and everybody in the house is asking me why a surgeon is not sent for if my Lady is so much hurt. Oh, I can't answer for it to my conscience to have kept the matter secret so long, for to be sure a physician if had in time might have saved my Lady, but now nothing can save her. And here Mariette burst into tears. Why don't you give me the laudanum, cried Lady Delacour, in a loud, peremptory voice, give it to me instantly? No, said Miss Portman, firmly, hear me, Lady Delacour, you must allow me to judge, for you know that you are not in a condition to judge for yourself, or rather you must allow me to send for a physician who may judge for both of us. A physician, cried Lady Delacour, never, never, I charge you, let no physician be sent for. Remember your promise, you cannot betray me, you will not betray me. No, said Belinda, of that I have given sufficient proof, but you will betray yourself, it is already known by your servants that you have been hurt by the overturn of your carriage. If you do not let either a surgeon or physician see you it will excite surprise and suspicion. It is not in your power when violent pain seizes you to refrain from. It is, interrupted Lady Delacour, not another scream shall you hear. Only do not, do not, my dear Belinda, send for a physician. You will throw yourself again into convulsions, said Belinda. Mariette, you see, has lost all command of herself. I shall not have strength to manage you. Perhaps I may lose my presence at mind. I cannot answer for myself. Your husband may desire to see you. No danger of that, said Lady Delacour. Tell him my ankle is sprained. Tell him I am bruised all over. Tell him anything you will. He will not trouble himself any more about me. He will forget all that past tonight by the time he is sober. Oh, give me the Lodenum, dearest Belinda, and say no more about physicians. It was in vain to reason with Lady Delacour. Belinda attempted to persuade her. For my sake, dear Lady Delacour, said she, let me send for Dr. X. He is a man of honour. Your secret will be perfectly safe with him. He will tell it to Clarence Hervey, said Lady Delacour, of all men living I would not send for Dr. X. I will not see him if he comes. Then said Belinda calmly, but with a fixed determination of countenance, I must leave you to-morrow morning. I must return to Bath. Leave me! Remember your promise! Circumstances have occurred about which I have made no promise, said Belinda. I must leave you unless you will now give me your permission to send for Dr. X. Lady Delacour hesitated. You see, continued Belinda, that I am in earnest. When I am gone you will have no friend left. When I am gone your secret will inevitably be discovered, for without me Marriott will not have sufficient strength of mind to keep it. Do you think we might trust Dr. X? said Lady Delacour. I am sure you may trust him, said Belinda with energy. I will pledge my life upon his honour. Then send for him since it must be so, said Lady Delacour. No sooner had the words past Lady Delacour's lips than Belinda flew to execute her orders. Marriott recovered her senses when she heard that her ladyship had consented to send for a physician, but she declared that she could not conceive how anything less than the power of magic could have brought her lady to such a determination. Belinda had scarcely dispatched a servant for Dr. X when Lady Delacour repented of the permission she had given, and all that could be said to pacify only irritated her temper. She became delirious. Belinda's presence of mind never foresook her. She remained quietly beside the bed waiting for the arrival of Dr. X, and she absolutely refused admittance to the servants, who, drawn by their lady's outrageous cries, continually came to her door with offers of assistance. About four o'clock the doctor arrived, and Miss Portman was relieved from some of her anxiety. He assured her that there was no immediate danger, and he promised that the secret which she had entrusted to him should be faithfully kept. He remained with her some hours till Lady Delacour became more quiet and fell asleep, exhausted with delirious exertions. I think I may leave you now, said Dr. X, but as he was going through the dressing room Belinda stopped him. Now that I have time to think of myself, said she, let me consult you as my friend. I am not used to act entirely for myself, and I shall be most grateful if you will assist me with your advice. I hate all mysteries, but I feel myself bound in honour to keep the secret with which Lady Delacour has entrusted me. Last night I was so circumstanced that I could not extricate her ladyship without exposing myself to—to suspicion. Miss Portman then related all that had passed about the mysterious door which Lord Delacour, in his fit of drunken jealousy, had insisted upon breaking open. Mr. Hervey, continued Belinda, was present when all this happened. He seemed much surprised. I should be sorry that he should remain in an error which might be fatal to my reputation. You know a woman ought never even to be suspected. Yet how to remove this suspicion I know not, because I cannot enter into any explanation without betraying Lady Delacour. She has, I know, a peculiar dread of Mr. Hervey's discovering the truth. And is it possible, cried Dr. X, that any woman should be so meanly selfish as thus to expose the reputation of her friend merely to preserve her own vanity from mortification? Hush, don't speak so loud, said Belinda. You all awaken her, and at present she is certainly more an object of pity than of indignation. If you will have the goodness to come with me, I will take you by a back staircase up to the mysterious Boudoir. I am not too proud to give positive proofs of my speaking truth. The key of that room now lies on Lady Delacour's bed. It was that which she grasped in her hand during her delirium. She has now let it fall. It opens both the doors of the Boudoir. You shall see, added Miss Portman with a smile, that I am not afraid to let you unlock either of them. As a polite man, said Dr. X, I believe that I should absolutely refuse to take any external evidence of a lady's truth. But demonstration is unanswerable even by enemies, and I will not sacrifice your interests to the foppery of my politeness. So I am ready to follow you. The curiosity of the servants may have been excited by last night's disturbance, and I see no method so certain as that which you propose of preventing busy rumour. That goddess, let Ovid say what he pleases, was born and bred in a kitchen or a servants' hall. But, continued Dr. X, my dear Miss Portman, you will put a stop to a number of charming stories by this prudence of yours. A romance called the mysterious Boudoir of nine volumes, at least, might be written on this subject if you would only condescend to act like almost all other heroines, that is to say without common sense. The doctor now followed Belinda and satisfied himself by ocular demonstration that this cabinet was the retirement of disease and not of pleasure. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when Dr. X got home. He found Clarence Hervey waiting for him. Clarence seemed to be in great agitation, though he endeavored with all the power which he possessed over himself to suppress his emotion. You have been to see Lady Delacour, said he calmly. Is she much hurt? It was a terrible accident. She has been much hurt, said Dr. X, and she has been for some hours delirious. But ask me no more questions now, for I am asleep and must go to bed unless you have anything to say that can awaken me. You look as if some great misfortune has befallen you. What is the matter? Oh, my dear friend, said Hervey, taking his hand, do not jest with me. I am not able to bear your railery in my present temper. In one word, I fear that Belinda is unworthy of my esteem. I can tell you no more, except that I am more miserable than I thought any woman could make me. You are in a prodigious hurry to be miserable, said Dr. X. Upon my word I think you would make a mighty pretty hero in a novel. You take things very properly for granted, and, stretched out upon that sofa, you act the distracted lover vastly well. And to complete the matter, you cannot tell me why you are more miserable than ever man or hero was before. I must tell you, then, that you have still more cause for jealousy than you suspect. I start. Every jealous man starts at the sound of the word jealousy. A certain symptom, this of the disease. You mistake me, cried Clarence Hervey. No man is less disposed to jealousy than I am. But— But you're mistress. No, not your mistress. For you have never yet declared to her your attachment. But the lady you admire will not let a drunken man unlock a door, and you immediately suppose she has mentioned the circumstance to you, exclaimed Hervey, in a joyful tone, then she must be innocent. Admirable reasoning. I was going to have told you just now, if you would have suffered me to speak connectedly, that you have more reason for jealousy than you suspect. For Miss Portman has actually unlocked for me—for me, look at me—the door, the mysterious door—and whilst I live and whilst she lives we can neither of us ever tell you the cause of the mystery. All I can tell you is that no lover is in the case, upon my honour. And now, if you should ever mistake curiosity in your own mind for jealousy, expect no pity from me. I should deserve none, said Clarence Hervey. You have made me the happiest of men. The happiest of men—no, no, keep that superlative exclamation for a future occasion. But now you behave like a reasonable creature. You deserve to hear the praises of your Belinda. I am so much charmed with her that I wish. When can I see her, interrupted Hervey? I'll go to her this instant. Gently, said Dr. X, you forget what time of the day it is. You forget that Miss Portman has been up all night, that Lady Delacorte is extremely ill, and that this would be the most unseasonable opportunity you could possibly choose for your visit. To this observation Clarence Hervey assented, that he immediately seized a pen from the doctor's writing-table and began a letter to Belinda. The doctor threw himself upon the sofa, saying, Wake in me when you want me. And in a few minutes he was fast asleep. Doctor, upon second thoughts, said Clarence, rising suddenly and tearing his letter down the middle. I cannot write to her yet. I forgot the reformation of Lady Delacorte. How soon do you think she will be well? Besides, I have another reason for not writing to Belinda at present. You must know, my dear doctor, that I have—or had—another mistress. Another mistress, indeed, cried Dr. X, trying to wake in himself. Good heavens, I do believe you've been asleep. I do believe I have. But is it possible that you could fall sound asleep in that time? Very possible, said the doctor. What is there so extraordinary in a man's falling asleep? Men are apt to sleep some time within the four and twenty hours, unless they have half a dozen mistresses to keep them awake, as you seem to have, my good friend. A servant now came into the room with the letter that had just arrived expressed from the country for Dr. X. This is another affair, cried he, rousing himself. The letter required the doctor's immediate attendance. He shook hands with Clarence Hervey. My dear friend, I am really concerned that I cannot stay to hear the history of your six mistresses, but you see that this is an affair of life and death. Farewell, said Clarence, I have not six. I have only three goddesses, even if you count Lady Delacorte for one. But I really wanted your advice in good earnest. If your case be desperate you can write, cannot you? Direct to me at Horton Hall, Cambridge. In the meantime, as far as general rules go, I can give you my advice gratis in the formula of an old Scotch song. Tis good to be merry and wise, tis good to be honest and true, tis good to be off with the old love before you be on with the new. CHAPTER 11 Difficulties Before he left town, Dr. X called in Berkeley Square to see Lady Delacorte. He found that she was out of all immediate danger. Miss Portman was sorry that he was obliged to quit her at this time, but she felt the necessity of his going. He was sent to attend Mr. Horton, an intimate friend of his, a gentleman of great talents and of the most active benevolence, who had just been seized with a violent fever in consequence of his exertions in saving the poor inhabitants of a village in his neighbourhood, from the effects of a dreadful fire which broke out in the middle of the night. Lady Delacorte, who heard Dr. X giving this account to Belinda, drew back her curtain and said, Go, this instant doctor, I am out of all immediate danger, you say, but if I were not I must die in the course of a few months, you know. And what is my life compared with the chance of saving your excellent friend? He is of some use in the world, I am of none. Go, this instant doctor! What a pity, said Dr. X as he left the room, that a woman who is capable of so much magnanimity should have wasted her life on petty objects. Her life is not yet at an end, oh sir, if you could save her, cried Belinda. Doctor X shook his head, but returning to Belinda after going halfway down the stairs, he added, When you read this paper you will know all that I can tell you upon the subject. Belinda, the moment the doctor was gone, shut herself up in her own room to read the paper which she had given her. Dr. X first stated that he was by no means certain that Lady Delacorte really had the complaint which she so much feared, but it was impossible for him to decide without further examination, to which her ladyship could not be prevailed upon to submit. Then he mentioned all that he thought would be most efficacious in mitigating the pain that Lady Delacorte might feel, and all that could be done with the greatest probability of prolonging her life. And he concluded with the following words. These are all temporizing expedience. According to the usual progress of the disease, Lady Delacorte may live a year or perhaps two. It is possible that her life might be saved by a skillful surgeon. By a few words that dropped from her ladyship last night, I apprehend that she has some thoughts of submitting to an operation, which will be attended with much pain and danger even if she employ the most experienced surgeon in London. But if she put herself from a vain hope of secrecy into ignorant hands, she will inevitably destroy herself. After reading this paper, Belinda had some faint hopes that Lady Delacorte's life might be saved. But she determined to wait till Dr. X should return to town before she mentioned his opinion to his patient. And she earnestly hoped that no idea of putting herself into ignorant hands would recur to her ladyship. Lord Delacorte in the morning, when he was sober, retained but a confused idea of the events of the preceding night. But he made an awkwardly good-natured apology to Ms. Portman for his intrusion and for the disturbance he had occasioned, which, he said, must be laid to blame of Lord Studley's admirable burgundy. He expressed much concern for Lady Delacorte's terrible accident. But he could not help observing that if his advice had been taken, the thing could not have happened, that it was the consequence of her ladyship's self-willedness about the young horses. How she got the horses without paying for them, or how she got money to pay for them I know not, said his lordship, for I said I would have nothing to do with the business and I have kept to my resolution. His lordship finished his morning visit to Ms. Portman by observing that the house would now be very dull for her, that the office of a nurse was ill-suited to so young and beautiful a lady, but that her undertaking it with so much cheerfulness was a proof of a degree of good-nature that was not always to be met with in the young and handsome. The manner in which Lord Delacorte spoke convinced Belinda that he was, in reality, attached to his wife, however the fear of being or of appearing to be governed by her ladyship might have estranged him from her and from home. She now saw in him much more good sense and symptoms of a more amiable character than his lady had described, or then she ever would allow that he possessed. The reflections, however, which Ms. Portman made upon the miserable life this ill-matched couple led together, did not incline her in favour of marriage in general. Great talents on one side and good nature on the other had, in this instance, tended only to make each party unhappy. Because of interest, convenience, and vanity she was convinced diminished instead of increasing happiness. Of domestic felicity she had never, except during her childhood, seen examples. She had indeed heard from Dr. X descriptions of the happy family of Lady Anne Percival, but she feared to indulge the romantic hope of ever being loved by a man of superior genius and virtue, with a temper and manners suited to her taste. The only person she had seen who at all answered this description was Mr. Hervey, and it was firmly fixed in her mind that he was not a marrying man, and consequently not a man of whom any prudent woman would suffer herself to think with partiality. She could not doubt that he liked her society and conversation. This manner had sometimes expressed more than cold esteem. Lady Delacor had assured her that it expressed love, but Lady Delacor was an imprudent woman in her own conduct, and not scrupulous as to that of others. Belinda was not guided by her opinions of propriety, and now that her ladyship was confined to her bed, and not in a condition to give her either advice or protection, she felt that it was peculiarly incumbent on her to guard not only her conduct from reproach, but her heart from the hopeless misery of an ill-placed attachment. She examined herself with firm impartiality. She recollected the excessive pain that she had endured when she first heard Clarence Hervey say that Belinda Portman was a compound of art and affectation. But this she thought was only the pain of offended pride, of proper pride. She recollected the extreme anxiety she had felt even within the last four and twenty hours concerning the opinion which he might form of the transaction about the key of the boudoir. But this anxiety she justified to herself. It was due, she thought, to her reputation. It would have been inconsistent with female delicacy to have been indifferent about the suspicions that necessarily arose from the circumstances in which she was placed. Before Belinda had completed herself examination, Clarence Hervey called to inquire after Lady Delacour. Whilst he spoke of her ladyship and of his concern for the dreadful accident of which he believed himself to be in a great measure the cause, his manner and language were animated and unaffected. But the moment that this subject was exhausted he became embarrassed, though he distinctly expressed perfect confidence and esteem for her, he seemed to wish, and yet to be unable, to support the character of a friend, contra-distinguished to an admirer. He seemed conscious that he could not, with propriety, advert to the suspicions and jealousy which he had felt the preceding night, for a man who has never declared love would be absurd and impertinent were he to betray jealousy. This was destitute neither of a dress nor presence of mind, but an accident happened when he was just taking leave of Miss Portman, which threw him into utter confusion. It surprised if it did not confound Belinda. She had forgotten to ask Dr. X for his direction, and as she thought it might be necessary to write to him concerning Lady Delacour's health, she begged of Mr. Hervey to give it to her. She took a letter out of his pocket, and wrote the direction with a pencil, but as he opened the paper to tear off the outside on which he had been writing, a lock of hair dropped out of the letter. He hastily stooped for it, and as he took it up from the ground the lock unfolded. Belinda, though she cast but one involuntary, hasty glance at it, was struck by the beauty of its colour and its uncommon length. The confusion of Clarence Hervey convinced her that he was extremely interested about the person to whom the hair belonged, and the species of alarm which she had felt at this discovery opened her eyes effectually to the state of her own heart. She was sensible that the sight of a lock of hair, however long or however beautiful in the hands of any man but Clarence Hervey, could not possibly have excited any emotion in her mind. Fortunately thought she, I have discovered that he is attached to another whilst it is yet in my power to command my affections, and he shall see that I am not so weak as to form any false expectations from what I must now consider as mere commonplace flattery. Belinda was glad that Lady Delacorte was not present at the discovery of the lock of hair, as she was aware that she would have rallied her unmercifully upon the occasion, and she rejoiced that she had not been prevailed upon to give Madame la Contesse du Pomenar a lock of her belle chevelure. She could not help thinking from the recollection of several minute circumstances that Clarence Hervey had endeavored to gain an interest in her affections, and she felt that there would be a great impropriety in receiving his ambiguous visits during Lady Delacorte's confinement to her room. She therefore gave orders that Mr. Hervey should not in future be admitted, till her ladyship should again see company. This precaution proved totally superfluous, for Mr. Hervey never called again during the whole course of Lady Delacorte's confinement, though his servant regularly came every morning with inquiries about her ladyship's health. She kept to her room for about ten days, a confinement to which she submitted with extreme impatience. Only pain she bore with fortitude, but constraint and ennui she could not endure. One morning as she was sitting up in bed, looking over a large collection of notes and cards of inquiry after her health, she exclaimed, These people will soon be tired of bidding their footmen put it into their heads to inquire whether I am alive or dead. I must appear amongst them again, if it be only for a few minutes or they will forget me. When I am fatigued I will retire, and you, my dear Belinda, shall represent me. So tell them to open my doors and unmuffle the knocker. Let me hear the sound of music and dancing, and let the house be filled again for heaven's sake. Dr. Zimmerman should never have been my physician, for he would have prescribed solitude. Now solitude and silence are worse for me than Poppy and Mandragora. It is impossible to tell how much silence tires the ears of those who have not been used to it. For mercy's sake, Mariette, continued her ladyship, turning to Mariette, who just then came softly into the room. For mercy's sake, don't walk to all eternity on tiptoes. To see people gliding about like ghosts makes me absolutely fancy myself amongst the shades below. I would rather be stunned by the loudest peel that ever thundering footmen gave at my door than hear Mariette lock that boudoir as if my life depended on my not hearing the key turned. Dear me, I never knew any lady that was ill, except my lady, complain of one's not making a noise to disturb her, said Mariette. Then to please you, Mariette, I will complain of the only noise that does or ever did disturb me, the screaming of your odious smacaw. Now Mariette had a prodigious affection for this macaw, and she defended it with as much eagerness as if it had been her child. Odious! Oh, dear my lady, to call my poor macaw odious! I didn't expect it would ever have come to this, I'm sure I don't deserve it. I'm sure I don't deserve that my lady should have taken such a dislike to me. And here Mariette actually burst into tears. But my dear Mariette, said Lady Delacorte, I only object to your macaw. May not I dislike your macaw without disliking you? I have heard of love me love my dog, but I never heard of love me love my bird. Did you, Miss Portman? Mariette turned sharply round upon Miss Portman, and darted a fiery look at her through the midst of her tears. Then Tis Plain said she, who I'm to thank for this. And as she left the room, her lady could not complain of her shutting the door after her too gently. Give her three minutes' grace, and she will come to her senses, said Lady Delacorte, for she is not bankrupt in sense. Oh, three minutes won't do. I must allow her three days' grace, I perceive, said Lady Delacorte, when Mariette half an hour afterward reappeared, with a face which might have sat for the picture of ill-humour. Her ill-humour, however, did not prevent her from attending her lady as usual. She performed all her customary offices with the most officious seal, but in profound silence, except every now and then she would utter a sigh which seemed to say, See how much I'm attached to my lady, and yet my lady hates my macaw! Her lady who perfectly understood the language of sighs, and felt the force of Mariette's, for bore to touch again on the tender subject of the macaw, hoping that when her house was once more filled with company she should be relieved by more agreeable noises from continually hearing this pertinacious tormentor. As soon as it was known that Lady Delacorte was sufficiently recovered to receive company, her door was crowded with carriages, and as soon as it was understood that balls and concerts were to go on as usual at her house, her troops of friends appeared to congratulate her and to amuse themselves. How stupid it is, said Lady Delacorte to Blinda, to hear congratulatory speeches from people who would not care if I were in the black hole at Calcutta this minute. But we must take the world as it goes, dirt and precious stones mixed together. Clarence Hervey have her, na pazunam dubu. He, I am sure, has been really concerned for me. He thinks that his young horses were the sole cause of the whole evil, and he blames himself so sincerely and so unjustly that I really was half tempted to undeceive him. But that would have been doing an injury, for you know great philosophers tell us that there is no pleasure in the world equal to that of being well deceived, especially by the fair sex. Seriously, Blinda, is it my fancy, or is not Clarence wonderfully changed? Is not he grown pale and thin and serious, not to say melancholy? What have you done to him since I have been ill? Nothing I have never seen him. No? Then the thing is accounted for very naturally. He is in despair because he has been banished from your divine presence. More likely because he has been in anxiety about your ladyship, said Blinda. I will find out the cause, let it be what it may, said Lady Delacour. Luckily my address is equal to my curiosity, and that is saying a great deal. Notwithstanding all her ladyship's address, her curiosity was baffled. She could not discover Clarence Harvey's secret, and she began to believe that the change which she had noticed in his looks and manner was imaginary or accidental. Had she seen more of him at this time, she would not have so easily given up her suspicions. But she saw him only for a few minutes every day, and during that time he talked to her with all his former gaiety. Besides, Lady Delacour had herself a daily part to perform, which occupied almost her whole attention. Notwithstanding the vivacity which she affected, Blinda perceived that she was now more seriously alarmed than she had ever been about her health. It was all that her utmost exertions could accomplish to appear for a short time in the day. Some evenings she came into company only for half an hour, on other days only for a few minutes, just walked through the rooms, paid her compliments to everybody, complained of a nervous headache, left Blinda to do the honors for her, and retired. Miss Portman was now really placed in a difficult and dangerous situation, and she had ample opportunities of learning and practicing prudence. All the fashionable dissipated young men in London frequented Lady Delacour's house, and it was said that they were drawn thither by the attractions of her fair representative. The gentlemen considered a niece of Mrs. Stanup as their lawful prize. The ladies wondered that the men could think Blinda Portman a beauty, but whilst they affected to scorn they sincerely feared her charms. Miss left entirely to her own discretion. She was exposed at once to the malignant eye of Envy and the insidious voice of flattery. She had no friend, no guide, and scarcely a protector. Her aunt Stanup's letters, indeed, continually supplied her with advice, but with advice which she could not follow consistently with her own feelings and principles. Lady Delacour, even if she had been well, was not a person on whose counsels she could rely. Our heroine was not one of those daring spirits who are ambitious of acting for themselves. She felt the utmost diffidence of her own powers, yet at the same time affirm resolution not to be led even by timidity into follies which the example of Lady Delacour had taught her to despise. Blinda's prudence seemed to increase with the necessity for its exertion. It was not the mercenary, wily prudence of a young lady who has been taught to think it virtue to sacrifice the affections of her heart to the interests of her fortune. It was not the prudence of a cold and selfish, but of a modest and generous woman. She found it most difficult to satisfy herself in her conduct towards Clarence Hervey. He seemed mortified and miserable if she treated him merely as a common acquaintance, yet she felt the danger of admitting him to the familiarity of friendship. Had she been thoroughly convinced that he was attached to some other woman, she hoped that she could freely converse with him and look upon him as a married man. But notwithstanding the lock of beautiful hair, she could not entirely divest herself of the idea that she was beloved when she observed the extreme eagerness with which Clarence Hervey watched all her motions and followed her with his eye as if his fate depended upon her. She remarked that he endeavored as much as possible to prevent this species of attention from being noticed, either by the public or by herself. His manner towards her every day became more distant and respectful, more constrained and embarrassed, but now and then a different look and expression escaped. She had often heard of Mr. Hervey's great address in affairs of gallantry, and she was sometimes inclined to believe that he was trifling with her, merely for the glory of a conquest over her heart. At other times she suspected him of deeper designs upon her, such as would deserve contempt and detestation. But upon the whole she was disposed to believe that he was entangled by some former attachment from which he could not extricate himself with honour. And upon this supposition she thought him worthy of her esteem and of her pity. About this time Sir Philip Badley began to pay a sort of lounging attention to Belinda. He knew that Clarence Hervey liked her, and this was the principal cause of his desire to attract her attention. Belinda Portman became his favourite toast, and amongst his companions he gave himself the air of talking of her with a rapture. Rochefort said he one day to his friend, Damn me if I was to think of Belinda Portman in any way, you take me, Clarence would look damned blue, hey? Damned blue, and devilish small, and cursed silly, too, hey? Pond honour, I should like to see him, said Rochefort. Pond honour, he deserves it from us, Sir Phil, and I'll stand your friend with the girl, and it will do no harm to give her a hint of Clary's Windsor flame as a dead secret. Pond honour, he deserves it from us. Now it seems that Sir Philip Badley and Mr. Rochefort, during the time of Clarence Hervey's intimacy with them, observed that he paid frequent visits at Windsor, and they took it into their heads that he kept a mistress there. They were very curious to see her, and, unknown to Clarence, they made several attempts for this purpose. At last one evening, when they were certain that he was not at Windsor, they scaled the high garden wall of the house which he frequented, and actually obtained a sight of a beautiful young girl and an elderly lady whom they took for her gouvernant. This adventure they kept a profound secret from Clarence, because they knew that he would have quarreled with them immediately, and would have called them to account for their intrusion. They now determined to avail themselves of their knowledge and of his ignorance of this circumstance, but they were sensible that it was necessary to go warily to work, lest they should betray themselves. Accordingly they began by dropping distant mysterious hints about Clarence Hervey to Lady Delacor and Miss Portman, such for instance as, Dammy, we all know Clarence a perfect connoisseur in beauty, hey roach for, one beauty at a time is not enough for him, hey dammy, and it is not fashion nor wit nor elegance and all that that he looks for always. These observations were accompanied with the most significant looks. Belinda heard and saw all this in painful silence, but Lady Delacor often used her dress to draw some farther explanation from Sir Philip. His regular answer was, no, no, your ladyship must excuse me there, I can't peach, dammy, hey roach for. He was in hopes from the reserve with which Miss Portman began to treat Clarence that he should, without making any distinct charge, succeed in disgusting her with his rival. Mr. Hervey was about this time less assiduous than formally in his visits at Lady Delacor's. Sir Philip was there every day, and often for Miss Portman's entertainment exerted himself so far as to tell the news of the town. One morning when Clarence Hervey happened to be present, the bair net thought it incumbent upon him to eclipse his rival in conversation, and he began to talk of the last fate chan petre at Frogmore. What a cursed, unlucky overturn that was of yours, Lady Delacor, with those famous young horses. Why, what with this sprain and this nervous business, you've not been able to stir out since the birthday, and you've missed the breakfast and all that at Frogmore. Why, all the world stayed broiling in town on purpose for it, and you had that card, too. How damned provoking! I regret extremely that my illness prevented me from being at this charming fate. I regret it more on Miss Portman's account than on my own, said her ladyship. Belinda assured her that she felt no mortification from the disappointment. Oh, damn me, but I would have driven you in my curicle, said Sir Philip. It was the finest sight and best conducted I ever saw, and only wanted Miss Portman to make it complete. We had gypsies and Mrs. Mills the actress for the Queen of the Gypsies, and she gave us a famous good song, rich for, you know. And then there was two children upon an ass, damn me, I don't know how they came there, for their things one sees every day, and belonged only to two of the soldier's wives, for we had the whole band of the Staffordshire playing at dinner, and we had some famous gliss and Fawcett gave us his laughing song, and then we had the launching of the ship, only it was a boat. Could have been well enough, but damn me, the song of Polly Oliver was worth the whole. Except the Flemish Hercules, Ducro, you know, dressed in light blue and silver, and Miss Portman, I wish you had seen this, three great coach wheels on his chin, and a ladder and two chairs, and two children on them, and after that he sported a musket and bayonet with the point of the bayonet on his chin. Faith, that was really famous. But I forgot the Pyrrhic dance, Miss Portman, which is damned fine too, danced in boots and spurs by those Hungarian fellows, they jump and turn about and clap their knees with their hands, and put themselves in all sorts of ways. And then we had that song of Polly Oliver, as I told you before, and Mrs. Mills gave us, no, no, it was a drummer of the Staffordshire dressed as a gypsy girl, gave us the cottage on the moor, the most charming thing, and would suit your voice, Miss Portman, damn me, you'd sing it like an angel. But where was I? Oh, then they had tea, and fireplaces built a brick, out in the air, and then the entrance to the ballroom was all a colonnade done with lamps and flowers and that sort of thing, and then there was some bomo, but that was in the morning, amongst the gypsies about an orange and the stockholder, and then there was a Turkish dance and a Polynes dance, all very fine, but nothing to come up to the Pyrrhic touch, which was a great deal the most knowing, in boots and spurs, damn me, now I can't describe the thing to you, to the cursed pity you weren't there, damn me. Lady Delacor assured, Sir Philip, that she had been more entertained by the description than she could have been by the reality. Clarence was not at the best description you ever heard, but pray favour us with a touch of the Pyrrhic dance, Sir Philip. Lady Delacor spoke with such polite earnestness, and the baronet had so little penetration, and so much conceit, that he did not suspect her of irony. He eagerly began to exhibit the Pyrrhic dance, but in such a manner that it was impossible for human gravity to withstand the sight. Rochefort laughed first, Lady Delacor followed him, and Clarence Hervey and Belinda could no longer restrain themselves. Damn me, now I believe you've all been quizzing me, cried the baronet, and he fell into a sulky silence, eyeing Clarence Hervey and Miss Portman from time to time with what he meant for a knowing look. His silence and sulkiness lasted till Clarence took his leave. Soon afterward Belinda retired to the music room. Sir Philip then begged to speak a few words to Lady Delacor with a face of much importance. And after a preamble of nonsensical expletives, he said that his regard for her ladyship and Miss Portman made him wish to explain hints which had been dropped from him at times, and which he could not explain to her satisfaction without a promise of inviolable secrecy. As Hervey is or was a sort of friend, I can't mention this sort of thing without such a preliminary. Lady Delacor gave the preliminary promise, and Sir Philip informed her that people began to notice that Hervey was an admirer of Miss Portman, and that it might be a disadvantage to the young lady, as Mr. Hervey could have no serious intentions, because he had an attachment to his certain knowledge elsewhere. A matrimonial attachment, said Lady Delacor. Why, damn me, as to matrimony I can't say, but the girl's so famously beautiful, and Clarey has been constant to her so many years. Many years? Then she is not young? Oh, damn me, yes! She is not more than seventeen, and let her be what else she will, she's a famous fine girl. I had a sight of her once at Windsor by stealth. And then the baronet described her after his manner. Where Clarey keeps her I can't make out, but he has taken her away from Windsor. She was then with a gouvernaut, and is as proud as the devil, which smells like matrimony for Clarey. And do you know this peerless damsel's name? I think the old Jezebel called her Miss Saint-Pierre. I, damn me, it was Virginia, too, Virginia Saint-Pierre. Virginia Saint-Pierre, a pretty romantic name, said Lady Delacorte. Miss Portman and I are extremely obliged by your attention to the preservation of our hearts, and I promise you we shall keep your counsel and our own. Sir Philip then, with more than his usual compliment of oaths, pronounced Miss Portman to be the finest girl he had ever seen, and took his leave. When Lady Delacorte repeated this story to Belinda, she concluded by saying, Now, my dear, you know Sir Philip badly has his own views in telling us all this, in telling you all this, for evidently he admires you and consequently hates Clarence. So I believe only half the man says, and the other half, though it has made you turn so horribly pale, my love, I consider as a thing of no manner of consequence to you. Of no manner of consequence to me I assure you your ladyship, said Belinda. I have always considered Mr. Hervey as, oh, as a common acquaintance, no doubt. But we'll pass over all these pretty speeches. I was going to say that this mistress in the wood can be of no consequence to your happiness, because whatever that fool Sir Philip may think, Clarence Hervey is not a man to go and marry a girl who has been his mistress for half a dozen years. Do not look so shocked, my dear. I really cannot help laughing. I congratulate you, however, that the thing is no worse. It is all in rule and in course. When a man marries, he sets up new equipages, and casts off old mistresses. Or, if you like to see the thing as a woman of sentiment rather than as a woman of the world, here is a pretty opportunity for your lovers making a sacrifice. I am sorry I cannot make you smile, my dear. But consider, as nobody knows this naughty thing but ourselves, we are not called upon to bristle up our morality, and the most moral ladies in the world do not expect men to be as moral as themselves. So we may suit the measure of our external indignation to our real feelings. Sir Philip cannot stir in the business, for he knows Clarence would call him out if his secret viz to Virginia were to come to light. I advise you d'aller votre train with Clarence without seeming to suspect him in the least. There is nothing like innocence in these cases, my dear. But I know by the Spanish haughtiness of your air at this instant that you would sooner die the death of the sentimental than follow my advice. Belinda, without any haughtiness, but with firm gentleness replied that she had no designs whatever upon Mr. Hervey, and that therefore there could be no necessity for any maneuvering on her part, that the ambiguity of his conduct towards her had determined her long since to guard her affections, and that she had the satisfaction to feel that they were entirely under her command. That is a great satisfaction indeed, my dear, said Lady Delacorte. It is a pity that your countenance, which is usually expressive enough, should not at this instant obey your wishes and express perfect felicity. But though you feel no pain from disappointed affection, doubtless the concern that you show arises from the necessity you are under of withdrawing a portion of your esteem from Mr. Hervey. This is the style for you, is it not? After all, my dear, the whole may be a quizification of Sir Phillips, and yet he gave me such a minute description of her person. I am sure the man has not invention or taste enough to produce such a fancy piece. Did he mention, said Belinda in a low voice, the color of her hair? Yes, light brown, but the color of this hair seems to affect you more than all the rest. Here, to Belinda's great relief, the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Marriott. From all she had heard, but especially from the agreement between the color of the hair which dropped from Hervey's letter with Sir Phillips' description of Virginia's, Miss Portman was convinced that Clarence had some secret attachment, and she could not help blaming him in her own mind for having, as she thought, endeavored to gain her affections whilst he knew that his heart was engaged to another. Mr. Hervey, however, gave her no farther reason to suspect him of any design to win her love. For about this time his manner towards her changed. He obviously endeavored to avoid her, his visits were short, and his attention was principally directed to Lady Delacour. When she retired he took his leave, and Sir Phillip Batley had the field to himself. The baronet who thought that he had succeeded in producing a coldness between Belinda and his rival, was surprised to find that he could not gain any advantage for himself. For some time he had not the slightest thoughts of any serious connection with the Lady, but at last he was peaked by her indifference, and by the railery of his friend Rochefort. PUN HONOR, said Rochefort, the girl must be in love with Clarence, for she minds you no more than if you were nobody. I could make her sing to another tune if I pleased, said Sir Phillip, but, damn me, it would cost me too much. A wife's too expensive a thing nowadays. Why, a man could have twenty curicles and a fine stud and a pack of hounds, and as many mistresses as he chooses into the bargain for what it would cost him to take a wife. Oh, damn me, Belinda Portman's a fine girl, but not worth so much as that comes to. And yet confound me if I should not like to see how blue Clary would look if I were to propose for her in good earnest, hey, Rochefort, I should like to pay him for the way he served us about that quiz of a doctor, hey? I, said Rochefort, you know he told us there was a tampis and a ta-mieux in everything. He has not come to the tampis yet. PUN HONOR, said Phillip, the thing rests with you. The baronet vibrated for some time between the fear of being taken in by one of Mrs. Stanep's nieces and the hope of triumphing over Clarence Hervey. At last what he called love prevailed over prudence, and he was resolved, cost him what it would, to have Belinda Portman. He had not the least doubt of being accepted if he made a proposal of marriage. Consequently the moment that he came to this determination he could not help assuming de Vance the tone of a favoured lover. Damn me! cried Sir Phillip one night at Lady Delacour's concert. I think that Mr. Hervey has taken out a patent for talking to Miss Portman. But damn if I give up this place now I have got it! cried the baronet, seating himself beside Belinda. Mr. Hervey did not contest his seat, and Sir Phillip kept his post during the remainder of the concert. But though he had the field entirely to himself, he could not think of anything more interesting, more amusing, to whisper in Belinda's ear than— Don't you think the candles want snuffing famously? End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. OF BELINDA. CHAPTER XII. THE MAKAH. The baronet determined the next day upon the grand attack. He waited upon Miss Portman with the certainty of being favourably received. But he was nevertheless somewhat embarrassed to know how to begin the conversation, when he found himself alone with the lady. He twirled and twisted a short stick that he held in his hand, and put it into and out of his boot twenty times, and at last he began with, Lady Delacour's not gone to Herrogate yet. No, her ladyship is not yet felt herself well enough to undertake the journey. That was accursed in Lucky Albertin. She may think Clarence Hervey for that. It's like him. He thinks he's a better judge of horses and wine and everything else than anybody in the world. Damn now if I don't believe that he thinks nobody else but himself has eyes enough to see that a fine woman's a fine woman. But I'd have him know that Miss Belinda Portman has been Sir Philip Badley's toast these two months. As this intelligence did not seem to make the expected impression upon Miss Belinda Portman, Sir Philip had recourse again to his little stick, with which he went through the sword exercise. After a silence of some minutes and after walking to the window and back again, as if to look for sense, he exclaimed, How is Mrs. Stan Hope now, pray, Miss Portman, and your sister, Mrs. Tolomac? She was the finest woman I thought the first winter she came out, that ever I saw. Damn! Have you ever been told that you're like her? Never, sir. Oh, damn it then! But you are only ten times handsomer. Ten times handsomer than the finest woman you ever saw, Sir Philip, said Belinda Smiling. And the finest woman I had ever seen then. Said Sir Philip, for damn I did not know what it was to be in love then. Here the baronet heaved in audible sigh. I always laughed at love and all that, then, and marriage particularly. I'll trouble you for Mrs. Stan Hope's direction, Miss Portman. I believe to do the thing in style I ought to write to her before I speak to you. Belinda looked at him with astonishment, and laying down the pencil with which she had just begun to write a direction to Mrs. Stan Hope, she said, Perhaps, Sir Philip, to do the thing in style, I ought to pretend at this instant not to understand you, but such false delicacy might mislead you. Permit me, therefore, to say that if I have any concern in the letter which you are going to write to my aunt Stan Hope. Well, guest! interrupted Sir Philip. To be sure you have, and you're a charming girl. Damn me, if you aren't, for meeting my ideas in this way, which will save a cursed deal of trouble, added the polite lover, seating himself on the sofa beside Belinda. To prevent your giving yourself any further trouble, then, Sir, on my account, said Miss Portman. Nigh, damn don't catch at that unlucky word, trouble! Nor look so cursed angry, though it becomes you, too uncommonly, and I like pride in a handsome woman, if it was only for variety's sake, for it's not what one meets with often nowadays. As to trouble, all I meant was the trouble of writing to Mrs. Stan Hope, which, of course, I thank you for saving me. For, to be sure, I'd rather, and you can't blame me for that, have my answer from your own charming lips, if it was only for the pleasure of seeing you blush in this heavenly sort of style. To put an end to this heavenly sort of style, Sir, said Belinda, withdrawing her hand, which the baronette took as if he was confident of its being his willing prize. I must explicitly assure you that it is not in my power to encourage your address. I am fully sensible," added Miss Portman, of the honor Sir Philip badly has done me, and I hope he will not be offended by the frankness of my answer. You can't be in earnest, Miss Portman," exclaimed the astonished baronette. Perfectly in earnest, Sir Philip. Confusion sees me, cried he, starting up. If this isn't the most extraordinary thing I ever heard, will you do me the honor, Madame, to let me know your particular objections to Sir Philip badly? My objections, said Belinda, cannot be obviated, and therefore it would be useless to state them. Nigh! Pray, ma'am, do me the favour, I only ask for information's sake. Is it to Sir Philip badly's fortune, fifteen thousand and one a year, you object to? Or to his family, or to his person? Oh, cursit! said he, changing his tone. You're only quizzing me to see how I should look. Damn me, you did it too well, you little coquette!" Belinda again assured him that she was entirely in earnest and that she was incapable of the sort of coquetry which he ascribed to her. Oh, dumb, ma'am! Then I've no more to say. A coquette is a thing I understand as well as another. If we had been only talking in the air, it would have been another thing, but when I come at once to a proposal in form and a woman seriously tells me she has objections that cannot be obviated, damn, what must I? Or what must the world conclude but that she's very unaccountable? Or that she's engaged? Which last I presume to be the case, and it would have been a satisfaction to me to have known it sooner? At any rate, it is a satisfaction to me to know it now. I am sorry to deprive you of so much satisfaction, said Miss Portman, by assuring you that I am not engaged to any one. Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Lord Delacor, who came to inquire of Miss Portman how his lady did. The baronet after twisting his little black stick into all manner of shapes finished by breaking it, and then having no other resource suddenly wished Miss Portman a good morning and de-camped with a look of silly ill-humour. He was determined to write to Mrs. Stanhope, whose influence over her niece he had no doubt would be decisive in his favour. Sir Philip seems to be a little out of sorts this morning, said Lord Delacor. I am afraid he's angry with me for interrupting his conversation, but really I did not know he was here, and I wanted to catch you a moment alone, that I might in the first place thank you for all your goodness to Lady Delacor. She has had a tedious sprain of it. These nervous fevers and convulsions, I don't understand them, but I think Dr. X's prescriptions seem to have done her good, but she is certainly better of late, and I am glad to hear music and people again in the house, because I know all this is what my Lady Delacor likes, and there is no reasonable indulgence that I would not willingly allow a wife, but I think there is a medium in all things. I am not a man to be governed by a wife, and when I have once said a thing I like to be steady and always shall. And I am sure Miss Portman has too much good sense to think me wrong for now. Miss Portman, in that quarrel about the coach and horses, which you heard part of one morning, at breakfast, I must tell you the beginning of that quarrel. Excuse me, my Lord, but I would rather hear of the end than of the beginning of quarrels. That shows your good sense as well as your good nature. I wish you could make my Lady Delacor of your taste. She does not want sense, but then I speak to you freely of all that lies upon my mind, Miss Portman, for I know, I know, you have no delight in making mischief in a house, between you and me. Her sense is not of the right kind. A woman may have too much wit. Now, too much is as bad as too little, and in a woman worse, and when two people come to quarrel, then wit on either side, but more especially on the wives, you know, is very provoking. Tis like concealed weapons, which are wisely forbidden by law. If a person kill another in a fray with a concealed weapon, ma'am, buy a sword in a cane, for instance, to his murder by the law, now even if it were not contrary to law, I would never have such a thing in my cane to carry about with me. For when a man's in the passion, he forgets everything, and would as soon lay about him with a sword as with a cane, so it is better such a thing should not be in his power, and it is the same with wit, which would be safest and best out of the power of some people. But is it fair, my lord, to make use of wit yourself to abuse wit in others? said Belinda, with a smile, which put his lordship into perfect good humour with both himself and his lady. Why really, said he, there would be no living with Lady Delacorte if I did not come out with a little sly bit for wit now and then, but it is what I am not in the habit of doing, I assure you. Except when very hard pushed. But, Miss Portman, as you like so much to hear the end of quarrels, here's the end of one which you have a particular right to hear something of, continued his lordship. Taking out his pocket-book and producing some bank-notes. You should have received this before, madam, if I had known of the transaction sooner, of your part of it, I mean." Milord, demand-call to speak about the burgundy you order, milord, said Chamfort, who came into the room with a sly and inquisitive face. Tell him I'll see him immediately, show him into the parlor and give him a newspaper to read. Yes, milord. Milord has it in his pocket since he dressed. Here it is, said his lordship, and as Chamfort came forward to receive the newspaper, his eye glanced at the bank-notes, and then at Miss Portman. Here, continued Lord Delacorte, as Chamfort had left the room. Here are your two hundred guineas, Miss Portman, and as I am going to this man about my burgundy, and shall be out all the rest of the day, let me trouble you the next time you see Lady Delacorte to give her this pocket-book from me. I should be sorry that Miss Portman, from any thing that has passed, should run away with the idea that I am a niggardly husband, or a tyrant, though I certainly like to be master in my own house. What are you doing, madam? That is your note. That does not go into the pocket-book, you know. Permit me to put it in, my lord," said Belinda, returning the pocket-book to him, and to beg you will give Lady Delacorte the pleasure of seeing you. She has inquired several times whether your lordship were at home. I will run up to her dressing-room and tell her that you are here. How lightly she goes on the wings of good nature, said Lord Delacorte. I can do no less than follow her. For though I like to be treated with respect in my own house, there is a time for everything. I would not give Lady Delacorte the trouble of coming down here to me with her sprained ankle, especially as she has inquired, for me several times. His lordship's visit was not of unseasonable length, for he recollected that the man who came about the burgundy was waiting for him. But perhaps the shortness of the visit rendered it the more pleasing, for Lady Delacorte afterwards said to Belinda, My dear, would you believe it, my lord Delacorte was absolutely a perfect example of the useful and agreeable this morning. Who knows, but he may become the sublime and beautiful in time, and it is not. Here are your two hundred guineas, my dear Belinda. A thousand thanks for the thing, and a million for the manor. Manor is all in all conferring favours. My lord, who to do him justice, has too much honesty to pretend to more delicacy than he really possesses, told me that he had been taking a lesson from Miss Portman this morning in the art of obliging, and really, for a grown gentleman, and for the first lesson, he comes on surprisingly. I do think that by the time he is a widower, his lordship will be quite another thing, quite an agreeable man, not a genius, not a Clarence Hervey, that you cannot expect. A propose. What is the reason that we have seen so little of Clarence Hervey lately? He has certainly some secret attraction elsewhere. It cannot be that girl, Sir Philip mentioned, no. She's nothing new. Can it be at Lady Anne Percival's? Or where can it be? Whenever he sees me, I think he asks when we go to Herrogate. Now Oakley Park is within a few miles of Herrogate. I will not go there. That's decided. Lady Anne is an exemplary matron, so she is out of the case. But I hope she has no sister excellence. No niece, no cousin, to entangle our hero. Ours, said Belinda. Well, yours, then, said Lady Delacour. Mine? Yes, yours. I never in my life saw a better struggle between a sigh and a smile. But what have you done to poor Sir Philip badly? My Lord Delacour told me you know all people who have nothing else to say. Tell news quicker than others. My Lord Delacour told me that he saw Sir Philip pot from you this morning in a terrible bad humour. Come, whilst you tell your story, help me to string these pearls that will save you from the necessity of looking at me and will conceal your blushes. You need not be afraid of betraying Sir Philip's secrets, for I could have told you long ago that he would inevitably propose for you. The fact is nothing new or surprising to me, but I should really like to hear how ridiculous the man made himself. And that, said Belinda, is the only thing which I do not wish to tell your ladyship. Lord, my dear, surely it is no secret that Sir Philip badly is ridiculous. But you are so good-natured that I can't be out of humour with you. If you won't gratify my curiosity, will you gratify my taste and sing for me once more that charming song which none but you can sing to please me? I must learn it from you, absolutely. Just as Belinda was beginning to sing, Mariette's macaw began to scream, so that Lady Delacour could not hear anything else. Oh! that odious macaw! cried her ladyship. I can endure it no longer! And she rang her bell violently. It kept me from sleeping all last night. Mariette must give up this bird. Mariette, I cannot endure that macaw. You must part with it for my sake, Mariette. It cost you four guineas, I am sure. I would give five with the greatest pleasure to get rid of it, for it is the torment of my life. Dear! my lady! I can assure you it is only because they will not shut the doors after them below, as I desire. I am certain Mr. Chamfort never shut a door after him in his life, nor never will he if he was to live to the days of Methuselah. That is very little satisfaction to me, Mariette, said Lady Delacour. And indeed, my lady, it is very little satisfaction to me to hear my macaw abused as it is every day of my life for Mr. Chamfort's fault. But it cannot be Chamfort's fault that I have ears. But if the doors were shut, my lady, you wouldn't or couldn't hear, as I'll prove immediately, said Mariette, as she ran directly and shut, according to her own account, eleven doors which were stark-staring wide open. Now, my lady, you can't hear a single syllable of the macaw? No, but one of the eleven doors will open presently, said Lady Delacour. You will observe, it is always more than ten to one against me. A door opened, and the macaw was heard to screen. The macaw must go, Mariette, that is certain, said her ladyship firmly. Then I must go, my lady, said Mariette angrily. That is certain, for to part with my macaw is a thing I cannot do to please any body. Her eyes turned with the indignation upon Belinda, from association merely, because the last time that she had been angry about her macaw, she had also been angry with Miss Portman, whom she imagined to be the secret enemy of her favourite. To stay another week in the house after my macaw is discarded in disgrace is a thing nothing shall prevail upon me to do. She flung out of the room in a fury. Good heavens! Am I reduced to this? said Lady Delacour. She thinks that she is me in her power. No, I can die without her. I have but a short time to live. I will not live a slave. Let the woman betray me, if she will. Follow her this moment, my dearest generous friend. Tell her never to come into this room again. Take this pocketbook, pay her whatever is due to her in the first place, and give her fifty guineys. Observe, not as a bribe, but as a reward." It was a delicate and difficult commission. Belinda found Mariette at first incapable of listening to reason. I am sure there is nobody in the world that would treat me in my mccornness manner except my lady," cried she, and somebody must have set her against me, for it is not natural to her. But since she can't bear me about her any longer, it is time I should be gone. The only thing of which Lady Delacour complained was the noise of this mccall. Said Belinda, It was a pretty bird. How long have you had it? Scarcely a month," said Mariette, sobbing. And how long have you lived with your lady? Six years, and to part with her after all. And for the sake of a mccall, and at a time when your lady is so much in want of you, Mariette, you know she cannot live long, and she has much to suffer before she dies, and if you leave her, and if in a fit of passion you betray the confidence she has placed in you, you will reproach yourself for it ever with afterward. This bird, or all the birds in the world, will not be able to console you. For you are of an affectionate disposition, I know, and sincerely attached to your poor lady. That I am, and to betray her, I'll miss Portman. I would sooner cut off my hand than do it, and I have been tried more than my lady knows of, or you either. For Mr. Chamfort, who is the greatest mischief-maker in the world, and is the cause by not shutting the door of all this dilemma, for now, ma'am, I'm convinced by the tenderness of your speaking that you are not the enemy to me, I suppose, and I beg your pardon. But I was going to say that Mr. Chamfort, who saw the fracas between my lord and me about the key in the door the night of my lady's accident, has whispered it about at Lady Singleton's and everywhere. Mrs. Lutridge's maid, ma'am, who is my cousin, has pestered me with so many questions and offers from Mrs. Lutridge and Mrs. Freak of any money, if I would only tell who was in the boudoir, and I have always answered nobody, and I defy them to get anything out of me, betray my lady, I'd sooner cut my tongue out this minute. Can she have such a basic opinion of me, or can you, ma'am? No, indeed, I am convinced that you are incapable of betraying her, Mariette. But in all probability, after you have left her, if my lady wouldn't let me keep my macaw, interrupt her, to Mariette, I should never think of leaving her. The macaw she will not suffer to remain in the house, nor is it reasonable that she should. It deprives her of sleep. It kept her awake three hours this morning. Mariette was beginning the history of Chamfort and the doors again, but Miss Portman starved her by saying, All this is past now. How much is due to you, Mrs. Mariette? Lady Delacorte has commissioned me to pay you everything that is due to you. Due to me? Lord bless me, ma'am, am I to go? Certainly it was your own desire. It is consequently your ladies. She is perfectly sensible of your attachment to her, and your services, but she cannot suffer herself to be treated with disrespect. Here are fifty guineas, which she gives you as a reward for your past fidelity, not as a bribe to secure your future secrecy. You are at liberty, she desires me to say, to tell her secret to the whole world if you choose to do so. Oh, Miss Portman, take my macaw! Do what you will with it. Only make my peace with my lady!" cried Mariette, clasping her hands in an agony of grief. Here are the fifty guineas, ma'am. Don't leave them with me. I will never be disrespectful again. Take my macaw and all. No, I will carry it myself to my lady. Lady Delacorte was surprised by the sudden entrance of Mariette and her macaw. The chain, which held the bird Mariette put into her ladyship's hand without being able to say anything more than, Do what you please, my lady, with it and with me. Passified by this submission, Lady Delacorte granted Mariette's pardon, and she most sincerely rejoiced at this reconciliation. The next day Belinda asked the dowager Lady Boucher, who was going to a bird fanciers, to take her with her in hopes that she might be able to meet with some bird more musical than a macaw, to console Mariette for the loss of her screaming favorite. Lady Delacorte commissioned Miss Bortman to go to any price she pleased. If I were able I would accompany you myself, my dear, for poor Mariette's sake, though I would almost as soon go to the Oggy and Stable. There was a bird fancier in High Hallburn, who had bought several of the hundred and eighty beautiful birds, which as the newspapers of the day advertised, had been collected after great labour and expense by Mons Martin and Coe for the Republica Museum at Paris, and lately landed out of the French Brig or Cell, taken on her voyage from Cayenne to Brest by his majesty's ship Unicorn. When Lady Boucher and Belinda arrived at this bird fanciers, they were long in doubt to which of the feathered beauties they should give the preference. Whilst the dowager was descanting upon their various perfections, a lady in three children came in. She immediately attracted Belinda's attention by her likeness to Clarence Hervey's description of Lady Anne Percival. It was Lady Anne, as Lady Boucher, who was slightly acquainted with her informed Belinda in a whisper. The children were soon eagerly engaged, looking at the birds. Miss Portman, said Lady Boucher, as Lady Delacour is so far from well, and wishes to have a bird that will not make any noise in the house, suppose you were to buy for Mrs. Mariette this beautiful pair of green pair of quets. Or state, a goldfinch is not very noisy. And here is one that can play a thousand pretty tricks. Pray, sir, make it draw up water in its little bucket for us. Oh, my ma! said one of the little boys. This is the very thing that is mentioned in Buick's history of birds. Pray, look at this goldfinch, Helena. Now it is drawing up its little bucket. But where is Helena? Here's room for you, Helena. Whilst the little boys were looking at the goldfinch, Belinda felt somebody touch her gently. It was Helena Delacour. Can I speak a few words to you? said Helena. Belinda walked to the farthest end of the shop with her. Is my mama better? said she, in a timid tone. I have some goldfinch, which you know cannot make the least noise. May I send them to her? I heard that lady call you, Miss Portman. I believe you are the lady who wrote such a kind postcript to me and mama's last letter. That is the reason I speak so freely to you now. Perhaps you would write to tell me if mama will see me, and Lady Anne Percival would take me at any time, I am sure. But she goes to Oakley Park in a few days. I wish I might be with mama whilst she is ill. I would not make the least noise. But don't ask her if you think it will be troublesome. Only let me send the goldfinch. Belinda was touched by the manner in which this affectionate little girl spoke to her. She assured her that she would say all she wished to her mother, and she begged Helena to send the goldfinch whenever she pleased. Then, said Helena, I will send them as soon as I go home, as soon as I go back to Lady Anne Percival's, I mean. Belinda, when she had finished speaking to Helena, heard the man who was showing the birds, lament that he had not a blue macaw which Lady Anne Percival was commissioned to procure from Mrs. Margaret Delacour. Red macaws, my lady. I have an abundance, but unfortunately a blue macaw I really have not at present, nor have I been able to get one, though I have inquired amongst all the bird fanciers in town, and I went to the auction at Hayden Square on Purpose, but could not get one. Belinda requested Lady Boucher would tell her servants to bring in the cage that contained Marriott's blue macaw, and as soon as it was brought she gave it to Helena, and begged that she would carry it to her Aunt Delacour. Lord, my dear Miss Portman! said Lady Boucher, drawing her aside. I am afraid you will get yourself into a scrape, for Lady Delacour is not upon speaking terms with Mrs. Margaret Delacour. She cannot endure her, you know. She is my Lord Delacour's Aunt. Belinda persisted in sending the macaw, for she was in hopes that these terrible family quarrels might be made up if either party would condescend to show any disposition to oblige the other. Lady Anne Percival understood Miss Portman's civility as it was meant. This is a bird of good omen, said she. It augurs family peace. I wish you would do me the favour, Lady Boucher, to introduce me to Miss Portman, continued Lady Anne. The very thing I wished, cried Helena. A few minutes conversation passed afterward upon different subjects, and Lady Anne Percival and Belinda parted with a mutual desire to see more of each other. When Belinda got home, Lady Delacour was busy in the library looking over a collection of French plays with the Seu-de-Van Count de Yen, a gentleman who possessed such singular talents for reading dramatic compositions that many people declared that they would rather hear him read a play than see it performed at the theatre. Even those who were not judges of his merit, and who had little taste for literature, crowded to hear him, because it was the fashion. Lady Delacour engaged him for a reading party at her house, and he was consulting with her what play would be most amusing to his audience. My dear Belinda, I'm glad you have come to give us your opinion, said her ladyship. No one has a better taste, but first I should ask you, what have you done at your bird's fanciest? I hope you have brought home some horned cock, or some monstrously beautiful creature for Mariette. If it is not a voice like the macaw, I shall be satisfied, but even if it be the bird of paradise, I question whether Mariette will like it as well as its screaming predecessor. I am sure she will like what is coming for her, said Belinda. And so will your ladyship, but do not let me interrupt you and mon sur les comptes, and as she spoke, she took up a volume of plays which lay upon the table. Nanine or la prude? Which show you have? said Lady Delacour. Or what do you think of Les Cossées? The scene of Les Cossées is laid in London, said Belinda. I should think with an English audience it would therefore be popular. Yes, so it will, said Lady Delacour. Then let it be Les Cossées. Im le Compte, I am sure you will do justice to the character of Freeport, the Englishman. My dear, I forgot to tell you that Clarence Hervey has been here. It is a pity you did not come a little sooner. You would have heard a charming scene of the school for scandal read by him. Im le Compte was quite delighted, but Clarence was in a great hurry. He would only give us one scene. He was going to Mr. Percival's own business. I am sure what I told you the other day is true, but, however, he has promised to come back to dine with me. Im le Compte, you will dine with us, I hope? The Count was extremely sorry that it was impossible. He was engaged. Belinda suddenly recollected that it was time to dress for dinner. But justice the Count took his leave, and as she was going upstairs, a footman met her, and told her that Mr. Hervey was in the drawing-room, and wished to speak to her. Many conjectures were formed in Belinda's mind, as she passed on to the drawing-room. But the moment that she opened the door she knew the nature of Mr. Hervey's business, for she saw the glass globe containing Helena Delacour's goldfishes standing on the table beside him. I have been commissioned to present these to you for Lady Delacour, said Mr. Hervey. And I have seldom received a commission that has given me so much pleasure. I perceive that Miss Portman is indeed a real friend to Lady Delacour. How happy she is to have such a friend! After a pause, Mr. Hervey went on speaking of Lady Delacour, and of his earnest desire to see her as happy in domestic life as she appeared to be in public. He frankly confessed that when he was first acquainted with her ladyship he had looked upon her merely as a dissipated woman of fashion, and he had considered only his own amusement in cultivating her society. But, continued he, of late, I have formed a different opinion of a character, and I think from what I have observed that Miss Portman's ideas on this subject agree with mine. I had laid a plan for making her ladyship acquainted with Lady Ann Perceval, who appears to me one of the most amiable and one of the happiest of women. Oakley Park is but a few miles from Herrogate, but I am disappointed in this scheme. Lady Delacour has changed her mind, she says, and will not go there. Lady Ann, however, has just told me that, though it is July and though she loves the country, she will most willingly stay in town a month longer, as she thinks that with your assistance there is some probability of her affecting a reconciliation between Lady Delacour and her husband's relations, with some of whom Lady Ann is intimately acquainted. To begin with, my friend, Mrs. Margaret Delacour, the macabre was most graciously received, and I flatter myself that I have prepared Mrs. Delacour to think it's somewhat more favourably of her niece than she was want to do. All now depends upon Lady Delacour's conduct towards her daughter. If she continues to treat her with neglect, I shall be convinced that I have been mistaken in her character. Belinda was much pleased by the openness and unaffected good nature with which Clarence Hervey spoke, and she certainly was not sorry to hear from his own lips a distinct explanation of his views and sentiments. She assured him that no effort that she could make with propriety should be wanting to affect the desirable reconciliation between her ladyship and her family, as she perfectly agreed with him in thinking that Lady Delacour's character had been generally misunderstood by the world. Yes, said Mr. Hervey, her connexion with that Mrs. Freak hurt her more in the eyes of the world than she was aware of, it is tackately understood by the public that every lady goes bale for the character of her female friends. If Lady Delacour had been so fortunate as to meet with such a friend as Miss Portman in her early life, what a different woman she would have been. She once said some such thing to me herself, and she never appeared to me so amiable as at that moment. Mr. Hervey pronounced these last words in a manner more than usually animated, and whilst he spoke Belinda stooped to gather a sprig from a myrtle which stood on the hearth. She perceived that the myrtle which was planted in a large china vase was propped up on one side with the broken bits of Sir Philip Badley's little stick she took them up and threw them out of the window. Lady Delacour stuck those fragments there this morning, said Clarence Smiling, as trophies. She told me of Miss Portman's victory over the heart of Sir Philip Badley, and Miss Portman should certainly have allowed them to remain there as indisputable evidence in favour of the baronet's taste and judgment. Clarence Hervey appeared under some embarrassment, and seemed to be restrained by some secret cause from laying open his real feelings. His manner varied continually. Belinda could not avoid seeing his perplexity. She had recourse again to the goldfishes and to Helena upon these subjects they could both speak very fluently. Lady Delacour made her appearance by the time that Clarence had finished repeating the Ave Lonaise experiments which he had heard from his friend Dr. X. Now, Miss Portman, the transmission of sound in water, said Clarence. Deep in philosophy I protest, said Lady Delacour, as she came in. What is this about the transformation of sound in water? Ha! Whence come these pretty goldfishes? These goldfishes, said Belinda, are come to console Mariette for the loss of her macaw. Thank you, my dear Belinda, for these mute comforters, said her ladyship. The very best things you could have chosen. I have not the merit of the choice, said Belinda, but I am heartily glad that you approve of it. Pretty creatures, said Lady Delacour, no fish were ever so pretty since the days of the Prince of the Black Islands in Arabian Tales, and I am obliged to you, Clarence, for these subjects. No, I have only the honour of bringing them to your ladyship from. From whom? Amongst all my numerous acquaintance, have I won in the world who cares a goldfish about me? Stay, don't tell me, let me guess. Lady Newland—no, you shake your heads. I guessed her ladyship, merely because I know she wants to bribe me some way or other to go to one of her stupid entertainments. She wants to pick out of me taste enough to spend a fortune. But you say it was not Lady Newland. Mrs. Hunt, then, perhaps? For she has two daughters, whom she wants me to ask to my concerts. It was not Mrs. Hunt. Well, then, it was Mrs. Masterson, for she has a mind to go with me to Harrogate, where by the by I shall not go, so I won't cheat her out of her goldfishes. It was Mr. Masterson, hey? No, but these little goldfishes came from a person who would be very glad to go with you to Harrogate, said Clarence Harvey, or who would be very glad to stay with you in town? Sir Belinda, from a person who wants nothing from you but your love. Male or female? said Lady Delacorte. Female? Female? I have not a female friend in the world but yourself, my dear Belinda. Nor do I know another female in the world whose love I should think about for half an instant. But pray, tell me the name of this unknown friend of mine who wants nothing from me but love. Excuse me, said Belinda. I cannot tell her name unless she will promise to see her. You have really made me impatient to see her, said Lady Delacorte. But I am not able to go out, you know, yet, and with a new acquaintance one must go through the ceremony of a morning visit. Now, en conscience, is it worth a while? Very worthwhile, cried Belinda and Clarence Harvey eagerly. Ah, pardon, as in the context claims continually, ah, pardon. Are both wonderfully interested in this business? It is some sister, niece, or cousin of Lady Percival's, or—now Belinda looks as if I am boy wrong. Then perhaps it is Lady Anne herself. Well, take me where you please, my dear Belinda, and introduce me where you please. I depend on your taste and judgment in all things. But I really am not able to pay morning visits. The ceremony of a morning visit is quite unnecessary here. Said Belinda. I will introduce the unknown friend to you to-morrow, if you will let me invite her to your reading-party. With pleasure, she is some charming emigre of Clarence Harvey's acquaintance. But where did you meet with her this morning? You have both of you conspired to puzzle me. Take it upon yourselves, then, if this new acquaintance should not, as Ninon de la Glorce used to say, qui coste. If she be half as agreeable and graceful, Clarence's Madame la Compte, c'est pour menace, I should not think her acquaintance too dearly had purchased by a dozen morning visits. Here the conversation was interrupted by a thundering knock at the door. Who's carriage is it? said Lady Delacorte. Oh! Lady Newlin's ostentatious livery, and here is the ladyship getting out of her carriage as awkwardly as if she had never been in one before. Overdressed like a true city dame. Pray, Clarence, look at her! Entangled in a bale of gold muslin and conscious of abuse of diamonds. Worth if I'm worth a filing five hundred thousand pounds bank currency. She says or seems to say whenever she comes into a room. Now let us see her entree. But, my dear! cried Lady Delacorte, starting at the site of Belinda, who was still in her morning dress. Absolute ly, velo pa! Make your escape to Mariette. I conjure you, by all your fears of the contempt of a lady, who will at the first look estimate you or just to a filing a yard. As she left the room, Belinda heard Clarence Hervey repeat to Lady Delacorte. Give me a look. Give me a face. That makes simplicity a grace. Robes loosely flowing, hair is free. He paused, but Belinda recollected the remainder of the stanza. Such sweet neglect, more taketh me than all the adulteries of art that strike mine eyes, but not mine heart. It was observed that Miss Portman dressed herself this day with the most perfect simplicity. Lady Delacorte's curiosity was raised by the description which Belinda and Clarence Hervey had given of the new acquaintance who sent her the goldfishes and who wanted nothing from her but her love. Miss Portman told her that the unknown would probably come half an hour earlier to the reading party than any of the rest of the company. Her ladyship was alone in the library when Lady Anne Percival brought Helena in consequence of a note from Belinda. Miss Portman ran downstairs to the hall to receive her. The little girl took her hand in silence. Your mother was much pleased with the pretty goldfishes, said Belinda, and she will be still more pleased when she knows that they came from you. She does not know that yet. I hope she is better today. I will not make the least noise, whispered Helena as she went upstairs on tiptoe. You need not be afraid to make noise. You need not walk on tiptoe, nor shut the doors softly, for Lady Delacorte seems to like all noises except the screaming of the macaw. This way, my dear. Oh, I forgot. It is so long since. Is mama up and dressed? Yes. She has had concerts and balls since her illness. You will hear a play read to-night, said Belinda, by that French gentleman whom Lady Anne Percival mentioned to me yesterday. But there is a great deal of company then with mama. Nobody is with her now, so come into the library with me, said Belinda. Lady Delacorte here is the young lady who sent you the goldfishes. Helena! cried Lady Delacorte. You must, I am sure, acknowledge that Mr. Hervey was in the right, when he said that the lady was a striking resemblance of your ladyship. Mr. Hervey knows how to flatter. I never had that ingenious accountenance, even in my best days, but certainly the hair of her is like mine, and her hands and arms. But why do you tremble, Helena? Is there anything so very terrible in the looks of your mother? Not, um, no—no—only. Only what, my dear? Only I was afraid. You might not like me. Who has filled your little foolish head with these vain fears? Come, simpleton, kiss me, and tell me how comes it, that you are not at Oakley Hall, or— What's the name of that place? Oakley Park? Lady Anne Percival would not take me out of town, she said, whilst you were ill, because she thought that you might wish—I mean, she thought that I should like to see you, if you pleased. Lady Anne is very good, very obliging, very considerate. She is very good-natured, said Helena. You love Lady Anne, Percival, I perceive. Oh, yes, that I do. She has been so kind to me. I love her as if she were. As if she were—what? Finish your sentence. My mother, said Helena in a low voice, and she blushed. You love her as well as if she were your mother, repeated Lady Delacorte. That is intelligible. Speak intelligibly whatever you say. And never leave a sentence unfinished. No, ma'am. Nothing can be more ill-bred nor more absurd, for it shows that you have the wish without the power to conceal your sentiments. Pray, my dear, continued Lady Delacorte. Go to Oakley Park immediately. All father, ceremony towards me, may be spared. Ceremony, mama, said the little girl, and the tears came into her eyes. Belinda sighed, and for some moments there was a dead silence. I mean only to say, Miss Portman. Resume, Lady Delacorte, that I hate ceremony, but I know that there are people in the world who love it, who think all virtue and all affection depend on ceremony, who are— content to dwell in decencies for ever. I shall not dispute their merits, verily they have their reward in the good opinion and good word of all little minds, that is to say, of above half the world. I envy them not their hard-earned fame. Let ceremony curtsy to ceremony with Chinese decorum, but when ceremony expects to be paid with affection, I beg to be excused. Ceremony sets no value upon affection, and therefore would not desire to be paid with it, said Belinda. Never yet, continued Lady Delacorte, pursuing the train of her own thoughts without attending to Belinda, never yet was anything like real affection won by any of these ceremonious people. Never, said Miss Portman, looking at Helena, who having quickness enough to perceive that her mother aimed that this tirade against ceremony at Lady Anne Percival sat in the most painful embarrassment, her eyes cast down and her face and neck colouring all over. Never yet, said Miss Portman, did mere ceremonious people win anything like real affection, especially from children who are often excellent, because unprejudiced judges of character. We are all apt to think that an opinion that differs from our own is a prejudice, said Lady Delacorte. What is to decide? Facts, I should think, said Belinda. But it is so difficult to get at facts, even about the merest trifles, said Lady Delacorte. Actions we see, but their causes we seldom see. An aphorism worthy of Confucius himself. Now, to apply, pray, my dear Helena, how came you by the pretty goldfishes that you were so good as to send to me yesterday? Lady Anne Percival gave them to me, ma'am. And how came her ladyship to give them to you, ma'am? She gave them to me, said Helena, hesitating. You need not blush, nor repeat to me that she gave them to you, that I have heard already? That is the fact, now, for the cause. Unless it be a secret, if it be a secret which you have been desired to keep, you are quite right to keep it. I make no doubt of its being necessary, according to some systems of education, the children should be taught to keep secrets, and I am convinced, for Lady Anne Percival is, I have heard, a perfect judge of propriety, that it is peculiarly proper that a daughter should know how to keep secrets from her mother. Therefore, my dear, you need not trouble yourself to blush or hesitate any more. I shall ask no further questions. I was not aware that there were any secrets in the case. There is no secret in the world in the case, mama," said Helena. I only hesitated because— You hesitated only because I suppose you mean. I presume Lady Anne Percival will have no objection to your speaking good English. I hesitated only because I was afraid it would not be right to praise myself. Lady Anne Percival one day asked us all— Us all? I mean Charles, and Edward, and me, to give her an account of some experiments on the hearing of fishes, which Dr. X had told to us. She promised to give the gold fishes of which we were all very fond, to whichever of us should give the best account of them. Lady Anne gave the fishes to me. And is this all the secret? So it was real modesty made her hesitate, Belinda. I beg your pardon, my dear. And Lady Anne's, you see how candid I am, Belinda. But one question more, Helena. Who put it into your head to send me your gold fishes? Nobody, mama. No one put it into my head. But I was at the third fancy as yesterday, when Miss Portman was trying to get some bird for Mrs. Marriott, that could not make any noise to disturb you. So I thought my fishes would be the nicest things for you in the world, because they cannot make the least noise, and they are as pretty as any birds in the world, prettier, I think, and I hope Mrs. Marriott thinks so too. I don't know what Marriott thinks about the matter, but I can tell you what I think, said Lady Delacorte, that you are one of the sweetest little girls in the world, and that you would make me love you if I had a heart of stone, which I have not. Whatever some people may think, kiss me, my child. The little girl sprang forwards, and threw her arms round her mother, exclaiming, Oh, mama, are you an earnest? And she pressed close to her mother's bosom, clasping her with all her force. Lady Delacorte screamed and pushed her daughter away. She is not angry with you, my love, said Belinda. She is in sudden and violent pain. Don't be alarmed. She will be better soon. No, don't ring the bell. But try whether you can open these windows shutters and throw up the sash. Whilst Belinda was supporting Lady Delacorte, and whilst Helena was trying to open the window, a servant came into the room to announce the Count day in. Show him into the drawing-room, said Belinda. Lady Delacorte, though in great pain, rose and retired to her dressing-room. I shall not be able to go down to these people yet, she said. You must make my excuses to the Count and to every body, and tell poor Helena I was not angry, though I pushed her away. Keep her below stairs. I will come as soon as I am able. Send, Mariette. Do not forget, my dear, to tell Helena I was not angry. The reading-party went on, and Lady Delacorte made her appearance as the company were drinking orget. Between the fourth and fifth act, Helena, my dear, she said, Will you bring me a glass of orget? Clarence Hervey looked at Belinda with a congratulatory smile. Do not you think, he whispered, that we shall succeed. Did you see that look of Lady Delacorte's? Nothing tends more to increase the esteem and affection of two people, for each other than their having one in the same benevolent object. Clarence Hervey and Belinda seemed to know one another's thoughts and feelings this evening better than they had ever done before, during the whole course of their acquaintance. After the play was over, most of the company went away. Only a select party of Beaux Esprit stayed to supper. They were standing at the table, at which the Count had been reading. Several volumes of French plays and novels were lying there, and Clarence Hervey taking up one of them cried, Come, let us try our fate, by Sorte Vigilienne. Lady Delacorte opened the book, which was the volume, of Marmantol's tales. exclaimed Hervey, Who will ever more have faith in this Sorte? Who will ever have more faith in this Sorte Vigilienne? said Lady Delacorte, laughing. But whilst she laughed, she went closer to a candle to read the page, which she had opened. Belinda and Clarence Hervey followed her. Really! It is somewhat singular, Belinda, that I should have opened up on this passage. Continued she, in a low voice, pointing it out to Miss Portman. It was a description of the manner in which La Femme Goumélienne Abou managed a husband, who was excessively afraid, being thought to be governed by his wife. As her ladyship turned over the page, she saw a leaf of myrtle which Belinda, who had been reading the story the preceding day, had put into the book for a mark. Whose mark is this? Yours, Belinda. I'm sure by its elegance. said Lady Delacorte. So this is a concerted plan between you two, I see. Continued a ladyship with an air of peak, you have contrived brutally. Duma dir de veriete. One says, Let us try our fate. By the Sorte Vigilienne, the other has dexterously put a mark in the book to make it open upon a lesson for the naughty child. Belinda and Mr. Hervey assured her that they had used no such mean arts, that nothing had been concerted between them. How came this leaf of myrtle here, then? said Lady Delacorte. I was reading that story yesterday and left it as my mark. I cannot help believing you, because you never yet deceived me. Even in the mirror's trifle you are truth itself, Belinda. Well, you see that you were the cause of my drawing such an extraordinary lot. The book would not have opened here but for your mark. My fate, I find, is in your hands. If Lady Delacorte is ever to be la femme comilienne au bout, which is the most improbable thing in the world, Miss Portman will be the cause of it. Which is the most probable thing in the world? said Clarence Hervey. This myrtle has a delightful perfume, added he, rubbing the leaf between his fingers. But after all, said Lady Delacorte, throwing aside the book, this heroine of Montmontos is not la femme comilienne au bout, but la femme comilienne au bout. Mrs. Margaret Delacorte's carriage, my lady, for Miss Delacorte, said a footman to her ladyship. Helena stays with me tonight. My compliments, said Lady Delacorte. How pleased the little gypsy looks, added she, turning to Helena, who heard the message, and how handsome she looks when she is pleased. Do these are been locks of yours, Helena, curl naturally or artificially? Naturally, Mama. Naturally! So much the better! So did mine at your age. Some of the company now took notice of the astonishing resemblance between Helena and her mother. And the more Lady Delacorte considered her daughter as a part of herself, the more she was inclined to be pleased with her. The glass globe containing the gold fishes was put in the middle of the table at Supper, and Clarence Herbie never paid her ladyship such respectful attention in his life as he did this evening. The conversation at Supper turned upon a magnificent and elegant entertainment which had lately been given by a fashionable duchess, and some of the company spoke in high terms of the beauty and accomplishments of her grace's daughter, who had for the first time appeared in public on that occasion. The daughter would totally eclipse the mother, said Lady Delacorte. That total eclipse has been foretold by many knowing people, said Clarence Herbie. But how can there be an eclipse between two bodies, which never cross one another, and that I understand to be the case between the duchess and her daughter? This observation seemed to make a great impression upon Lady Delacorte. Clarence Herbie went on, and with much eloquence expressed his admiration of the mother who had stopped short in the career of dissipation to employ her inimitable talents in the education of her children, who had absolutely brought virtue into fashion by the irresistible powers of wit and beauty. Really, Clarence, said Lady Delacorte, rising from the table, looped by Lea de Coutre d'Axion. I advise you to write a sentimental comedy, Accumade la Moyante, or a drama on the German model, and call it the school for mothers, and beg her grace to sit for your heroine. Your ladyship surely would not be so cruel as to send a faithful servant begging for a heroine, said Clarence Herbie. Lady Delacorte smiled at first at the compliment, but a few minutes afterwards she sighed bitterly. It is too late for me to think of being a heroine, said she. Too late, cried Herbie, following her eagerly as she walked out of the supper-room. Too late? Her grace is some years older than your ladyship. Well, I did not mean to say too late, said Lady Delacorte, but let us go on to something else. Why were you not at the Fête Chambret the other day? And where were you all this morning? And pray, can you tell me when your friend Dr. X returns to town? Mr. Horton is getting better, said Clarence, and I hope that we shall have Dr. X soon amongst us again. I hear that he is to be in town in the course of a few days. Did he inquire for me? Did he ask how I did? No. I fancy he took it for granted that your ladyship was quite well, for I told him you were getting better every day, and that you were in charming spirits. Yes, said Lady Delacorte, but I wear myself out with these charming spirits. I am very nervous still, I assure you, and sitting up late is not good for me, so I shall wish you and all the world a good night. You see, I am absolutely a reformed rake.