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diff --git a/9455-0.txt b/9455-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1bef68e --- /dev/null +++ b/9455-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19108 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s Tales And Novels, Volume 3 (of 10), by Maria Edgeworth + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales And Novels, Volume 3 (of 10) + Belinda + +Author: Maria Edgeworth + + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9455] +[This file was first posted on October 2, 2003] +Last Updated: December 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME 3 (OF 10) *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann, David Widger and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + +TALES AND NOVELS, + + +VOLUME III (of X) + + +BELINDA. + +By Maria Edgeworth. + + +IN TEN VOLUMES. WITH ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. + + +1857. + + + +CONTENTS. + +I. Characters + +II. Masks + +III. Lady Delacour’s History + +IV. The same continued + +V. Birthday Dresses + +VI. Ways and Means + +VII. The Serpentine River + +VIII. A Family Party + +IX. Advice + +X. The Mysterious Boudoir + +XI. Difficulties + +XII. The Macaw + +XIII. Sortes Virgilianae + +XIV. The Exhibition + +XV. Jealousy + +XVI. Domestic Happiness + +XVII. Rights of Woman + +XVIII. A Declaration + +XIX. A Wedding + +XX. Reconciliation + +XXI. Helena + +XXII. A Spectre + +XXIII. The Chaplain + +XXIV. Peu à peu + +XXV. Love me, love my dog + +XXVI. Virginia + +XXVII. A Discovery + +XXVIII. E O + +XXIX. A Jew + +XXX. News + +XXXI. The Dènouement + + + + +BELINDA + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +CHARACTERS. + + +Mrs. Stanhope, a well-bred woman, accomplished in that branch of +knowledge which is called the art of rising in the world, had, with but +a small fortune, contrived to live in the highest company. She prided +herself upon having established half a dozen nieces most happily, that +is to say, upon having married them to men of fortunes far superior to +their own. One niece still remained unmarried--Belinda Portman, of whom +she was determined to get rid with all convenient expedition. Belinda +was handsome, graceful, sprightly, and highly accomplished; her aunt had +endeavoured to teach her that a young lady’s chief business is to please +in society, that all her charms and accomplishments should be invariably +subservient to one grand object--the establishing herself in the world: + + “For this, hands, lips, and eyes were put to school, + And each instructed feature had its rule.” + +Mrs. Stanhope did not find Belinda such a docile pupil as her other +nieces, for she had been educated chiefly in the country; she had early +been inspired with a taste for domestic pleasures; she was fond of +reading, and disposed to conduct herself with prudence and integrity. +Her character, however, was yet to be developed by circumstances. + +Mrs. Stanhope lived at Bath, where she had opportunities of showing +her niece off, as she thought, to advantage; but as her health began +to decline, she could not go out with her as much as she wished. After +manoeuvring with more than her usual art, she succeeded in fastening +Belinda upon the fashionable Lady Delacour for the season. Her ladyship +was so much pleased by Miss Portman’s accomplishments and vivacity, as +to invite her to spend the winter with her in London. Soon after her +arrival in town, Belinda received the following letter from her aunt +Stanhope. + +“Crescent, Bath. + +“After searching every place I could think of, Anne found your bracelet +in your dressing-table, amongst a heap of odd things, which you +left behind you to be thrown away: I have sent it to you by a young +gentleman, who came to Bath (unluckily) the very day you left me--Mr. +Clarence Hervey--an acquaintance, and great admirer of my Lady Delacour. +He is really an uncommonly pleasant young man, is highly connected, +and has a fine independent fortune. Besides, he is a man of wit and +gallantry, quite a connoisseur in female grace and beauty--just the +man to bring a new face into fashion: so, my dear Belinda, I make it a +point--look well when he is introduced to you, and remember, what I have +so often told you, that nobody _can_ look well without taking some pains +to please. + +“I see--or at least when I went out more than my health will at present +permit--I used to see multitudes of silly girls, seemingly all cut out +upon the same pattern, who frequented public places day after day, +and year after year, without any idea farther than that of diverting +themselves, or of obtaining transient admiration. How I have pitied and +despised the giddy creatures, whilst I have observed them playing off +their unmeaning airs, vying with one another in the most _obvious_, +and consequently the most ridiculous manner, so as to expose themselves +before the very men they would attract: chattering, tittering, and +flirting; full of the present moment, never reflecting upon the future; +quite satisfied if they got a partner at a ball, without ever thinking +of a partner for life! I have often asked myself, what is to become +of such girls when they grow old or ugly, or when the public eye grows +tired of them? If they have large fortunes, it is all very well; they +can afford to divert themselves for a season or two, without doubt; they +are sure to be sought after and followed, not by mere danglers, but by +men of suitable views and pretensions: but nothing to my mind can be +more miserable than the situation of a poor girl, who, after spending +not only the interest, but the solid capital of her small fortune in +dress, and frivolous extravagance, fails in her matrimonial expectations +(as many do merely from not beginning to speculate in time). She finds +herself at five or six-and-thirty a burden to her friends, destitute +of the means of rendering herself independent (for the girls I speak +of never think of _learning_ to play cards), _de trop_ in society, +yet obliged to hang upon all her acquaintance, who wish her in heaven, +because she is unqualified to make the _expected_ return for civilities, +having no home, I mean no establishment, no house, &c. fit for the +reception of company of a certain rank.--My dearest Belinda, may this +never be your case!--You have every possible advantage, my love: no +pains have been spared in your education, and (which is the essential +point) I have taken care that this should be known--so that you have +_the name_ of being perfectly accomplished. You will also have the name +of being very fashionable, if you go much into public, as doubtless you +will with Lady Delacour.--Your own good sense must make you aware, my +dear, that from her ladyship’s situation and knowledge of the world, +it will always be proper, upon all subjects of conversation, for her to +lead and you to follow: it would be very unfit for a young girl like +you to suffer yourself to stand in competition with Lady Delacour, whose +high pretensions to wit and beauty are _indisputable_. I need say +no more to you upon this subject, my dear. Even with your limited +experience, you must have observed how foolish young people offend +those who are the most necessary to their interests, by an imprudent +indulgence of their vanity. + +“Lady Delacour has an incomparable taste in dress: consult her, my dear, +and do not, by an ill-judged economy, counteract my views--apropos, I +have no objection to your being presented at court. You will, of +course, have credit with all her ladyship’s tradespeople, if you manage +properly. To know how and when to lay out money is highly commendable, +for in some situations, people judge of what one can afford by what one +actually spends.--I know of no law which compels a young lady to tell +what her age or her fortune may be. You have no occasion for caution yet +on one of these points. + +“I have covered my old carpet with a handsome green baize, and every +stranger who comes to see me, I observe, takes it for granted that I +have a rich carpet under it. Say every thing that is proper, in your +best manner, for me to Lady Delacour. + +“Adieu, my dear Belinda, + +“Yours, very sincerely, + +“SELINA STANHOPE.” + + + +It is sometimes fortunate, that the means which are taken to produce +certain effects upon the mind have a tendency directly opposite to +what is expected. Mrs. Stanhope’s perpetual anxiety about her niece’s +appearance, manners, and establishment, had completely worn out +Belinda’s patience; she had become more insensible to the praises of her +personal charms and accomplishments than young women of her age usually +are, because she had been so much flattered and _shown off_, as it is +called, by her match-making aunt.--Yet Belinda was fond of amusement, +and had imbibed some of Mrs. Stanhope’s prejudices in favour of rank +and fashion. Her taste for literature declined in proportion to her +intercourse with the fashionable world, as she did not in this society +perceive the least use in the knowledge that she had acquired. Her mind +had never been roused to much reflection; she had in general acted +but as a puppet in the hands of others. To her aunt Stanhope she had +hitherto paid unlimited, habitual, blind obedience; but she was more +undesigning, and more free from affectation and coquetry, than could +have been expected, after the course of documenting which she had gone +through. She was charmed with the idea of a visit to Lady Delacour, +whom she thought the most agreeable--no, that is too feeble an +expression--the most fascinating person she had ever beheld. Such was +the light in which her ladyship appeared, not only to Belinda, but to +all the world--that is to say, all the world of fashion, and she knew of +no other.--The newspapers were full of Lady Delacour’s parties, and Lady +Delacour’s dresses, and Lady Delacour’s _bon mots_: every thing that her +ladyship said was repeated as witty; every thing that her ladyship wore +was imitated as fashionable. Female wit sometimes depends on the +beauty of its possessor for its reputation; and the reign of beauty +is proverbially short, and fashion often capriciously deserts her +favourites, even before nature withers their charms. Lady Delacour +seemed to be a fortunate exception to these general rules: long after +she had lost the bloom of youth, she continued to be admired as a +fashionable _bel esprit_; and long after she had ceased to be a novelty +in society, her company was courted by all the gay, the witty, and the +gallant. To be seen in public with Lady Delacour, to be a visitor at her +house, were privileges of which numbers were vehemently ambitious; and +Belinda Portman was congratulated and envied by all her acquaintance, +for being admitted as an inmate. How could she avoid thinking herself +singularly fortunate? + +A short time after her arrival at Lady Delacour’s, Belinda began to +see through the thin veil with which politeness covers domestic +misery.--Abroad, and at home, Lady Delacour was two different persons. +Abroad she appeared all life, spirit, and good humour--at home, +listless, fretful, and melancholy; she seemed like a spoiled actress off +the stage, over-stimulated by applause, and exhausted by the exertions +of supporting a fictitious character.--When her house was filled with +well-dressed crowds, when it blazed with lights, and resounded with +music and dancing, Lady Delacour, in the character of Mistress of the +Revels, shone the soul and spirit of pleasure and frolic: but the +moment the company retired, when the music ceased, and the lights were +extinguishing, the spell was dissolved. + +She would sometimes walk up and down the empty magnificent saloon, +absorbed in thoughts seemingly of the most painful nature. + +For some days after Belinda’s arrival in town she heard nothing of Lord +Delacour; his lady never mentioned his name, except once accidentally, +as she was showing Miss Portman the house, she said, “Don’t open that +door--those are only Lord Delacour’s apartments.”--The first time +Belinda ever saw his lordship, he was dead drunk in the arms of two +footmen, who were carrying him up stairs to his bedchamber: his lady, +who was just returned from Ranelagh, passed by him on the landing-place +with a look of sovereign contempt. + +“What is the matter?--Who is this?” said Belinda. + +“Only the body of my Lord Delacour,” said her ladyship: “his bearers +have brought it up the wrong staircase. Take it down again, my good +friends: let his lordship go his _own way_. Don’t look so shocked and +amazed, Belinda--don’t look so _new_, child: this funeral of my lord’s +intellects is to me a nightly, or,” added her ladyship, looking at +her watch and yawning, “I believe I should say a _daily_ ceremony--six +o’clock, I protest!” + +The next morning, as her ladyship and Miss Portman were sitting at the +breakfast-table, after a very late breakfast, Lord Delacour entered the +room. + +“Lord Delacour, sober, my dear,”--said her ladyship to Miss Portman, by +way of introducing him. Prejudiced by her ladyship, Belinda was inclined +to think that Lord Delacour sober would not be more agreeable or more +rational than Lord Delacour drunk. “How old do you take my lord to +be?” whispered her ladyship, as she saw Belinda’s eye fixed upon the +trembling hand which carried his teacup to his lips: “I’ll lay you a +wager,” continued she aloud--“I’ll lay your birth-night dress, gold +fringe, and laurel wreaths into the bargain, that you don’t guess +right.” + +“I hope you don’t think of going to this birth-night, lady Delacour?” + said his lordship. + +“I’ll give you six guesses, and I’ll bet you don’t come within sixteen +years,” pursued her ladyship, still looking at Belinda. + +“You cannot have the new carriage you have bespoken,” said his lordship. +“Will you do me the honour to attend to me, Lady Delacour?” + +“Then you won’t venture to guess, Belinda,” said her ladyship (without +honouring her lord with the smallest portion of her attention)--“Well, +I believe you are right--for certainly you would guess him to be +six-and-sixty, instead of six-and-thirty; but then he can drink more +than any two-legged animal in his majesty’s dominions, and you know that +is an advantage which is well worth twenty or thirty years of a man’s +life--especially to persons who have no other chance of distinguishing +themselves.” + +“If some people had distinguished themselves a little less in the +world,” retorted his lordship, “it would have been as well!” + +“As well!--how flat!” + +“Flatly then I have to inform you, Lady Delacour, that I will neither +be contradicted nor laughed at--you understand me,--it would be as well, +flat or not flat, my Lady Delacour, if your ladyship would attend more +to your own conduct, and less to others!” + +“To _that_ of others--his lordship means, if he means any thing. +Apropos, Belinda, did not you tell me Clarence Hervey is coming to +town?--You have never seen him.--Well, I’ll describe him to you by +negatives. He is _not_ a man who ever says any thing flat--he is _not_ +a man who must be wound up with half a dozen bottles of champaign before +he can _go_--he is _not_ a man who, when he does go, goes wrong, and +won’t be set right--he is _not_ a man, whose whole consequence, if he +were married, would depend on his wife--he is _not_ a man, who, if he +were married, would be so desperately afraid of being governed by his +wife, that he would turn gambler, jockey, or sot, merely to show that he +could govern himself.” + +“Go on, Lady Delacour,” said his lordship, who had been in vain +attempting to balance a spoon on the edge of his teacup during the whole +of this speech, which was delivered with the most animated desire to +provoke--“Go on, Lady Delacour--all I desire is, that you should go on; +Clarence Hervey will be much obliged to you, and I am sure so shall I. +Go on, my Lady Delacour--go on, and you’ll oblige me.” + +“I never will oblige you, my lord, that you may depend upon,” cried her +ladyship, with a look of indignant contempt. + +His lordship whistled, rang for his horses, and looked at his nails with +a smile. Belinda, shocked and in a great confusion, rose to leave the +room, dreading the gross continuance of this matrimonial dialogue. + +“Mr. Hervey, my lady,” said a footman, opening the door; and he was +scarcely announced, when her ladyship went forward to receive him with +an air of easy familiarity.--“Where have you buried yourself, Hervey, +this age past?” cried she, shaking hands with him: “there’s absolutely +no living in this most stupid of all worlds without you.--Mr. +Hervey--Miss Portman--but don’t look as if you were half asleep, +man--What are you dreaming of, Clarence? Why looks your grace so heavily +to-day?” + +“Oh! I have passed a miserable night,” replied Clarence, throwing +himself into an actor’s attitude, and speaking in a fine tone of stage +declamation. + + “What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me,” + +said her ladyship in a similar tone.--Clarence went on-- + + “O Lord, methought what pain it was to dance! + What dreadful noise of fiddles in my ears! + What sights of ugly _belles_ within my eyes! + ----Then came wandering by, + A shadow like a devil, with red hair, + ‘Dizen’d with flowers; and she bawl’d out aloud, + Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence!” + +“O, Mrs. Luttridge to the life!” cried Lady Delacour: “I know where you +have been now, and I pity you--but sit down,” said she, making room for +him between Belinda and herself upon the sofa, “sit down here, and tell +me what could take you to that odious Mrs. Luttridge’s.” + +Mr. Hervey threw himself on the sofa; Lord Delacour whistled as before, +and left the room without uttering a syllable. + +“But my dream has made me forget myself strangely,” said Mr. Hervey, +turning to Belinda, and producing her bracelet: “Mrs. Stanhope promised +me that if I delivered it safely, I should be rewarded with the honour +of putting it on the owner’s fair arm.” A conversation now took place on +the nature of ladies’ promises--on fashionable bracelets--on the size +of the arm of the Venus de Medici--on Lady Delacour’s and Miss +Portman’s--on the thick legs of ancient statues--and on the various +defects and absurdities of Mrs. Luttridge and her wig. On all these +topics Mr. Hervey displayed much wit, gallantry, and satire, with so +happy an effect, that Belinda, when he took leave, was precisely of her +aunt’s opinion, that he was a most uncommonly pleasant young man. + +Clarence Hervey might have been more than a pleasant young man, if he +had not been smitten with the desire of being thought superior in every +thing, and of being the most admired person in all companies. He had +been early flattered with the idea that he was a man of genius; and +he imagined that, as such, he was entitled to be imprudent, wild, and +eccentric. He affected singularity, in order to establish his claims +to genius. He had considerable literary talents, by which he was +distinguished at Oxford; but he was so dreadfully afraid of passing +for a pedant, that when he came into the company of the idle and the +ignorant, he pretended to disdain every species of knowledge. His +chameleon character seemed to vary in different lights, and according to +the different situations in which he happened to be placed. He could +be all things to all men--and to all women. He was supposed to be a +favourite with the fair sex; and of all his various excellencies and +defects, there was none on which he valued himself so much as on his +gallantry. He was not profligate; he had a strong sense of honour, +and quick feelings of humanity; but he was so easily led, or rather so +easily excited by his companions, and his companions were now of such +a sort, that it was probable he would soon become vicious. As to his +connexion with Lady Delacour, he would have started with horror at the +idea of disturbing the peace of a family; but in her family, he said, +there was no peace to disturb; he was vain of having it seen by the +world that he was distinguished by a lady of her wit and fashion, and +he did not think it incumbent on him to be more scrupulous or more +attentive to appearances than her ladyship. By Lord Delacour’s jealousy +he was sometimes provoked, sometimes amused, and sometimes flattered. +He was constantly of all her ladyship’s parties in public and private; +consequently he saw Belinda almost every day, and every day he saw her +with increasing admiration of her beauty, and with increasing dread of +being taken in to marry a niece of “the _catch-match-maker_,” the name +by which Mrs. Stanhope was known amongst the men of his acquaintance. +Young ladies who have the misfortune to be _conducted_ by these artful +dames, are always supposed to be partners in all the speculations, +though their names may not appear in the firm. If he had not been +prejudiced by the character of her aunt, Mr. Hervey would have thought +Belinda an undesigning, unaffected girl; but now he suspected her of +artifice in every word, look, and motion; and even when he felt himself +most charmed by her powers of pleasing, he was most inclined to despise +her, for what he thought such premature proficiency in scientific +coquetry. He had not sufficient resolution to keep beyond the sphere +of her attraction; but, frequently, when he found himself within it, he +cursed his folly, and drew back with sudden terror. His manner towards +her was so variable and inconsistent, that she knew not how to interpret +its language. Sometimes she fancied, that with all the eloquence of eyes +he said, “_I adore you_, Belinda;” at other times she imagined that +his guarded silence meant to warn her that he was so entangled by Lady +Delacour, that he could not extricate himself from her snares. Whenever +this last idea struck her, it excited, in the most edifying manner, her +indignation against coquetry in general, and against her ladyship’s +in particular: she became wonderfully clear-sighted to all the +improprieties of her ladyship’s conduct. Belinda’s newly acquired moral +sense was so much shocked, that she actually wrote a full statement of +her observations and her scruples to her aunt Stanhope; concluding by +a request, that she might not remain under the protection of a lady, of +whose character she could not approve, and whose intimacy might perhaps +be injurious to her reputation, if not to her principles. + +Mrs. Stanhope answered Belinda’s letter in a very guarded style; she +rebuked her niece severely for her imprudence in mentioning _names_ in +such a manner, in a letter sent by the common post; assured her that her +reputation was in no danger; that she hoped no niece of hers would set +up for a prude--a character more suspected by men of the world than +even that of a coquette; that the person alluded to was a perfectly fit +chaperon for any young lady to appear with in public, as long as she +was visited by the first people in town; that as to any thing in the +_private_ conduct of that person, and as to any _private brouillieries_ +between her and her lord, Belinda should observe on these dangerous +topics a profound silence, both in her letters and her conversation; +that as long as the lady continued under the protection of her husband, +the world might whisper, but would not speak out; that as to Belinda’s +own principles, she would be utterly inexcusable if, after the education +she had received, they could be hurt by any bad examples; that she could +not be too cautious in her management of a man of ----‘s character; +that she could have no _serious_ cause for jealousy in the quarter she +apprehended, as marriage there could not be the object; and there was +such a difference of age, that no permanent influence could probably be +obtained by the lady; that the most certain method for Miss Portman to +expose herself to the ridicule of one of the parties, and to the total +neglect of the other, would be to betray anxiety or jealousy; that, in +short, if she were fool enough to lose her own heart, there would be +little chance of her being wise enough to win that of------, who was +evidently a man of gallantry rather than of sentiment, and who was known +to play his cards well, and to have good luck whenever _hearts_ were +trumps. + +Belinda’s fears of Lady Delacour, as a dangerous rival, were much +quieted by the artful insinuations of Mrs. Stanhope, with respect to her +age, &c.; and in proportion as her fears subsided, she blamed herself +for having written too harshly of her ladyship’s conduct. The idea that +whilst she appeared as Lady Delacour’s friend she ought not to propagate +any stories to her disadvantage, operated powerfully upon Belinda’s +mind, and she reproached herself for having told even her aunt what she +had seen in private. She thought that she had been guilty of treachery, +and she wrote again immediately to Mrs. Stanhope, to conjure her to burn +her last letter; to forget, if possible, its contents; and to believe +that not a syllable of a similar nature should ever more be heard from +her: she was just concluding with the words--“I hope my dear aunt will +consider all this as an error of my judgment, and not of my heart,” + when Lady Delacour burst into the room, exclaiming, in a tone of gaiety, +“Tragedy or comedy, Belinda? The masquerade dresses are come. But how’s +this?” added she, looking full in Belinda’s face--“tears in the eyes! +blushes in the cheeks! tremors in the joints! and letters shuffling +away! But, you novice of novices, how awkwardly shuffled!--A niece of +Mrs. Stanhope’s, and so unpractised a shuffler!--And is it credible she +should tremble in this ridiculous way about a love-letter or two?” + +“No love-letters, indeed, Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, holding the +paper fast, as her ladyship, half in play, half in earnest, attempted to +snatch it from her. + +“No love-letters! then it must be treason; and see it I must, by all +that’s good, or by all that’s bad--I see the name of Delacour!”--and +her ladyship absolutely seized the letters by force, in spite of all +Belinda’s struggles and entreaties. + +“I beg, I request, I conjure you not to read it!” cried Miss Portman, +clasping her hands. “Read mine, read mine, if you _must_, but don’t read +my aunt Stanhope’s--Oh! I beg, I entreat, I conjure you!” and she threw +herself upon her knees. + +“You beg! you entreat! you conjure! Why, this is like the Duchess de +Brinvilliers, who wrote on her paper of poisons, ‘Whoever finds this, I +entreat, I conjure them, in the name of more saints than I can remember, +not to open the paper any farther.’--What a simpleton, to know so little +of the nature of curiosity!” + +As she spoke, Lady Delacour opened Mrs. Stanhope’s letter, read it from +beginning to end, folded it up coolly when she had finished it, and +simply said, “The _person alluded to_ is almost as bad as her name at +full length: does Mrs. Stanhope think no one can make out an inuendo +in a libel, or fill up a blank, but an attorney-general?” pointing to a +blank in Mrs. Stanhope’s letter, left for the name of Clarence Hervey. + +Belinda was in too much confusion either to speak or think. + +“You were right to swear they were not love-letters,” pursued her +ladyship, laying down the papers. “I protest I snatched them by way of +frolic--I beg pardon. All I can do now is not to read the rest.” + +“Nay--I beg--I wish--I insist upon your reading mine,” said Belinda. + +When Lady Delacour had read it, her countenance suddenly changed--“Worth +a hundred of your aunt’s, I declare,” said she, patting Belinda’s cheek. +“What a treasure to meet with any thing like a _new_ heart!--all hearts, +now-a-days, are second-hand, at best.” + +Lady Delacour spoke with a tone of feeling which Belinda had never heard +from her before, and which at this moment touched her so much, that she +took her ladyship’s hand and kissed it. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MASKS + + +“Where were we when all this began?” cried Lady Delacour, forcing +herself to resume an air of gaiety--“O, masquerade was the order of the +day---tragedy or comedy? which suits your genius best, my dear?” + +“Whichever suits your ladyship’s taste least.” + +“Why, my woman, Marriott, says I ought to be tragedy; and, upon the +notion that people always succeed best when they take characters +diametrically opposite to their own--Clarence Hervey’s +principle--perhaps you don’t think that he has any principles; but there +you are wrong; I do assure you, he has sound principles--of taste.” + +“Of that,” said Belinda, with a constrained smile, “he gives the most +convincing proof, by his admiring your ladyship so much.” + +“And by his admiring Miss Portman so much more. But whilst we are making +speeches to one another, poor Marriott is standing in distress, like +Garrick, between tragedy and comedy.” + +Lady Delacour opened her dressing-room door, and pointed to her as she +stood with the dress of the comic muse on one arm, and the tragic muse +on the other. + +“I am afraid I have not spirits enough to undertake the comic muse,” + said Miss Portman. + +Marriott, who was a personage of prodigious consequence, and the judge +in the last resort at her mistress’s toilette, looked extremely out of +humour at having been kept waiting so long; and yet more so at the idea +that her appellant jurisdiction could be disputed. + +“Your ladyship’s taller than Miss Portman by half ahead,” said Marriott, +“and to be sure will best become tragedy with this long train; besides, +I had settled all the rest of your ladyship’s dress. Tragedy, they +say, is always tall; and, no offence, your ladyship’s taller than Miss +Portman by half a head.” + +“For head read inch,” said Lady Delacour, “if you please.” + +“When things are settled, one can’t bear to have them unsettled--but +your ladyship must have your own way, to be sure--I’ll say no more,” + cried she, throwing down the dresses. + +“Stay, Marriott,” said Lady Delacour, and she placed herself between the +angry waiting-maid and the door. + +“Why will you, who are the best creature in the world, put yourself into +these _furies_ about nothing? Have patience with us, and you shall be +satisfied.” + +“That’s another affair,” said Marriott. + +“Miss Portman,” continued her ladyship, “don’t talk of not having +spirits, you that are all life!--What say you, Belinda?--O yes, you must +be the comic muse; and I, it seems, must be tragedy, because Marriott +has a passion for seeing me ‘come sweeping by.’ And because Marriott +must have her own way in every thing--she rules me with a rod of iron, +my dear, so tragedy I needs must be.--_Marriott knows her power_.” + +There was an air of extreme vexation in Lady Delacour’s countenance as +she pronounced these last words, in which evidently more was meant +than met the ear. Upon many occasions Miss Portman had observed, that +Marriott exercised despotic authority over her mistress; and she had +seen, with surprise, that a lady, who would not yield an iota of power +to her husband, submitted herself to every caprice of the most insolent +of waiting-women. For some time, Belinda imagined that this submission +was merely an air, as she had seen some other fine ladies proud of +appearing to be governed by a favourite maid; but she was soon convinced +that Marriott was no favourite with Lady Delacour; that her ladyship’s +was not _proud humility_, but fear. It seemed certain that a woman, +extravagantly fond of her own _will_, would never have given it up +without some very substantial reason. It seemed as if Marriott was in +possession of some secret, which should for ever remain unknown. This +idea had occurred to Miss Portman more than once, but never so forcibly +as upon the present occasion. There had always been some mystery about +her ladyship’s toilette: at certain hours doors were bolted, and it was +impossible for any body but Marriott to obtain admission. Miss Portman +at first imagined that Lady Delacour dreaded the discovery of her +cosmetic secrets, but her ladyship’s rouge was so glaring, and her pearl +powder was so obvious, that Belinda was convinced there must be some +other cause for this toilette secrecy. There was a little cabinet beyond +her bedchamber, which Lady Delacour called her boudoir, to which there +was an entrance by a back staircase; but no one ever entered there but +Marriott. One night, Lady Delacour, after dancing with great spirit at +a ball, at her own house, fainted suddenly: Miss Portman attended her +to her bedchamber, but Marriott begged that her lady might be left alone +with _her_, and she would by no means suffer Belinda to follow her into +the boudoir. All these things Belinda recollected in the space of a few +seconds, as she stood contemplating Marriott and the dresses. The hurry +of getting ready for the masquerade, however, dispelled these thoughts, +and by the time she was dressed, the idea of what Clarence Hervey would +think of her appearance was uppermost in her mind. She was anxious to +know whether he would discover her in the character of the comic muse. +Lady Delacour was discontented with her tragic attire, and she grew +still more out of humour with herself, when she saw Belinda. + +“I protest Marriott has made a perfect fright of me,” said her ladyship, +as she got into her carriage, “and I’m positive my dress would become +you a million of times better than your own.” + +Miss Portman regretted that it was too late to change. + +“Not at all too late, my dear,” said Lady Delacour; “never too late for +women to change their minds, their dress, or their lovers. Seriously, +you know, we are to call at my friend Lady Singleton’s--she sees masks +to-night: I’m quite intimate there; I’ll make her let me step up to her +own room, where no soul can interrupt us, and there we can change our +dresses, and Marriott will know nothing of the matter. Marriott’s a +faithful creature, and very fond of me; fond of power too--but who is +not?--we must all have our faults: one would not quarrel with such a +good creature as Marriott for a trifle.” Then suddenly changing her +tone, she said, “Not a human being will find us out at the masquerade; +for no one but Mrs. Freke knows that we are the two muses. Clarence +Hervey swears he should know me in any disguise--but I defy him--I shall +take special delight in puzzling him. Harriot Freke has told him, in +confidence, that I’m to be the widow Brady, in man’s clothes: now that’s +to be Harriot’s own character; so Hervey will make fine confusion.” + +As soon as they got to Lady Singleton’s, Lady Delacour and Miss Portman +immediately went up stairs to exchange dresses. Poor Belinda, now that +she felt herself in spirits to undertake the comic muse, was rather +vexed to be obliged to give up her becoming character; but there was no +resisting the polite energy of Lady Delacour’s vanity. Her ladyship ran +as quick as lightning into a closet within the dressing-room, saying +to Lady Singleton’s woman, who attempted to follow with--“Can I do any +thing for your ladyship?”--“No, no, no--nothing, nothing--thank ye, +thank ye,--I want no assistance--I never let any body do any thing for +me but Marriott;” and she bolted herself in the closet. In a few minutes +she half opened the door, threw out her tragic robes, and cried, “Here, +Miss Portman, give me yours--quick--and let’s see whether comedy or +tragedy will be ready first.” + +“Lord bless and forgive me,” said Lady Singleton’s woman, when +Lady Delacour at last threw open the door, when she was completely +dressed--“but if your la’ship has not been dressing all this time in +that den, without any thing in the shape of a looking-glass, and not to +let me help! I that should have been so proud.” + +Lady Delacour put half a guinea into the waiting-maid’s hand, laughed +affectedly at her own _whimsicalities_, and declared that she could +always dress herself better without a glass than with one. All this went +off admirably well with every body but Miss Portman; she could not help +thinking it extraordinary that a person who was obviously fond of being +waited upon would never suffer any person to assist her at her toilet +except Marriott, a woman of whom she was evidently afraid. Lady +Delacour’s quick eye saw curiosity painted in Belinda’s countenance, and +for a moment she was embarrassed; but she soon recovered herself, and +endeavoured to turn the course of Miss Portman’s thoughts by whispering +to her some nonsense about Clarence Hervey--a cabalistical name, which +she knew had the power, when pronounced in a certain tone, of throwing +Belinda into confusion. + +The first person they saw, when they went into the drawing-room at Lady +Singleton’s, was this very Clarence Hervey, who was not in a masquerade +dress. He had laid a wager with one of his acquaintance, that he +could perform the part of the serpent, such as he is seen in Fuseli’s +well-known picture. For this purpose he had exerted much ingenuity +in the invention and execution of a length of coiled skin, which he +manoeuvred with great dexterity, by means of internal wires; his grand +difficulty had been to manufacture the rays that were to come from his +eyes. He had contrived a set of phosphoric rays, which he was certain +would charm all the fair daughters of Eve. He forgot, it seems, that +phosphorus could not well be seen by candlelight. When he was just +equipped as a serpent, his rays set fire to part of his _envelope_, and +it was with the greatest difficulty that he was extricated. He escaped +unhurt, but his serpent’s skin was utterly consumed; nothing remained +but the melancholy spectacle of its skeleton. He was obliged to give up +the hopes of shining at the masquerade, but he resolved to be at Lady +Singleton’s that he might meet Lady Delacour and Miss Portman. The +moment that the tragic and comic muse appeared, he invoked them with +much humour and mock pathos, declaring that he knew not which of them +could best sing his adventure. After a recital of his misfortune had +entertained the company, and after the muses had performed their parts +to the satisfaction of the audience and their own, the conversation +ceased to be supported in masquerade character; muses and harlequins, +gipsies and Cleopatras, began to talk of their private affairs, and of +the news and the scandal of the day. + +A group of gentlemen, amongst whom was Clarence Hervey, gathered round +the tragic muse; as Mr. Hervey had hinted that he knew she was a +person of distinction, though he would not tell her name. After he had +exercised his wit for some time, without obtaining from the tragic muse +one single syllable, he whispered, “Lady Delacour, why this unnatural +reserve? Do you imagine that, through this tragical disguise, I have not +found you out?” + +The tragic muse, apparently absorbed in meditation, vouchsafed no reply. + +“The devil a word can you get for your pains, Hervey,” said a gentleman +of his acquaintance, who joined the party at this instant. “Why didn’t +you stick to t’other muse, who, to do her justice, is as arrant a flirt +as your heart could wish for?” + +“There’s danger in flirting,” said Clarence, “with an arrant flirt of +Mrs. Stanhope’s training. There’s a kind of electricity about that girl. +I have a sort of cobweb feeling, an imaginary net coming all over me.” + +“Fore-warned is fore-armed,” replied his companion: “a man must be a +novice indeed that could be taken in at this time of day by a niece of +Mrs. Stanhope’s.” + +“That Mrs. Stanhope must be a good clever dame, faith,” said a third +gentleman: “there’s no less than six of her nieces whom she has got +off within these four winters--not one of ‘em now that has not made a +catch-match.--There’s the eldest of the set, Mrs. Tollemache, what had +she, in the devil’s name, to set up with in the world but a pair of good +eyes?--her aunt, to be sure, taught her the use of them early enough: +they might have rolled to all eternity before they would have rolled me +out of my senses; but you see they did Tollemache’s business. However, +they are going to part now, I hear: Tollemache was tired of her before +the honey-moon was over, as I foretold. Then there’s the musical girl. +Joddrell, who has no more ear than a post, went and married her, because +he had a mind to set up for a connoisseur in music; and Mrs. Stanhope +flattered him that he was one.” + +The gentlemen joined in the general laugh: the tragic muse sighed. + +“Even were she at the School for Scandal, the tragic muse dare not +laugh, except behind her mask,” said Clarence Hervey. + +“Far be it from her to laugh at those follies which she must for ever +deplore!” said Belinda, in a feigned voice.--“What miseries spring from +these ill-suited marriages! The victims are sacrificed before they have +sense enough to avoid their fate.” + +Clarence Hervey imagined that this speech alluded to Lady Delacour’s own +marriage. + +“Damn me if I know any woman, young or old, that would _avoid_ being +married, if she could, though,” cried Sir Philip Baddely, a gentleman +who always supplied “each vacuity of sense” with an oath: “but, +Rochfort, didn’t Valleton marry one of these nieces?” + +“Yes: she was a mighty fine dancer, and had good legs enough: Mrs. +Stanhope got poor Valleton to fight a duel about her place in a country +dance, and then he was so pleased with himself for his prowess, that he +married the girl.” + +Belinda made an effort to change her seat, but she was encompassed so +that she could not retreat. + +“As to Jenny Mason, the fifth of the _nieces_,” continued the witty +gentleman, “she was as brown as mahogany, and had neither eyes, nose, +mouth, nor legs: what Mrs. Stanhope could do with her I often wondered; +but she took courage, _rouged_ her up, set her a going as a _dasher_, +and she dashed herself into Tom Levit’s curricle, and Tom couldn’t get +her out again till she was the honourable Mrs. Levit: she then took the +reins into her own hands, and I hear she’s driving him and herself _the +road to ruin_ as fast as they can gallop. As for this Belinda Portman, +‘twas a good hit to send her to Lady Delacour’s; but, I take it she +hangs upon hand; for last winter, when I was at Bath, she was hawked +about every where, and the aunt was puffing her with might and main. You +heard of nothing, wherever you went, but of Belinda Portman, and Belinda +Portman’s accomplishments: Belinda Portman, and her accomplishments, +I’ll swear, were as well advertised as Packwood’s razor strops.” + +“Mrs. Stanhope overdid the business, I think,” resumed the gentleman who +began the conversation: “girls brought to the hammer this way don’t go +off well. It’s true, Christie himself is no match for dame Stanhope. +Many of my acquaintance were tempted to go and look at the premises, but +not one, you may be sure, had a thought of becoming a tenant for life.” + +“That’s an honour reserved for you, Clarence Hervey,” said another, +tapping him upon the shoulder.--“Give ye joy, Hervey; give ye joy!” + +“Me!” said Clarence, starting. + +“I’ll be hanged if he didn’t change colour,” said his facetious +companion; and all the young men again joined in a laugh. + +“Laugh on, my merry men all!” cried Clarence; “but the devil’s in it if +I don’t know my own mind better than any of you. You don’t imagine I +go to Lady Delacour’s to look for a _wife?_--Belinda Portman’s a good +pretty girl, but what then? Do you think I’m an idiot?--do you think I +could be taken in by one of the Stanhope school? Do you think I don’t +see as plainly as any of you that Belinda Portman’s a composition of art +and affectation?” + +“Hush--not so loud, Clarence; here she comes,” said his companion. “The +comic muse, is not she--?” + +Lady Delacour, at this moment, came lightly tripping towards them, +and addressing herself, in the character of the comic muse, to Hervey, +exclaimed, + +“Hervey! _my_ Hervey! most favoured of my votaries, why do you forsake +me? + + ‘Why mourns my friend, why weeps his downcast eye? + That eye where mirth and fancy used to shine.’ + +Though you have lost your serpent’s form, yet you may please any of the +fair daughters of Eve in your own.” + +Mr. Hervey bowed; all the gentlemen who stood near him smiled; the +tragic muse gave an involuntary sigh. + +“Could I borrow a sigh, or a tear, from my tragic sister,” pursued Lady +Delacour, “however unbecoming to my character, I would, if only sighs or +tears can win the heart of Clarence Hervey:--let me practise”--and her +ladyship practised sighing with much comic effect. + + “Persuasive words and more persuasive sighs,” + +said Clarence Hervey. + +“A good bold Stanhope cast of the net, faith,” whispered one of his +companions. “Melpomene, hast thou forgot thyself to marble?” pursued +Lady Delacour. “I am not very well,” whispered Miss Portman to her +ladyship: “could we get away?” + +“Get away from Clarence Hervey, do you mean?” replied her ladyship, in +a whisper: “‘tis not easy, but we’ll try what can be done, if it is +necessary.” + +Belinda had no power to reply to this raillery; indeed, she scarcely +heard the words that were said to her; but she put her arm within Lady +Delacour’s, who, to her great relief, had the good nature to leave the +room with her immediately. Her ladyship, though she would sacrifice the +feelings of others, without compunction, to her vanity, whenever +the power of her wit was disputed, yet towards those by whom it was +acknowledged she showed some mercy. + +“What is the matter with the child?” said she, as she went down the +staircase. + +“Nothing, if I could have air,” said Belinda. There was a crowd of +servants in the hall. + +“Why does Lady Delacour avoid me so pertinaciously? What crime have I +committed, that I was not favoured with one word?” said Clarence Hervey, +who had followed them down stairs, and overtook them in the hall. + +“Do see if you can find any of my people,” cried Lady Delacour. + +“Lady Delacour, the comic muse!” exclaimed Mr. Hervey. “I thought--” + +“No matter what you thought,” interrupted her ladyship. “Let my +carriage draw up, for here’s a young friend of yours trembling so about +_nothing_, that I am half afraid she will faint; and you know it would +not be so pleasant to faint here amongst footmen. Stay! this room is +empty. O, I did not mean to tell _you_ to stay,” said she to Hervey, who +involuntarily followed her in the utmost consternation. + +“I’m perfectly well, now--perfectly well,” said Belinda. + +“Perfectly a simpleton, I think,” said Lady Delacour. “Nay, my dear, you +must be ruled; your mask must come off: didn’t you tell me you wanted +air?--What now! This is not the first time Clarence Hervey has ever +seen your face without a mask, is it? It’s the first time indeed he, or +anybody else, ever saw it of such a colour, I believe.” + +When Lady Delacour pulled off Belinda’s mask, her face was, during the +first instant, pale; the next moment, crimsoned over with a burning +blush. + +“What is the matter with ye both? How he stands!” said Lady Delacour, +turning to Mr. Hervey. “Did you never see a woman blush before?--or did +you never say or do any thing to make a woman blush before? Will you +give Miss Portman a glass of water?--there’s some behind you on that +sideboard, man!--but he has neither eyes, ears, nor understanding.--Do +go about your business,” said her ladyship, pushing him towards the +door--“Do go about your business, for I haven’t common patience with +you: on my conscience I believe the man’s in love--and not with me! +That’s sal-volatile for you, child, I perceive,” continued she to +Belinda. “O, you can walk now--but remember you are on slippery ground: +remember Clarence Hervey is not a marrying man, and you are not a +married woman.” + +“It is perfectly indifferent to me, madam,” Belinda said, with a voice +and look of proud indignation. + +“Lady Delacour, your carriage has drawn up,” said Clarence Hervey, +returning to the door, but without entering. + +“Then put this ‘perfectly well’ and ‘perfectly indifferent’ lady into +it,” said Lady Delacour. + +He obeyed without uttering a syllable. + +“Dumb! absolutely dumb! I protest,” said her ladyship, as he handed her +in afterwards. “Why, Clarence, the casting of your serpent’s skin seems +to have quite changed your nature--nothing but the simplicity of the +dove left; and I expect to hear, you cooing presently--don’t you, Miss +Portman?” She ordered the coachman to drive to the Pantheon. + +“To the Pantheon! I was in hopes your ladyship would have the goodness +to set me down at home; for indeed I shall be a burden to you and +everybody else at the masquerade.” + +“If you have made any appointment for the rest of the evening in +Berkley-square, I’ll set you down, certainly, if you insist upon it, my +dear--for punctuality is a virtue; but prudence is a virtue too, in a +young lady; who, as your aunt Stanhope would say, has to _establish_ +herself in the world. Why these tears, Belinda?--or are they tears? for +by the light of the lamps I can scarcely tell; though I’ll swear I saw +the handkerchief at the eyes. What is the meaning of all this? You’d +best trust me--for I know as much of men and manners as your aunt +Stanhope at least; and in one word, you have nothing to fear from me, +and every thing to hope from yourself, if you will only dry up your +tears, _keep on your mask_, and take my advice; you’ll find it as good +as your aunt Stanhope’s.” + +“My aunt Stanhope’s! O,” cried Belinda, “never, never more will I take +such advice; never more will I expose myself to be insulted as a female +adventurer.--Little did I know in what a light I appeared; little did +I know what _gentlemen_ thought of my aunt Stanhope, of my cousins, of +myself!” + +“_Gentlemen_! I presume Clarence Hervey stands at this instant, in your +imagination, as the representative of all the gentlemen in England; and +he, instead of Anacharsis Cloots, is now, to be sure, l’orateur du genre +humain. Pray let me have a specimen of the eloquence, which, to judge by +its effects, must be powerful indeed.” + +Miss Portman, not without some reluctance, repeated the conversation +which she had heard.--“And is this all?” cried Lady Delacour. “Lord, +my dear, you must either give up living in the world, or expect to +hear yourself, and your aunts, and your cousins, and your friends, from +generation to generation, abused every hour in the day by their friends +and your friends; ‘tis the common course of things. Now you know what a +multitude of obedient humble servants, dear creatures, and very sincere +and most affectionate friends, I have in my writing-desk, and on my +mantel-piece, not to mention the cards which crowd the common rack from +intimate acquaintance, who cannot live without the honour, or favour, +or pleasure of seeing Lady Delacour twice a week;--do you think I’m fool +enough to imagine that they would care the hundredth part of a straw if +I were this minute thrown into the Red or the Black Sea?--No, I have not +one _real_ friend in the world except Harriot Freke; yet, you see I +am the comic muse, and mean to keep it up--keep it up to the last--on +purpose to provoke those who would give their eyes to be able to pity +me;--I humbly thank them, no pity for Lady Delacour. Follow my example, +Belinda; elbow your way through the crowd: if you stop to be civil and +beg pardon, and ‘_hope I didn’t hurt ye_,’ you will be trod under foot. +Now you’ll meet those young men continually who took the liberty of +laughing at your aunt, and your cousins, and yourself; they are men of +fashion. Show them you’ve no feeling, and they’ll acknowledge you for +a woman of fashion. You’ll marry better than any of your +cousins,--Clarence Hervey if you can; and then it will be your turn to +laugh about nets and cages. As to love and all that--” + +The carriage stopped at the Pantheon just as her ladyship came to the +words “love and all that.” Her thoughts took a different turn, and +during the remainder of the night she exhibited, in such a manner as to +attract universal admiration, all the ease, and grace, and gaiety, of +Euphrosyne. + +To Belinda the night appeared long and dull: the commonplace wit of +chimney-sweepers and gipsies, the antics of harlequins, the graces +of flower-girls and Cleopatras, had not power to amuse her; for her +thoughts still recurred to that conversation which had given her so much +pain--a pain which Lady Delacour’s raillery had failed to obliterate. + +“How happy you are, Lady Delacour,” said she, when they got into the +carriage to go home; “how happy you are to have such an amazing flow of +spirits!” + +“Amazing you might well say, if you knew all,” said Lady Delacour; and +she heaved a deep sigh, threw herself back in the carriage, let fall her +mask, and was silent. It was broad daylight, and Belinda had a full view +of her countenance, which was the picture of despair. She uttered not +one syllable more, nor had Miss Portman the courage to interrupt her +meditations till they came within sight, of Lady Singleton’s, when +Belinda ventured to remind her that she had resolved to stop there and +change dresses before Marriott saw them. + +“No, it’s no matter,” said Lady Delacour; “Marriott will leave me at the +last, like all the rest--‘tis no matter.” Her ladyship sunk back into +her former attitude; but after she had remained silent for some minutes, +she started up and exclaimed-- + +“If I had served myself with half the zeal that I have served the +world, I should not now be thus forsaken! I have sacrificed reputation, +happiness, every thing to the love of frolic:--all frolic will soon be +at an end with me--I am dying--and I shall die unlamented by any human +being. If I were to live my life over again, what a different life it +should be!--What a different person _I would be!_[1]--But it is all over +now--I am dying.” + +Belinda’s astonishment at these words, and at the solemn manner in which +they were pronounced, was inexpressible; she gazed at Lady Delacour, and +then repeated the word,--‘dying!’--“Yes, dying!” said Lady Delacour. + +“But you seem to me, and to all the world, in perfect health; and but +half an hour ago in perfect spirits,” said Belinda. + +“I seem to you and to all the world, what I am not--I tell you I am +dying,” said her ladyship in an emphatic tone. + +Not a word more passed till they got home. Lady Delacour hurried up +stairs, bidding Belinda follow her to her dressing-room. Marriott was +lighting the six wax candles on the dressing-table.--“As I live, they +have changed dresses after all,” said Marriott to herself, as she fixed +her eyes upon Lady Delacour and Miss Portman. “I’ll be burnt, if I don’t +make my lady remember this.” + +“Marriott, you need not wait; I’ll ring when I want you,” said Lady +Delacour; and taking one of the candles from the table, she passed +on hastily with Miss Portman through her dressing-room, through her +bedchamber, and to the door of the mysterious cabinet. + +“Marriott, the key of this door,” cried she impatiently, after she had +in vain attempted to open it. + +“Heavenly graciousness!” cried Marriott; “is my lady out of her senses?” + +“The key--the key--quick, the key,” repeated Lady Delacour, in a +peremptory tone. She seized it as soon as Marriott drew it from her +pocket, and unlocked the door. + +“Had not I best put _the things_ to rights, my lady?” said Marriott, +catching fast hold of the opening door. + +“I’ll ring when you are wanted, Marriott,” said Lady Delacour; and +pushing open the door with violence she rushed forward to the middle of +the room, and turning back, she beckoned to Belinda to follow her--“Come +in; what is it you are afraid of?” said she. Belinda went on, and the +moment she was in the room, Lady Delacour shut and locked the door. The +room was rather dark, as there was no light in it except what came from +the candle which Lady Delacour held in her hand, and which burned but +dimly. Belinda, as she looked round, saw nothing but a confusion of +linen rags; vials, some empty, some full, and she perceived that there +was a strong smell of medicines. + +Lady Delacour, whose motions were all precipitate, like those of a +person whose mind is in great agitation, looked from side to side of the +room, without seeming to know what she was in search of. She then, +with a species of fury, wiped the paint from her face, and returning to +Belinda, held the candle so as to throw the light full upon her livid +features. Her eyes were sunk, her cheeks hollow; no trace of youth or +beauty remained on her death-like countenance, which formed a horrid +contrast with her gay fantastic dress. + +“You are shocked, Belinda,” said she; “but as yet you have seen +nothing--look here,”--and baring one half of her bosom, she revealed a +hideous spectacle. + +Belinda sunk back into a chair; Lady Delacour flung herself on her knees +before her. + +“Am I humbled, am I wretched enough?” cried she, her voice trembling +with agony. “Yes, pity me for what you have seen, and a thousand times +more for that which you cannot see:--my mind is eaten away like my +body by incurable disease--inveterate remorse--remorse for a life of +folly--of folly which has brought on me all the punishments of guilt.” + +“My husband,” continued she, and her voice suddenly altered from the +tone of grief to that of anger--“my husband hates me--no matter--I +despise him. His relations hate me--no matter--I despise them. My own +relations hate me--no matter, I never wish to see them more--never shall +they see my sorrow--never shall they hear a complaint, a sigh from me. +There is no torture which I could not more easily endure than their +insulting pity. I will die, as I have lived, the envy and admiration +of the world. When I am gone, let them find out their mistake; and +moralize, if they will, over my grave.” She paused. Belinda had no power +to speak. + +“Promise, swear to me,” resumed Lady Delacour vehemently, seizing +Belinda’s hand, “that you will never reveal to any mortal what you +have seen and heard this night. No living creature suspects that Lady +Delacour is dying by inches, except Marriott and that woman whom but a +few hours ago I thought my _real friend_, to whom I trusted every secret +of my life, every thought of my heart. Fool! idiot! dupe that I was to +trust to the friendship of a woman whom I knew to be without principle: +but I thought she had honour; I thought she could never betray _me_,--O +Harriot! Harriot! you to desert me!--Any thing else I could have +borne--but you, who I thought would have supported me in the tortures of +mind and body which I am to go through--you that I thought would receive +my last breath--you to desert me!--Now I am alone in the world--left to +the mercy of an insolent waiting-woman.” + +Lady Delacour hid her face in Belinda’s lap, and almost stifled by the +violence of contending emotions, she at last gave vent to them, and +sobbed aloud. + +“Trust to one,” said Belinda, pressing her hand, with all the tenderness +which humanity could dictate, “who will never leave you at the mercy of +an insolent waiting-woman--trust to me.” + +“Trust to you!” said Lady Delacour, looking up eagerly in Belinda’s +face; “yes--I think--I may trust to you; for though a niece of Mrs. +Stanhope’s, I have seen this day, and have seen with surprise, symptoms +of artless feeling about you. This was what tempted me to open my mind +to you when I found that I had lost the only friend--but I will think +no more of that--if you have a heart, you must feel for me.--Leave +me now--tomorrow you shall hear my whole history--now I am quite +exhausted--ring for Marriott.” Marriott appeared with a face of +constrained civility and latent rage. “Put me to bed, Marriott,” said +Lady Delacour, with a subdued voice; “but first light Miss Portman to +her room--she need not--yet--see the horrid business of my toilette.” + +Belinda, when she was left alone, immediately opened her shutters, and +threw up the sash, to refresh herself with the morning air. She felt +excessively fatigued, and in the hurry of her mind she could not think +of any thing distinctly. She took off her masquerade dress, and went +to bed in hopes of forgetting, for a few hours, what she felt indelibly +impressed upon her imagination. But it was in vain that she endeavoured +to compose herself to sleep; her ideas were in too great and painful +confusion. For some time, whenever she closed her eyes, the face and +form of Lady Delacour, such as she had just beheld them, seemed to +haunt her; afterwards, the idea of Clarence Hervey, and the painful +recollection of the conversation she had overheard, recurred to her: the +words, “Do you think I don’t know that Belinda Portman is a composition +of art and affectation?” fixed in her memory. She recollected with the +utmost minuteness every look of contempt which she had seen in the faces +of the young men whilst they spoke of Mrs. Stanhope, the match-maker. +Belinda’s mind, however, was not yet sufficiently calm to reflect; she +seemed only to live over again the preceding night. At last, the strange +motley figures which she had seen at the masquerade flitted before her +eyes, and she sunk into an uneasy slumber. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +LADY DELACOUR’S HISTORY. + + +Miss Portman was awakened by the ringing of Lady Delacour’s bedchamber +bell. She opened her eyes with the confused idea that something +disagreeable had happened; and before she had distinctly recollected +herself, Marriott came to her bedside, with a note from Lady Delacour: +it was written with a pencil. + +“DELACOUR--_my_ lord!!!! is to have to-day what Garrick used to call +a _gander feast_--will you dine with me tête-à-tête, and I’ll write +an _excuse_, alias a lie, to Lady Singleton, in the form of a charming +note--I pique myself _sur l’éloquence du billet_--then we shall have the +evening to ourselves. I have much to say, as people usually have when +they begin to talk of themselves. + +“I have taken a double dose of opium, and am not so horribly out of +spirits as I was last night; so you need not be afraid of another +_scene_. + +“Let me see you in my dressing-room, dear Belinda, as soon as you have +adored + + ‘With head uncover’d the cosmetic powers.’ + +“But you don’t paint--no matter--you will--you must--every body must, +sooner or later. In the mean time, whenever you want to send a note that +shall not be opened by _the bearer_, put your trust neither in wafer +nor wax, but twist it as I twist mine. You see I wish to put you in +possession of some valuable secrets before I leave this world--this, +by-the-bye, I don’t, upon second thoughts, which are always best, mean +to do yet. There certainly were such people as Amazons--I hope you +admire them--for who could live without the admiration of Belinda +Portman?--not Clarence Hervey assuredly--nor yet + +“T. C. H. DELACOUR.” + +Belinda obeyed the summons to her ladyship’s dressing-room: she found +Lady Delacour with her face completely repaired with paint, and her +spirits with opium. She was in high consultation with Marriott and Mrs. +Franks, the milliner, about the crape petticoat of her birthnight +dress, which was extended over a large hoop in full state. Mrs. Franks +descanted long and learnedly upon festoons and loops, knots and fringes, +submitting all the time every thing to her ladyship’s better judgment. + +Marriott was sulky and silent. She opened her lips but once upon the +question of laburnum or no laburnum flowers. + +Against them she quoted the memoirs and authority of the celebrated Mrs. +Bellamy, who has a case in point to prove that “straw colour must ever +look like dirty white by candlelight.” Mrs. Franks, to compromise the +matter, proposed gold laburnums, “because nothing can look better by +candlelight, or any light, than gold;” and Lady Delacour, who was afraid +that the milliner’s imagination, now that it had once touched upon gold, +might be led to the vulgar idea of _ready money_, suddenly broke up the +conference, by exclaiming, + +“We shall be late at Phillips’s exhibition of French china. Mrs. Franks +must let us see her again to-morrow, to take into consideration +your court dress, my dear Belinda--‘Miss Portman presented by Lady +Delacour’--Mrs. Franks, let her dress, for heaven’s sake, be something +that will make a fine paragraph:--I give you four-and-twenty hours to +think of it. I have done a horrid act this day,” continued she, after +Mrs. Franks had left the room--“absolutely written a _twisted_ note to +Clarence Hervey, my dear--but why did I tell you that? Now your head +will run upon the twisted note all day, instead of upon ‘The Life and +Opinions of a Lady of Quality, related by herself.’” + +After dinner Lady Delacour having made Belinda protest and blush, and +blush and protest, that her head was not running upon the twisted note, +began the history of her life and opinions in the following manner:-- + +“I do nothing by halves, my dear. I shall not tell you my adventures as +Gil Blas told his to the Count d’Olivarez--skipping over the _useful_ +passages. I am no hypocrite, and have nothing worse than folly to +conceal: that’s bad enough--for a woman who is known to play the fool +is always suspected of playing the devil. But I begin where I ought +to end--with my moral, which I dare say you are not impatient to +anticipate. I never read or listened to a moral at the end of a story in +my life:--manners for me, and morals for those that like them. My dear, +you will be woefully disappointed if in my story you expect any thing +like a novel. I once heard a general say, that nothing was less like a +review than a battle; and I can tell you that nothing is more unlike a +novel than real life. Of all lives, mine has been the least romantic. +No love in it, but a great deal of hate. I was a rich heiress--I had, I +believe, a hundred thousand pounds, or more, and twice as many caprices: +I was handsome and witty--or, to speak with that kind of circumlocution +which is called humility, the world, the partial world, thought me a +beauty and a bel-esprit. Having told you my fortune, need I add, that I, +or it, had lovers in abundance--of all sorts and degrees--not to reckon +those, it may be presumed, who died of concealed passions for me? I had +sixteen declarations and proposals in form; then what in the name +of wonder, or of common sense--which by-the-bye is the greatest of +wonders--what, in the name of common sense, made me marry Lord Delacour? +Why, my dear, you--no, not _you_, but any girl who is not used to have +a parcel of admirers, would think it the easiest thing in the world to +make her choice; but let her judge by what she feels when a dexterous +mercer or linen-draper produces pretty thing after pretty thing--and +this is so becoming, and this will wear for ever, as he swears; but then +that’s so fashionable;--the novice stands in a charming perplexity, and +after examining, and doubting, and tossing over half the goods in the +shop, it’s ten to one, when it begins to get late, the young lady, in a +hurry, pitches upon the very ugliest and worst thing that she has seen. +Just so it was with me and my lovers, and just so-- + + ‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,’ + +I pitched upon Viscount Delacour for my lord and judge. He had just at +that time lost at Newmarket more than he was worth in every sense of the +word; and my fortune was the most convenient thing in the world to a man +in his condition. Lozenges are of sovereign use in some complaints. The +heiress lozenge is a specific in some consumptions. You are surprised +that I can laugh and jest about such a melancholy thing as my marriage +with Lord Delacour; and so am I, especially when I recollect all +the circumstances; for though I bragged of there being no love in +my history, there was when I was a goose or a gosling of about +eighteen--just your age, Belinda, I think--something very like love +playing about my heart, or my head. There was a certain Henry Percival, +a Clarence Hervey of a man--no, he had ten times the sense, begging your +pardon, of Clarence Hervey--his misfortune, or mine, was, that he had +too much sense--he was in love with me, but not with my faults; now I, +wisely considering that my faults were the greatest part of me, insisted +upon his being in love with my faults. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t--I said +wouldn’t, he said couldn’t. I had been used to see the men about me lick +the dust at my feet, for it was gold dust. Percival made wry faces--Lord +Delacour made none. I pointed him out to Percival as an example--it was +an example he would not follow. I was provoked, and I married in hopes +of provoking the man I loved. The worst of it was, I did not provoke +him as much as I expected. Six months afterwards I heard of his marriage +with a very amiable woman. I hate those _very amiable women_. Poor +Percival! I should have been a very happy woman, I fancy, if I had +married you--for I believe you were the only man who ever really loved +me; but all that is over now!--Where were we? O, I married my Lord +Delacour, knowing him to be a fool, and believing that, for this reason, +I should find no trouble in governing him. But what a fatal mistake!-a +fool, of all animals in the creation, is the most difficult to govern. +We set out in the fashionable world with a mutual desire to be as +extravagant as possible. Strange, that with this similarity of taste we +could never agree!--strange, that this similarity of taste was the cause +of our perpetual quarrels! During the first year of our marriage, I had +always the upper hand in these disputes, and the last word; and I was +content. Stubborn as the brute was, I thought I should in time break him +in. From the specimens you have seen, you may guess that I was even then +a tolerable proficient in the dear art of _tormenting_. I had almost +gained my point, just broken my lord’s heart, when one fair morning I +unluckily told his man Champfort that he knew no more how to cut hair +than a sheep-shearer. Champfort, who is conceit personified, took mortal +offence at this; and the devil, who is always at hand to turn anger into +malice, put it into Champfort’s head to put it into my lord’s head, that +the world thought--‘_My lady governed him_.’ My lord took fire. They +say the torpedo, the coldest of cold creatures, sometimes gives out +a spark--I suppose when electrified with anger. The next time that +innocent I insisted upon my Lord Delacour’s doing or not doing--I forget +which--the most reasonable thing in the world, my lord turns short +round, and answers--‘My Lady Delacour, I am not a man to be governed by +a wife.’--And from that time to this the words, ‘I am not a man to be +governed by a wife,’ have been written in his obstinate face, as all the +world who can read the human countenance may see. My dear, I laugh; but +even in the midst of laughter there is sadness. But you don’t know +what it is--I hope you never may--to have an obstinate fool for a bosom +friend. + +“I at first flattered myself that my lord’s was not an inveterate, +incurable malady: but from his obvious weakness, I might have seen +that there was no hope; for cases of obstinacy are always dangerous in +proportion to the weakness of the patient. My lord’s case was desperate. +Kill or cure was my humane or prudent maxim. I determined to try the +poison of jealousy, by way of an alterative. I had long kept it in petto +as my ultimate remedy. I fixed upon a proper subject--a man with whom +I thought that I could coquette to all eternity, without any danger to +myself--a certain Colonel Lawless, as empty a coxcomb as you would +wish to see. The world, said I to myself, can never be so absurd as to +suspect Lady Delacour with such a man as this, though her lord may, +and will; for nothing is too absurd for him to believe. Half my theory +proved just; that is saying a great deal for any theory. My lord +swallowed the remedy that I had prepared for him with an avidity and a +bonhommie which it did me good to behold; my remedy operated beyond my +most sanguine expectations. The poor man was cured of his obstinacy, and +became stark mad with jealousy. Then indeed I had some hopes of him; +for a madman can be managed, a fool cannot. In a month’s time I made him +quite docile. With a face longer than the weeping philosopher’s, he came +to me one morning, and assured me, ‘he would do every thing I pleased, +provided I would consult my own honour and his, and give up Colonel +Lawless.’ + +“‘Give up!’--I could hardly forbear laughing at the expression. I +replied, ‘that as long as my lord treated me with becoming respect, I +had never in thought or deed given him just cause of complaint; but that +I was not a woman to be insulted, or to be kept, as I had hitherto +been, in leading-strings by a husband.’ My lord, flattered as I meant he +should be with the idea that it was possible he should be suspected of +keeping a wife in leading-strings, fell to making protestations--‘He +hoped his future conduct would prove,’ &c. Upon this hint, I gave the +reins to my imagination, and full drive I went into a fresh career +of extravagance: if I were checked, it was _an insult_, and I began +directly to talk of _leading-strings_. This ridiculous game I played +successfully enough for some time, till at length, though naturally +rather slow at calculation, he actually discovered, that if we lived at +the rate of twenty thousand a-year, and had only ten thousand a-year to +spend, we should in due time have nothing left. This notable discovery +he communicated to me one morning, after a long preamble. When he had +finished prosing, I agreed that it was demonstrably just that he should +retrench _his_ expenses; but that it was equally unjust and impossible +that I could make any reformation in _my_ civil list: that economy was a +word which I had never heard of in my life till I married his lordship; +that, upon second recollection, it was true I had heard of such a thing +as national economy, and that it would be a very pretty, though rather +hackneyed topic of declamation for a maiden speech in the House of +Lords. I therefore advised him to reserve all he had to say upon the +subject for the noble lord upon the woolsack; nay, I very graciously +added, that upon this condition I would go to the house myself to give +his arguments and eloquence a fair hearing, and that I would do my best +to keep myself awake. This was all mighty playful and witty; but it +happened that my Lord Delacour, who never had any great taste for wit, +could not this unlucky morning at all relish it. Of course I grew +angry, and reminded him, with an indelicacy which his want of generosity +justified, that an heiress, who had brought a hundred thousand pounds +into his family, had some right to amuse herself, and that it was not my +fault if elegant amusements were more expensive than others. + +“Then came a long criminating and recriminating chapter. It was, +‘My lord, your Newmarket blunders’--‘My lady, your cursed +_theatricals_’--‘My lord, I have surely a right’--and, ‘My lady, I have +surely as good a right.’ + +“But, my dear Belinda, however we might pay one another, we could not +pay all the world with words. In short, after running through thousands +and tens of thousands, we were actually in distress for money. Then +came selling of lands, and I don’t know what devices for raising +money, according to the modes of lawyers and attorneys. It was quite +indifferent to me how they got money, provided they did get it. By what +art these gentlemen raised money, I never troubled myself to inquire; it +might have been the black art, for any thing I know to the contrary. I +know nothing of business. So I signed all the papers they brought to me; +and I was mighty well pleased to find, that by so easy an expedient as +writing ‘T. C. H. Delacour,’ I could command money at will. I signed, +and signed, till at last I was with all due civility informed that my +signature was no longer worth a farthing; and when I came to inquire +into the cause of this phenomenon, I could nowise understand what my +Lord Delacour’s lawyer said to me: he was a prig, and I had not patience +either to listen to him or to look at him. I sent for an old uncle of +mine, who used to manage all my money matters before I was married: +I put the uncle and the lawyer into a room, together with their +parchments, to fight the matter out, or to come to a right understanding +if they could. The last, it seems, was quite impossible. In the course +of half an hour, out comes my uncle in such a rage! I never shall forget +his face--all the bile in his body had gotten into it; he had literally +no whites to his eyes. ‘My dear uncle,’ said I, ‘what is the matter? +Why, you are absolutely gold stick in waiting.’ + +“‘No matter what I am, child,’ said the uncle; ‘I’ll tell you what you +are, with all your wit--a dupe: ‘tis a shame for a woman of your sense +to be such a fool, and to know nothing of business; and if you knew +nothing yourself, could not you send for me?’ + +“‘I was too ignorant to know that I know nothing,’ said I. But I will +not trouble you with all the said I’s and said he’s. I was made to +understand, that if Lord Delacour were to die the next day, I should +live a beggar. Upon this I grew serious, as you may imagine. My uncle +assured me that I had been grossly imposed upon by my lord and his +lawyer; and that I had been swindled out of my senses, and out of my +dower. I repeated all that my uncle said, very faithfully, to Lord +Delacour; and all that either he or his lawyer could furnish out by +way of answer was, that ‘Necessity had no law.’ Necessity, it must be +allowed, though it might be the mother of law, was never with my lord +the mother of invention. Having now found out that I had a good right to +complain, I indulged myself in it most gloriously; in short, my dear, we +had a comfortable family quarrel. Love quarrels are easily made up, but +of money quarrels there is no end. From the moment these money quarrels +commenced, I began to hate Lord Delacour; before, I had only despised +him. You can have no notion to what meanness extravagance reduces men. +I have known Lord Delacour shirk, and look so shabby, and tell so many +lies to people about a hundred guineas--a hundred guineas!--what do I +say?--about twenty, ten, five! O, my dear, I cannot bear the thoughts of +it! + +“But I was going on to tell you, that my good uncle and all my relations +quarrelled with me for having ruined myself, as they said; but I said +they quarrelled with me for fear I should ask them for some of their +‘_vile trash_.’ Accordingly, I abused and ridiculed them, one and all; +and for my pains, all my acquaintance said, that ‘Lady Delacour was a +woman of a vast deal of spirit.’ + +“We were relieved from our money embarrassments by the timely death of a +rich nobleman, to whose large estate my Lord Delacour was heir-at-law. I +was intoxicated with the idle compliments of all my acquaintance, and +I endeavoured to console myself for misery at home by gaiety abroad. +Ambitious of pleasing universally, I became the worst of slaves---a +slave to the world. Not a moment of my time was at my own disposal--not +one of my actions; I may say, not one of my thoughts was my own; I was +obliged to find things ‘charming’ every hour, which tired me to death; +and every day it was the same dull round of hypocrisy and dissipation. +You wonder to hear me speak in this manner, Belinda--but one must speak +the truth sometimes; and this is what I have been saying to Harriot +Freke continually, for these ten years past. Then why persist in the +same kind of life? you say. Why, my dear, because I could not stop: I +was fit for this kind of life and for no other: I could not be happy at +_home_; for what sort of a companion could I have made of Lord Delacour? +By this time he was tired of his horse Potatoe, and his horse Highflyer, +and his horse Eclipse, and Goliah, and Jenny Grey, &c.; and he had taken +to hard drinking, which soon turned him, as you see, quite into a beast. + +“I forgot to tell you that I had three children during the first five +years of my marriage. The first was a boy: he was born dead; and my +lord, and all his odious relations, laid the blame upon me, because I +would not be kept prisoner half a year by an old mother of his, a vile +Cassandra, who was always prophesying that my child would not be born +alive. My second child was a girl; but a poor diminutive, sickly thing. +It was the fashion at this time for fine mothers to suckle their own +children: so much the worse for the poor brats. Fine nurses never made +fine children. There was a prodigious rout made about the matter; a vast +deal of sentiment and sympathy, and compliments and inquiries; but after +the novelty was over, I became heartily sick of the business; and at the +end of about three months my poor child was sick too--I don’t much like +to think of it--it died. If I had put it out to nurse, I should have +been thought by my friends an unnatural mother; but I should have saved +its life. I should have bewailed the loss of the infant more, if Lord +Delacour’s relations and my own had not made such lamentations upon the +occasion that I was stunned. I couldn’t or wouldn’t shed a tear; and I +left it to the old dowager to perform in public, as she wished, the part +of chief mourner, and to comfort herself in private by lifting up her +hands and eyes, and railing at me as the most insensible of mothers. All +this time I suffered more than she did; but that is what she shall +never have the satisfaction of knowing. I determined, that if ever I +had another child, I would not have the barbarity to nurse it myself. +Accordingly when my third child, a girl, was born, I sent it off +immediately to the country, to a stout, healthy, broad-faced nurse, +under whose care it grew and flourished; so that at three years old, +when it was brought back to me, I could scarcely believe the chubby +little thing was my own child. The same reasons which convinced me I +ought not to nurse my own child, determined me, _à plus forte raison_, +not to undertake its education. Lord Delacour could not bear the +child, because it was not a boy. The girl was put under the care of a +governess, who plagued my heart out with her airs and tracasseries for +three or four years; at the end of which time, as she turned out to be +Lord Delacour’s mistress in form, I was obliged--in form--to beg she +would leave my house: and I put her pupil into better hands, I hope, at +a celebrated academy for young ladies. There she will, at any rate, be +better instructed than she could be at home. I beg your pardon, my +dear, for this digression on nursing and schooling; but I wanted only +to explain to you why it was that, when I was weary of the business, I +still went on in a course of dissipation. You see I had nothing at home, +either in the shape of husband or children, to engage my affections. +I believe it was this ‘aching void’ in my heart which made me, after +looking abroad some time for a bosom friend, take such a prodigious +fancy to Mrs. Freke. She was just then coming into fashion; she struck +me, the first time I met her, as being downright ugly; but there was a +wild oddity in her countenance which made one stare at her, and she +was delighted to be stared at, especially by me; so we were mutually +agreeable to each other--I as starer, and she as staree. Harriot Freke +had, without comparison, more assurance than any man or woman I ever +saw; she was downright brass, but of the finest kind--Corinthian brass. +She was one of the first who brought what I call _harum scarum_ manners +into fashion. I told you that she had assurance--_impudence_ I should +have called it, for no other word is strong enough. Such things as +I have heard Harriot Freke say!---You will not believe it--but her +conversation at first absolutely made me, like an old-fashioned fool, +wish I had a fan to play with. But, to my astonishment, all this _took_ +surprisingly with a set of fashionable young men. I found it necessary +to _reform_ my manners. If I had not taken heart of grace, and +publicly abjured the heresies of _false delicacy_, I should have been +excommunicated. Lady Delacour’s sprightly elegance--allow me to speak +of myself in the style in which the newspaper writers talk of me--Lady +Delacour’s sprightly elegance was but pale, not to say _faded_ pink, +compared with the scarlet of Mrs. Freke’s dashing audacity. As my rival, +she would on certain ground have beat me hollow; it was therefore good +policy to make her my friend: we joined forces, and nothing could stand +against us. But I have no right to give myself credit for good policy in +forming this intimacy; I really followed the dictates of my heart or my +imagination. There was a frankness in Harriot’s manner which I mistook +for artlessness of character: she spoke with such unbounded freedom on +certain subjects, that I gave her credit for unbounded sincerity on all +subjects: she had the talent of making the world believe _that_ virtue +to be invulnerable by nature which disdained the common outworks of art +for its defence. I, amongst others, took it for granted, that the woman +who could make it her sport to ‘touch the brink of all we hate,’ must +have a stronger head than other people. I have since been convinced, +however, of my mistake. I am persuaded that few can touch the brink +without tumbling headlong down the precipice. Don’t apply this, my +dear, _literally_, to the person of whom we were speaking; I am not base +enough to betray her secrets, however I may have been provoked by her +treachery. Of her character and history you shall hear nothing but what +is necessary for my own justification. The league of amity between +us was scarcely ratified before my Lord Delacour came, with his wise +remonstrating face, to beg me ‘to consider what was due to my own honour +and his.’ Like the cosmogony-man in the Vicar of Wakefield, he came out +over and over with this cant phrase, which had once stood him in stead. +‘Do you think, my lord,’ said I, ‘that because I gave up poor Lawless +to oblige you, I shall give up all common sense to suit myself to your +taste? Harriot Freke is visited by every body but old dowagers and old +maids: I am neither an old dowager nor an old maid--the consequence is +obvious, my lord.’ Pertness in dialogue, my dear, often succeeds better +with my lord than wit: I therefore saved the sterling gold, and bestowed +upon him nothing but counters. I tell you this to save the credit of my +taste and judgment. + +“But to return to my friendship for Harriot Freke. I, of course, +repeated to her every word which had passed between my husband and me. +She out-heroded Herod upon the occasion; and laughed so much at what she +called my folly in _pleading guilty_ in the Lawless cause, that I +was downright ashamed of myself, and, purely to prove my innocence, I +determined, upon the first convenient opportunity, to renew my intimacy +with the colonel. The opportunity which I so ardently desired of +redeeming my independence was not long wanting. Lawless, as my stars +(which you know are always more in fault than ourselves) would have it, +returned just at this time from the continent, where he had been with +his regiment; he returned with a wound across his forehead and a black +fillet, which made him look something more like a hero, and ten times +more like a coxcomb, than ever. He was in fashion, at all events; and +amongst other ladies, Mrs. Luttridge, odious Mrs. Luttridge! smiled +upon him. The colonel, however, had taste enough to know the difference +between smile and smile: he laid himself and his laurels at my feet, and +I carried him and them about in triumph. Wherever I went, especially +to Mrs. Luttridge’s, envy and scandal joined hands to attack me, and I +heard wondering and whispering wherever I went. I had no object in view +but to provoke my husband; therefore, conscious of the purity of my +intentions, it was my delight to brave the opinion of the wondering +world. I gave myself no concern about the effect my coquetry might have +upon the object of this flirtation. Poor Lawless! Heart, I took it for +granted, he had none; how should a coxcomb come by a heart? Vanity I +knew he had in abundance, but this gave me no alarm, as I thought that +if it should ever make him forget him self, I mean forget what was due +to me, I could, by one flash of my wit, strike him to the earth, +or blast him for ever. One night we had been together at Mrs. +Luttridge’s;--she, amongst other good things, kept a faro bank, and, I +am convinced, cheated. Be that as it may, I lost an immensity of money, +and it was my pride to lose with as much gaiety as any body else could +win; so I was, or appeared to be, in uncommonly high spirits, and +Lawless had his share of my good humour. We left Mrs. Luttridge’s +together early, about half-past one. As the colonel was going to hand me +to my carriage, a smart-looking young man, as I thought, came up close +to the coach door, and stared me full in the face: I was not a woman to +be disconcerted at such a thing as this, but I really was startled when +the young fellow jumped into the carriage after me: I thought he was +mad: I had only courage enough to scream. Lawless seized hold of the +intruder to drag him out, and out he dragged the youth, exclaiming, in a +high tone, ‘What is the meaning of all this, sir? Who the devil are +you? My name’s Lawless: who the devil are you?’ The answer to this was a +convulsion of laughter. By the laugh I knew it to be Harriot Freke. ‘Who +am I? only a Freke!’ cried she: ‘shake hands.’ I gave her my hand, into +the carriage she sprang, and desired the colonel to follow her: Lawless +laughed, we all laughed, and drove away. ‘Where do you think I’ve been?’ +said Harriot; ‘in the gallery of the House of Commons; almost squeezed +to death these four hours; but I swore I’d hear Sheridan’s speech +to-night, and I did; betted fifty guineas I would with Mrs. Luttridge, +and have won. Fun and Freke for ever, huzza!’ Harriot was mad with +spirits, and so noisy and unmanageable, that, as I told her, I was sure +she was drunk. Lawless, in his silly way, laughed incessantly, and I was +so taken up with her oddities, that, for some time, I did not perceive +we were going the Lord knows where; till, at last, when the ‘larum of +Harriot’s voice ceased for an instant, I was struck with the strange +sound of the carriage. ‘Where are we? not upon the stones, I’m sure,’ +said I; and putting my head out of the window, I saw we were beyond the +turnpike. ‘The coachman’s drunk as well as you, Harriot,’ said I; and +I was going to pull the string to stop him, but Harriot had hold of it. +‘The man is going very right,’ said she; ‘I’ve told him where to go. Now +don’t fancy that Lawless and I are going to run away with you. All this +is unnecessary now-a-days, thank God!’ To this I agreed, and laughed for +fear of being ridiculous. ‘Guess where you are going,’ said Harriot, I +guessed and guessed, but could not guess right; and my merry companions +were infinitely diverted with my perplexity and impatience, more +especially as, I believe, in spite of all my efforts, I grew rather +graver than usual. We went on to the end of Sloane-street, and quite +out of town; at last we stopped. It was dark; the footman’s flambeau was +out; I could only just see by the lamps that we were at the door of +a lone, odd-looking house. The house door opened, and an old woman +appeared with a lantern in her hand. + +“‘Where is this farce, or freak, or whatever you call it, to end?’ said +I, as Harriot pulled me into the dark passage along with her. + +“Alas! my dear Belinda,” said Lady Delacour, pausing, “I little foresaw +where or how it was to end. But I am not come yet to the tragical part +of my story, and as long as I can laugh I will. As the old woman and her +miserable light went on before us, I could almost have thought of Sir +Bertrand, or of some German _horrifications_; but I heard Lawless, who +never could help laughing at the wrong time, bursting behind me, with a +sense of his own superiority. + +“‘Now you will learn your destiny, Lady Delacour!’ said Harriot, in a +solemn tone. + +“‘Yes! from the celebrated Mrs. W----, the modern dealer in art magic,’ +said I, laughing, ‘for, now I guess whereabouts I am. Colonel Lawless’s +laugh broke the spell. Harriot Freke, never whilst you live expect to +succeed in _the sublime_.’ Harriot swore at the colonel for the veriest +_spoil-sport_ she had ever seen, and she whispered to me--‘The reason he +laughs is because he is afraid of our suspecting the truth of him, that +he believes _tout de bon_ in conjuration, and the devil, and all that.’ +The old woman, whose cue I found was to be dumb, opened a door at the +top of a narrow staircase, and pointing to a tall figure, completely +enveloped in fur, left us to our fate. I will not trouble you with +a pompous description of all the mummery of the scene, my dear, as I +despair of being able to frighten you out of your wits. I should have +been downright angry with Harriot Freke for bringing me to such a place, +but that I knew women of the first fashion had been with Mrs. W---- +before us--some in sober sadness, some by way of frolic. So as there +was no fear of being ridiculous, there was no shame, you know, and my +conscience was quite at ease. Harriot had no conscience, so she was +always at ease; and never more so than in male attire, which she had +been told became her particularly. She supported the character of +a young rake with such spirit and _truth_, that I am sure no common +conjuror could have discovered any thing feminine about her. She rattled +on with a set of nonsensical questions; and among other things she +asked, ‘How soon will Lady Delacour marry again after her lord’s death?’ + +“‘She will never marry after her lord’s death,’ answered the oracle. +‘Then she will marry during his lifetime,’ said Harriot. ‘True,’ +answered the oracle. Colonel Lawless laughed; I was angry; and the +colonel would have been quiet, for he was a gentleman, but there was no +such thing as managing Mrs. Freke, who, though she had laid aside the +modesty of her own sex, had not acquired the decency of the other. ‘Who +is to be Lady Delacour’s second husband?’ cried she; ‘you’ll not offend +any of the present company by naming the man.’ ‘Her second husband +I cannot name,’ replied the oracle, ‘but let her beware of a Lawless +lover.’ Mrs. Freke and Colonel Lawless, encouraged by her, triumphed +over me without mercy--I may say, without shame! Well, my dear, I am in +a hurry to have done with all this: though I ‘_doted upon folly_,’ yet I +was terrified at the thoughts of any thing worse. The idea of a divorce, +the public brand of a shameful life, shocked me in spite of all my real +and all my assumed levity. O that I had, at this instant, dared to +_be myself_! But my fear of ridicule was greater than my fear of vice. +‘Bless me, my dear Lady Delacour,’ whispered Harriot, as we left this +house, ‘what can make you in such a desperate hurry to get home? You +gape and fidget: one would think you had never sat up a night before in +your life. I verily believe you are afraid to trust yourself with us. +Which of us are you afraid of, Lawless, or me, or _yourself_?’ There was +a tone of contempt in the last words which piqued me to the quick; and +however strange it may seem, I was now anxious only to convince Harriot +that I was not afraid of myself. False shame made me act as if I had no +shame. You would not suspect me of knowing any thing of false shame, but +depend upon it, my dear, many, who appear to have as much assurance as +I have, are secretly its slaves. I moralize, because I am come to a part +of my story which I should almost be glad to omit; but I promised you +that there should be no sins of omission. It was light, but not broad +daylight, when we got to Knightsbridge. Lawless, encouraged (for I +cannot deny it) by the levity of my manner, as well as of Harriot’s, +was in higher and more familiar spirits than I ever saw him. Mrs. +Freke desired me to set her down at her sister’s, who lived in +Grosvenor-place: I did so, and I beg you to believe that I was in an +agony, to get rid of my colonel at the same time; but you know I could +not, before Harriot Freke, absolutely say to him, ‘Get out!’ Indeed, to +tell things as they were, it was scarcely possible to guess by my manner +that I was under any anxiety, I acted my part so well, or so ill. As +Harriot Freke jumped out of the coach, a cock crowed in the area of her +sister’s house: ‘There!’ cried Harriot, ‘do you hear the cock crow, +Lady Delacour? Now it’s to be hoped your fear of goblins is over, else +I would not be so cruel as to leave the pretty dear all alone.’ ‘All +alone!’ answered I: ‘your friend the colonel is much obliged to you +for making nobody of him.’ ‘My friend the colonel,’ whispered Harriot, +leaning with her bold masculine arms on the coach door--‘my friend +the colonel is much obliged to me, I’m sure, for remembering what the +cunning or the knowing woman told us just now: so when I said I left +you alone, I was not guilty of a bull, was I?’ I had the grace to be +heartily ashamed of this speech, and called out, in utter confusion, ‘To +Berkley-square. But where shall I set you down, colonel? Harriot, good +morning: don’t forget you are in man’s clothes.’ I did not dare to +repeat the question of ‘where shall I set you down, colonel?’ at this +instant, because Harriot gave me such an arch, sneering look, as much as +to say, ‘Still afraid of yourself!’ We drove on: I’m persuaded that the +confusion which, in spite of all my efforts, broke through my affected +levity, encouraged Lawless, who was naturally a coxcomb and a fool, +to believe that I was actually his, else he never could have been so +insolent. In short, my dear, before we had got through the turnpike +gate, I was downright obliged to say to him, ‘Get out!’ which I did with +a degree of indignation that quite astonished him. He muttered something +about ladies knowing their minds; and I own, though I went off with +flying colours, I secretly blamed myself as much as I did him, and I +blamed Harriot more than I did either. I sent for her the next day, as +soon as I could, to consult her. She expressed such astonishment, and +so much concern at this catastrophe of our night’s frolic, and blamed +herself with so many oaths, and execrated Lawless for a coxcomb, so much +to the ease and satisfaction of my conscience, that I was confirmed +in my good opinion of her, and indeed felt for her the most lively +affection and esteem; for observe, with me esteem ever followed +affection, instead of affection following esteem. Woe be to all who in +morals preposterously put the cart before the horse! But to proceed +with my history: all fashionable historians stop to make reflections, +supposing that no one else can have the sense to make any. My _esteemed_ +friend agreed with me that it would be best for all parties concerned +to hush up this business; that as Lawless was going out of town in a few +days, to be elected for a borough, we should get rid of him in the +best way possible, without ‘more last words;’ that he had been punished +sufficiently on the spot, and that to punish twice for the same offence, +once in private and once in public, would be contrary to the laws of +Englishmen and Englishwomen, and in my case would be contrary to the +evident dictates of prudence, because I could not complain without +calling upon Lord Delacour to call Lawless out; this I could not do +without acknowledging that his lordship had been in the right, in +warning me about his _honour and my own_, which old phrase I dreaded to +hear for the ninety-ninth time: besides, Lord Delacour was the last man +in the world I should have chosen for my knight, though unluckily he was +my lord; besides, all things considered, I thought the whole story might +not tell so well in the world for me, tell it which way I would: we +therefore agreed that it would be most expedient to hold our tongues. We +took it for granted that Lawless would hold his, and as for my people, +they knew nothing, I thought, or if they did, I was sure of them. How +the thing got abroad I could not at the time conceive, though now I am +well acquainted with the baseness and treachery of the woman I called my +friend. The affair was known and talked of every where the next day, +and the story was told especially at odious Mrs. Luttridge’s, with +such exaggerations as drove me almost mad. I was enraged, inconceivably +enraged with Lawless, from whom I imagined the reports originated. + +“I was venting my indignation against him in a room full of company, +where I had just made my story good, when a gentleman, to whom I was +a stranger, came in breathless, with the news that Colonel Lawless was +killed in a duel by Lord Delacour; that they were carrying him home to +his mother’s, and that the body was just going by the door. The company +all crowded to the windows immediately, and I was left standing alone +till I could stand no longer. What was said or done after this I do +not remember; I only know that when I came to myself, the most dreadful +sensation I ever experienced was the certainty that I had the blood of a +fellow-creature to answer for.--I wonder,” said Lady Delacour, breaking +off at this part of her history, and rising suddenly, “I wonder what +is become of Marriott!--surely it is time for me to have my drops. +Miss Portman, have the goodness to ring, for I _must_ have something +immediately.” Belinda was terrified at the wildness of her manner. Lady +Delacour became more composed, or put more constraint upon herself, at +the sight of Marriott. Marriott brought from the closet in her lady’s +room the drops, which Lady Delacour swallowed with precipitation. Then +she ordered coffee, and afterward chasse-café, and at last, turning to +Belinda, with a forced smile, she said-- + +“Now shall the Princess Scheherazade go on with her story?” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +LADY DELACOUR’S HISTORY CONTINUED. + + +“I left off with the true skill of a good story-teller, at the most +interesting part--a duel; and yet duels are so common now that they are +really vulgar incidents. + +“But we think that a duel concerning ourselves must be more +extraordinary than any other. We hear of men being shot in duels about +nothing every day, so it is really a weakness in me to think so much +about poor Lawless’s death, as Harriot Freke said to me at the time. She +expected to see me show sorrow in _public_; but very fortunately for +me, she roused my pride, which was always stronger than my reason; and I +behaved myself upon the occasion as became a fine lady. There were some +things, however, I could hardly stand. You must know that Lawless, fool +and coxcomb as he was, had some magnanimity, and showed it--as some +people do from whom it is least expected--on his death-bed. The last +words he said were, ‘Lady Delacour is innocent--I charge you, don’t +prosecute Lord Delacour.’ This he said to his mother, who, to complete +my misery, is one of the most respectable women in England, and was +most desperately fond of Lawless, who was an only son. She never has +recovered his loss. Do you remember asking me who a tall elderly lady in +mourning was, that you saw getting into her carriage one day, at South +Audley-street chapel, as we passed by in our way to the park? That was +Lady Lawless: I believe I didn’t answer you at the time. I meet her +every now and then--to me a spectre of dismay. But, as Harriot Freke +said, certainly such a man as poor Lawless was a useless being in +society, however he may be regretted by a doting mother. We should see +things in a philosophical light, if we can. I should not have suffered +half as much as I did if he had been a man of a stronger understanding; +but he was a poor, vain, weak creature, that I actually drew on and +duped with my own coquetry, whilst all the time I was endeavouring only +to plague Lord Delacour. I was punished enough by the airs his +lordship doubly gave himself, upon the strength of his valour and his +judgment--they roused me completely; and I blamed him with all my might, +and got an enormous party of my friends, I mean my acquaintance, to +run him down full cry, for having fought for me. It was absurd--it was +rash--it was want of proper confidence in his wife; _thus we_ said. Lord +Delacour had his partisans, it is true; amongst whom the loudest was +odious Mrs. Luttridge. I embraced the first opportunity I met with of +retaliation. You must know that Mrs. Luttridge, besides being a great +faro-player, was a great dabbler in politics; for she was almost as fond +of power as of money: she talked loud and fluently, and had, somehow or +other, partly by intriguing, partly by relationship, connected herself +with some of the leading men in parliament. There was to be a contested +election in our country: Mr. Luttridge had a good estate there next +to Lord Delacour’s, and being of an ancient family, and keeping a good +table, the Luttridges were popular enough. At the first news of an +election, out comes a flaming advertisement from Mr. Luttridge; away +posted Mrs. Luttridge to begin her canvass, and away posted Lady +Delacour after her, to canvass for a cousin of Harriot Freke. This was a +new scene for me; but I piqued myself on the versatility of my talents, +and I laid myself out in please all the squires, and, what was more +difficult, all the squires’ ladies, in ----shire. I was ambitious to +have it said of me, ‘that I was the finest figure that ever appeared +upon a canvass.’ O, ye ----shireians, how hard did I work to obtain your +praise! All that the combined force of vanity and hatred could inspire +I performed, and with success. You have but little curiosity, I presume, +to know how many hogsheads of port went down the throat of John Bull, or +how many hecatombs were offered up to the genius of English liberty. My +hatred to Mrs. Luttridge was, of course, called love of my country. Lady +Delacour was deified by all _true_ patriots; and, luckily, a handsome +legacy left me for my spirit, by an uncle who died six weeks before the +election, enabled us to sustain the expense of my apotheosis. The day of +election came; Harriot Freke and I made our appearance on the hustings, +dressed in splendid party uniforms; and before us our knights and +squires held two enormous panniers full of ribands and cockades, which +we distributed with a grace that won all hearts, if not all votes. Mrs. +Luttridge thought the panniers would carry the election; and forthwith +she sent off an express for a pair of panniers twice as large as ours. I +took out my pencil, and drew a caricature of _the ass and her panniers_; +wrote an epigram at the bottom of it; and the epigram and the caricature +were soon in the hands of half ----shire. The verses were as bad as +impromptus usually are, and the drawing was not much better than +the writing; but the _good-will_ of the critics supplied all my +deficiencies; and never was more praise bestowed upon the pen of Burke, +or the pencil of Reynolds, than was lavished upon me by my honest +friends. My dear Belinda, if you will not quarrel with the quality, you +may have what quantity of praise you please. Mrs. Luttridge, as I hoped +and expected, was beyond measure enraged at the sight of the caricature +and epigram. She was, besides being a gamester and a politician--what do +you think?--an excellent shot! She wished, she said, to be a man, that +she might be qualified to take proper notice of my conduct. The same +kind friends who showed her my epigram repeated to me her observation +upon it. Harriot Freke was at my elbow, and offered to take any +_message_ I might think proper to Mrs. Luttridge. I scarcely thought her +in earnest till she added, that the only way left now-a-days for a woman +to distinguish herself was by spirit; as every thing else was grown +‘cheap and vulgar in the eyes of men;’ that she knew one of the +cleverest young men in England, and a man of fashion into the bargain, +who was just going to publish a treatise ‘upon the Propriety and +Necessity of Female Duelling;’ and that he had demonstrated, beyond +a possibility of doubt, that civilized society could not exist half +a century longer without this necessary improvement. I had prodigious +deference for the masculine superiority, as I thought it, of Harriot’s +understanding. She was a philosopher, and a fine lady--I was only a fine +lady; I had never fired a pistol in my life, and I was a little inclined +to cowardice; but Harriot offered to bet any wager upon the steadiness +of my hand, and assured me that I should charm all beholders in male +attire. In short, as my second, if I would furnish her with proper +credentials, she swore she would undertake to furnish me with clothes, +and pistols, and courage, and every thing I wanted. I sat down to pen +my challenge. When I was writing it, my hand did not tremble _much_--not +more than my Lord Delacour’s always does. The challenge was very +prettily worded: I believe I can repeat it. + +“‘Lady Delacour presents her compliments to Mrs. Luttridge--she is +informed that Mrs. L---- wishes she were a man, that she might be +qualified to take _proper_ notice of Lady D----‘s conduct. Lady Delacour +begs leave to assure Mrs. Luttridge, that though she has the misfortune +to be a woman, she is willing to account for her conduct in any manner +Mrs. L---- may think proper, and at any hour and place she may appoint. +Lady D---- leaves the choice of the weapons to Mrs. L----. Mrs. H. +Freke, who has the honour of presenting this note, is Lady Delacour’s +_friend_ upon this occasion.’ + +“I cannot repeat Mrs. Luttridge’s answer; all I know is, it was not half +as neatly worded as my note; but the essential part of it was, that she +accepted my challenge _with pleasure_, and should do herself the honour +of meeting me at six o’clock the next morning; that Miss Honour O’Grady +would be her _friend_ upon the occasion; and that pistols were the +weapons she preferred. The place of appointment was behind an old barn, +about two miles from the town of ----. The hour was fixed to be early in +the morning, to prevent all probability of interruption. In the evening, +Harriot and I rode to the ground. There were several bullets sticking in +the posts of the barn: this was the place where Mrs. Luttridge had been +accustomed to exercise herself in firing at a mark. I own my courage +‘oozed out’ a little at this sight. The Duke de la Rochefoucault, I +believe, said truly, that ‘many would be cowards if they dared.’ There +seemed to me to be no physical and less moral necessity for my fighting +this duel; but I did not venture to reason on a point of honour with +my spirited second. I bravadoed to Harriot most magnanimously; but at +night, when Marriott was undressing me, I could not forbear giving her +a hint, which I thought might tend to preserve the king’s peace, and +the peace of the county. I went to the ground in the morning in good +spirits, and with a safe conscience. Harriot was in admiration of my +‘lion-port;’ and, to do her justice, she conducted herself with great +coolness upon the occasion; but then it may be observed, that it was I +who was to stand fire, and not she. I thought of poor Lawless a billion +of times, at least, as we were going to the ground; and I had my +presentiments, and my confused notions of poetic justice: but poetic +justice, and all other sorts of justice, went clear out of my head, when +I saw my antagonist and her friend, actually pistol in hand, waiting for +us; they were both in men’s clothes. I secretly called upon the name of +Marriott with fervency, and I looked round with more anxiety than ever +Bluebeard’s wife, or ‘Anne, sister Anne!’ looked to see if any body +was coming: nothing was to be seen but the grass blown by the wind--no +Marriott to throw herself _toute éplorée_ between the combatants--no +peace-officers to bind us over to our good behaviour--no deliverance at +hand; and Mrs. Luttridge, by all the laws of honour, as challenged, was +to have the first shot. Oh, those laws of honour! I was upon the point +of making an apology, in spite of them all, when, to my inexpressible +joy, I was relieved from the dreadful alternative of being shot through +the head, or of becoming a laughing-stock for life, by an incident, less +heroic, I’ll grant you, than opportune. But you shall have the whole +scene, as well as I can recollect it; _as well_--for those who for the +first time go into a field of battle do not, as I am credibly informed +and internally persuaded, always find the clearness of their memories +improved by the novelty of their situation. Mrs. Luttridge, when we came +up, was leaning, with a truly martial negligence, against the wall of +the barn, with her pistol, as I told you, in her hand. She spoke not +a word; but her second, Miss Honour O’Grady, advanced towards us +immediately, and, taking off her hat very manfully, addressed herself +to my second--‘Mistress Harriot Freke, I presume, if I mistake not.’ +Harriot bowed slightly, and answered, ‘Miss Honour O’Grady, I presume, +if I mistake not.’ ‘The same, at your service,’ replied Miss Honour. +‘I have a few words to suggest that may save a great deal of noise, and +bloodshed, and ill-will.’ ‘As to noise,’ said Harriot, ‘it is a thing in +which I delight, therefore I beg that mayn’t be spared on my account; as +to bloodshed, I beg that may not be spared on Lady Delacour’s account, +for her honour, I am sure, is dearer to her than her blood; and, as to +ill-will, I should be concerned to have that saved on Mrs. Luttridge’s +account, as we all know it is a thing in which she delights, even more +than I do in noise, or Lady Delacour in blood: but pray proceed, +Miss Honour O’Grady; you have a few words to suggest.’ ‘Yes, I would +willingly observe, as it is my duty to my _principal_,’ said Honour, +‘that one who is compelled to fire her pistol with her left hand, though +ever so good a shot _naturally_, is by no means on a footing with one +who has the advantage of her right hand.’ Harriot rubbed my pistol with +the sleeve of her coat, and I, recovering my wit with my hopes of being +witty with impunity, answered, ‘Unquestionably, left-handed wisdom and +left-handed courage are neither of them the very best of their kinds; +but we must content ourselves with them _if_ we can have no other.’ +‘That _if_,’ cried Honour O’Grady, ‘is not, like most of the family of +the _ifs_, a peace-maker. My Lady Delacour, I was going to observe that +my principal has met with an unfortunate accident, in the shape of a +whitlow on the fore-finger of her right hand, which incapacitates her +from drawing a trigger; but I am at your service, ladies, either of +you, that can’t put up with a disappointment with good humour.’ I never, +during the whole course of my existence, was more disposed to bear +a disappointment with good humour, to prove that I was incapable of +bearing malice; and to oblige the seconds, for form’s sake, I agreed +that we should take our ground, and fire our pistols into the air. Mrs. +Luttridge, with her left-handed wisdom, fired first; and I, with great +magnanimity, followed her example. I must do my adversary’s second, Miss +Honour O’Grady, the justice to observe, that in this whole affair she +conducted herself not only with the spirit, but with the good-nature +and generosity characteristic of her nation. We met enemies, and parted +friends. + +“Life is a tragicomedy! Though the critics will allow of no such thing +in their books, it is a true representation of what passes in the +world; and of all lives mine has been the most grotesque mixture, or +alternation, I should say, of tragedy and comedy. All this is apropos to +something I have not told you yet. This comic duel ended tragically +for me. ‘How?’ you say. Why, ‘tis clear that I was not shot through the +head; but it would have been better, a hundred times better for me, if +I had; I should have been spared, in this life at least, the torments +of the damned. I was not used to priming and loading: my pistol was +overcharged: when I fired, it recoiled, and I received a blow on my +breast, the consequences of which you have seen. + +“The pain was nothing at the moment compared with what I have since +experienced: but I will not complain till I cannot avoid it. I had not, +at the time I received the blow, much leisure for lamentation; for I had +scarcely discharged my pistol when we heard a loud shout on the other +side of the barn, and a crowd of town’s people, country people, and +haymakers, came pouring down the lane towards us, with rakes and +pitchforks in their hands. An English mob is really a formidable thing. +Marriott had mismanaged her business most strangely: she had, indeed, +spread a report of a duel--a female duel; but the untutored sense of +propriety amongst these rustics was so shocked at the idea of a duel +fought by women in _men’s clothes_, that I verily believe they would +have thrown us into the river with all their hearts. Stupid blockheads! +I am convinced that they would not have been half so much scandalized +if we had boxed in petticoats. The want of these petticoats had nearly +proved our destruction, or at least our disgrace: a peeress after being +ducked, could never have held her head above water again with any grace. +The mob had just closed round us, crying, ‘Shame! shame! shame!--duck +‘em--duck ‘em--gentle or simple--duck ‘em--duck ‘em’--when their +attention was suddenly turned towards a person who was driving up the +lane a large herd of squeaking, grunting pigs. The person was clad in +splendid regimentals, and he was armed with a long pole, to the end +of which hung a bladder, and his pigs were frightened, and they ran +squeaking from one side of the road to the other; and the pig-driver +in regimentals, in the midst of the noise, could not without difficulty +make his voice heard; but at last he was understood to say, that a bet +of a hundred guineas depended upon his being able to keep these pigs +ahead of a flock of turkeys that were following them; and he begged the +mob to give him and his pigs fair play. At the news of this wager, +and at the sight of the gentleman turned pig-driver, the mob were in +raptures; and at the sound of his voice, Harriot Freke immediately +exclaimed, ‘Clarence Hervey! by all that’s lucky!’” + +“Clarence Hervey!” interrupted Belinda. “Clarence Hervey, my dear,” + said Lady Delacour, coolly: “he can do every thing, you know, even drive +pigs, better than any body else!--but let me go on. + +“Harriot Freke shouted in a stentorian voice, which actually made your +pig-driver start: she explained to him in French our distress, and the +cause of it, Clarence was, as I suppose you have discovered long ago, +‘that cleverest young man in England who had written on the propriety +and necessity of female duelling.’ He answered Harriot in French--‘To +attempt your rescue by force would be vain; but I will do better, I +will make a diversion in your favour.’ Immediately our hero, addressing +himself to the sturdy fellow who held me in custody, exclaimed, ‘Huzza, +my boys! Old England for ever! Yonder comes a Frenchman with a flock of +turkeys. My pigs will beat them, for a hundred guineas. Old England for +ever, huzza!’ + +“As he spoke, the French officer, with whom Clarence Hervey had laid the +wager, appeared at the turn of the lane--his turkeys half flying--half +hobbling up the road before him. The Frenchman waved a red streamer over +the heads of his flock--Clarence shook a pole, from the top of which +hung a bladder full of beans. The pigs grunted, the turkeys gobbled, +and the mob shouted: eager for the fame of Old England, the crowd +followed Clarence with loud acclamations. The French officer was +followed with groans and hisses. So great was the confusion, and so +great the zeal of the patriots, that even the pleasure of ducking the +female duellists was forgotten in the general enthusiasm. All eyes and +all hearts were intent upon the race; and now the turkeys got foremost, +and now the pigs. But when we came within sight of the horsepond, I +heard one man cry, ‘Don’t forget the ducking.’ How I trembled! but our +knight shouted to his followers--‘For the love of Old England, my brave +boys, keep between my pigs and the pond:--if our pigs see the water, +they’ll run to it, and England’s undone.’ + +“The whole fury of the mob was by this speech conducted away from us. +‘On, on, my boys, into town, to the market-place: whoever gains the +market-place first wins the day.’ Our general shook the rattling bladder +in triumph over the heads of ‘the swinish multitude,’ and we followed in +perfect security in his train into the town. + +“Men, women, and children, crowded to the windows and doors. ‘Retreat +into the first place you can,’ whispered Clarence to us: we were close +to him. Harriot Freke pushed her way into a milliner’s shop: I could not +get in after her, for a frightened pig turned back suddenly, and almost +threw me down. Clarence Hervey caught me, and favoured my retreat into +the shop. But poor Clarence lost his bet by his gallantry. Whilst he +was manoeuvring in my favour, the turkeys got several yards ahead of the +pigs, and reaching the market-place first, won the race. + +“The French officer found great difficulty in getting safe out of the +town; but Clarence represented to the mob that he was a prisoner on his +parole, and that it would be unlike Englishmen to insult a prisoner. So +he got off without being pelted, and they both returned in safety to +the house of General Y----, where they were to dine, and where +they entertained a large party of officers with the account of this +adventure. + +“Mrs. Freke and I rejoiced in our escape, and we thought that the whole +business was now over; but in this we were mistaken. The news of our +duel, which had spread in the town, raised such an uproar as had never +been heard, even at the noisiest election. Would you believe it?--The +fate of the election turned upon this duel. The common people, one and +all, declared that they would not vote either for Mr. Luttridge or Mr. +Freke, because _as how_--but I need not repeat all the _platitudes_ +that they said. In short, neither ribands nor brandy could bring them +to reason. With true English pig-headedness, they went every man of them +and polled for an independent candidate of their own choosing, whose +wife, forsooth, was a proper behaved woman. + +“The only thing I had to console me for all this was Clarence Hervey’s +opinion that I looked better in man’s clothes than my friend Harriot +Freke. Clarence was charmed with my spirit and grace; but he had not +leisure at that time to attach himself seriously to me, or to any thing. +He was then about nineteen or twenty: he was all vivacity, presumption, +and paradox; he was enthusiastic in support of his opinions; but he was +at the same time the most candid man in the world, for there was no set +of tenets which could be called exclusively his: he adopted in liberal +rotation every possible absurdity; and, to do him justice, defended each +in its turn with the most ingenious arguments that could be devised, and +with a flow of words which charmed the ear, if not the sense. His essay +on female duelling was a most extraordinary performance; it was handed +about in manuscript till it was worn out; he talked of publishing it, +and dedicating it to me. However, this scheme, amongst a million of +others, he _talked of_, but never put into execution. Luckily for him, +many of his follies evaporated in words. I saw but little either of him +or his follies at this time. All I know about him is, that after he +had lost his bet of a hundred guineas, as a pig-driver, by his +knight-errantry in rescuing the female duellists from a mob, he wrote a +very charming copy of verses upon the occasion; and that he was so much +provoked by the stupidity of some of his brother officers who could not +understand the verses, that he took a disgust to the army, and sold his +commission. He set out upon a tour to the continent, and I returned with +Harriot Freke to London, and forgot the existence of such a person as +Clarence Hervey for three or four years. Unless people can be of some +use, or unless they are actually present, let them be ever so agreeable +or meritorious, we are very apt to forget them. One grows strangely +selfish by living in the world: ‘tis a perfect cure for romantic notions +of gratitude, and love, and so forth. If I had lived in the country +in an old manor-house, Clarence Hervey would have doubtless reigned +paramount in my imagination as the deliverer of my life, &c. But in +London one has no time for thinking of deliverers. And yet what I did +with my time I cannot tell you: ‘tis gone, and no trace left. One day +after another went I know not how. Had I wept for every day I lost, I’m +sure I should have cried my eyes out before this time. If I had enjoyed +any amusement in the midst of this dissipation, it would all have been +very well; but I declare to you in confidence I have been tired to +death. Nothing can be more monotonous than the life of a hackneyed fine +lady;--I question whether a dray-horse, or--a horse in a mill, would +willingly exchange places with one, if they could know as much of the +matter as I do. You are surprised at hearing all this from me. My dear +Belinda, how I envy you! You are not yet tired of every thing. _The +world_ has still the gloss of novelty for you; but don’t expect that can +last above a season. My first winter was certainly entertaining enough. +One begins with being charmed with the bustle and glare, and what the +French call _spectacle_; this is over, I think, in six months. I can but +just recollect having been amused at the Theatres, and the Opera, and +the Pantheon, and Ranelagh, and all those places, for their own sakes. +Soon, very soon, we go out to see people, not things: then we grow tired +of seeing people; then we grow tired of being seen by people; and then +we go out merely because we can’t stay at home. A dismal story, and +a true one. Excuse me for showing you the simple truth; well-dressed +falsehood is a personage much more _presentable_. I am now come to an +epoch in my history in which there is a dearth of extraordinary events. +What shall I do? Shall I invent? I would if I could; but I cannot. Then +I must confess to you that during these last four years I should +have died of ennui if I had not been kept alive by my hatred of Mrs. +Luttridge and of my husband. I don’t know which I hate most--O, yes, +I do--I certainly hate Mrs. Luttridge the most; for a woman can always +hate a woman more than she can hate a man, unless she has been in love +with him, which I never was with poor Lord Delacour. Yes! I certainly +hate Mrs. Luttridge the most; I cannot count the number of extravagant +things I have done on purpose to eclipse her. We have had rival routs, +rival concerts, rival galas, rival theatres: she has cost me more than +_she’s_ worth; but then I certainly have mortified her once a month at +least. My hatred to Mrs. Luttridge, my dear, is the remote cause of +my love for you; for it was the cause of my intimacy with your aunt +Stanhope.--Mrs. Stanhope is really a clever woman--she knows how to turn +the hatred of all her friends and acquaintance to her own advantage.--To +serve lovers is a thankless office compared with that of serving +_haters_--polite haters I mean. It may be dangerous, for aught I know, +to interpose in the quarrels of those who hate their neighbours, not +only with all their souls, but with all their strength--the barbarians +fight it out, kiss, and are friends. The quarrels which never come to +blows are safer for a go-between; but even these are not to be compared +to such as never come to words: your true silent hatred is that which +lasts for ever. The moment it was known that Mrs. Luttridge and I had +come to the resolution never to speak to one another, your aunt +Stanhope began to minister to my hatred so, that she made herself quite +agreeable. She one winter gave me notice that my adversary had set her +heart upon having a magnificent entertainment on a particular day. On +that day I determined, of course, to have a rival gala. Mrs. Stanhope’s +maid had a lover, a gardener, who lived at Chelsea; and the gardener +had an aloe, which was expected soon to blow. Now a plant that blows but +once in a hundred years is worth having. The gardener intended to make +a public exhibition of it, by which he expected to gain about a hundred +guineas. Your aunt Stanhope’s maid got it from him for me for fifty; and +I had it whispered about that an aloe in full blow would stand in the +middle of one of Lady Delacour’s supper tables. The difficulty was to +make Mrs. Luttridge fix upon the very day we wanted; for you know we +could not possibly put off the blowing of our aloe. Your aunt Stanhope +managed the thing admirably by means of a _common friend_, who was not +a suspected person with the Luttridges; in short, my dear, I gained my +point--every body came from Mrs. Luttridge’s to me, or to my aloe. She +had a prodigiously fine supper, but scarcely a soul stayed with her; +they all came to see what could be seen but once in a hundred years. Now +the aloe, you know, is of a cumbersome height for a supper ornament. My +saloon luckily has a dome, and under the dome we placed it. Round the +huge china vase in which it was planted we placed the most beautiful, or +rather the most expensive hothouse plants we could procure. After all, +the aloe was an ugly thing; but it answered my purpose--it made Mrs. +Luttridge, as I am credibly informed, absolutely weep with vexation. I +was excessively obliged to your aunt Stanhope; and I assured her that if +ever it were in my power, she might depend upon my gratitude. Pray, when +you write, repeat the same thing to her, and tell her that since she has +introduced Belinda Portman to me, I am a hundred times more obliged to +her than ever I was before. + +“But to proceed with my important history.--I will not tire you with +fighting over again all my battles in my seven years’ war with Mrs. +Luttridge. I believe love is more to your taste than hatred; therefore +I will go on as fast as possible to Clarence Hervey’s return from his +travels. He was much improved by them, or at least I thought so; for he +was heard to declare, that after all he had seen in France and Italy, +Lady Delacour appeared to him the most charming woman, _of her age_, +in Europe. The words, _of her age_, piqued me; and I spared no pains to +make him forget them. A stupid man cannot readily be persuaded out of +his senses--what he sees he sees, and neither more nor less; but ‘tis +the easiest thing in the world to catch hold of a man of genius: you +have nothing to do but to appeal from his senses to his imagination, and +then he sees with the eyes of his imagination, and hears with the ears +of his imagination; and then no matter what the age, beauty, or wit of +the charmer may be--no matter whether it be Lady Delacour or Belinda +Portman. I think I know Clarence Hervey’s character _au fin fond_, and I +could lead him where I pleased: but don’t be alarmed, my dear; you know +I can’t lead him into matrimony. You look at me, and from me, and you +don’t well know which way to look. You are surprised, perhaps, after +all that passed, all that I felt, and all that I still feel about poor +Lawless, I should not be cured of coquetry. So am I surprised; but +habit, fashion, the devil, I believe, lead us on: and then, Lord +Delacour is so obstinate and jealous--you can’t have forgotten the +_polite conversation_ that passed one morning at breakfast between his +lordship and me about Clarence Hervey; but neither does his lordship +know, nor does Clarence Hervey suspect, that my object with him is to +conceal from the world what I cannot conceal from myself--that I am a +dying woman. I am, and I see you think me, a strange, weak, inconsistent +creature. I was intended for something better, but now it is too late; +a coquette I have lived, and a coquette I shall die: I speak frankly to +you. Let me have the glory of leading Clarence Hervey about with me in +public for a few months longer, then I must quit the stage. As to love, +you know with me that is out of the question; all I ask or wish for is +admiration.” + +Lady Delacour paused, and leaned back on the sofa; she appeared in great +pain. + +“Oh!--I am sometimes,” resumed she, “as you see, in terrible pain. For +two years after I gave myself that blow with the pistol, I neglected the +warning twinges that I felt from time to time; at last I was terrified. +Marriott was the only person to whom I mentioned my fears, and she was +profoundly ignorant: she flattered me with false hopes, till, alas! it +was in vain to doubt of the nature of my complaint: then she urged me +to consult a physician; that I would not do--I could not--I never will +consult a physician,--I would not for the universe have my situation +known. You stare--you cannot enter into my feelings. Why, my dear, if +I lose admiration, what have I left? Would you have me live upon pity? +Consider what a dreadful thing it must be to me, who have no friends, no +family, to be confined to a sick room--a sick bed; ‘tis what I must come +to at last, but not yet--not yet. I have fortitude; I should despise +myself if I had no species of merit: besides, it is still some +occupation to me to act my part in public; and bustle, noise, nonsense, +if they do not amuse or interest me, yet they stifle reflection. May +you never know what it is to feel remorse! The idea of that poor wretch, +Lawless, whom I actually murdered as much as if I had shot him, haunts +me whenever I am alone. It is now between eight and nine years since he +died, and I have lived ever since in a constant course of dissipation; +but it won’t do--conscience, conscience will be heard! Since my health +has been weakened, I believe I have acquired more conscience. I really +think that my stupid lord, who has neither ideas nor sensations, except +when he is intoxicated, is a hundred times happier than I am. But I will +spare you, Belinda; I promised that you should not have a _scene_, and I +will keep my word. It is, however, a great relief to open my mind to one +who has some feeling: Harriot Freke has none; I am convinced that she +has no more feeling than this table. I have not yet told you how she has +used me. You know that it was she who led or rather dragged me into that +scrape with Lawless; for that I never reproached her. You know it was +she who frightened me into fighting that duel with Mrs. Luttridge; +for this I never reproached her. She has cost me my peace of mind, my +health, my life; she knows it, and she forsakes, betrays, insults, and +leaves me to die. I cannot command my temper sufficiently to be coherent +when I speak of her; I cannot express in words what I feel. How could +that most treacherous of beings, for ten years, make me believe that she +was my friend? Whilst I thought she really loved me, I pardoned her all +her faults--_all_--what a comprehensive word!--All, all I forgave; and +continually said--‘_but_ she has a good heart.’ A good heart!--she has +no heart!--she has no feeling for any living creature but herself. I +always thought that she cared for no one but for me; but now I find +she can throw me off as easily as she would her glove. And this, too, I +suppose she calls a frolic; or, in her own vulgar language, fun. Can you +believe it?--What do you think she has done, my dear? She has gone over +at last to odious Mrs. Luttridge-actually she has gone down with the +Luttridges to----shire. The independent member having taken the Chiltern +Hundreds, vacates his seat: a new election comes on directly: the +Luttridges are to bring in Freke--not Harriot’s cousin--they have cut +him,--but her husband, who is now to commence senator: he is to come +in for the county, upon condition that Luttridge shall have Freke’s +borough. Lord Delacour, without saying one syllable, has promised his +interest to this precious junto, and Lady Delacour is left a miserable +cipher. My lord’s motives I can clearly understand: he lost a thousand +guineas to Mrs. Luttridge this winter, and this is a convenient way of +paying her. Why Harriot should be so anxious to serve a husband whom +she hates, bitterly hates, might surprise any body who did not know +_les dessous des cartes_ as well as I do. You are but just come into the +world, Belinda--the world of wickedness, I mean, my dear, or you would +have heard what a piece of work there was a few years ago about Harriot +Freke and this cousin of hers. Without betraying her confidence, I may +just tell you what is known to every body, that she went so far, that if +it had not been for me, not a soul would have visited her: she swam in +the sea of folly out of her depth--the tide of fashion ebbed, and there +was she left sticking knee deep in the mud--a ridiculous, scandalous +figure. I had the courage and foolish good-nature to hazard myself for +her, and actually dragged her to terra firma:--how she has gone on +since I _cannot_ tell you precisely, because I am in the secret; but the +catastrophe is public: to make her peace with her husband, she gives +up her friend. Well, that I could have pardoned, if she had not been so +base as to go over to Mrs. Luttridge. Mrs. Luttridge offered (I’ve seen +the letter, and Harriot’s answer) to bring in Freke, the husband, and +to make both a county and a _family_ peace, on condition that Harriot +should give up all connexion with Lady Delacour. Mrs. Luttridge knew +this would provoke me beyond measure, and there is nothing she would not +do to gratify her mean, malevolent passions. She has succeeded for once +in her life. The blame of the duel, of course, is all thrown upon me. +And (would you believe it?) Harriot Freke, I am credibly informed, +throws all the blame of Lawless’s business on me; nay, hints that +Lawless’s deathbed declaration of my innocence was _very generous_. Oh, +the treachery, the baseness of this woman! And it was my fate to hear +all this last night at the masquerade. I waited, and waited, and looked +every where for Harriot--she was to be the widow Brady, I knew: at last +the widow Brady made her appearance, and I accosted her with all my +usual familiarity. The widow was dumb. I insisted upon knowing the cause +of this sudden loss of speech. The widow took me into another +apartment, unmasked, and there I beheld Mr. Freke, the husband. I was +astonished--had no idea of the truth. ‘Where is Harriot?’ I believe, +were the first words I said. ‘Gone to the country.’ ‘To the country!’ +‘Yes; to----shire, with Mrs. Luttridge.’--Mrs. Luttridge--odious Mrs. +Luttridge! I could scarcely believe my senses. But Freke, who always +hated me, believing that I led his wife, instead of her leading me into +mischief, would have enjoyed my astonishment and my rage; so I concealed +both, with all possible presence of mind. He went on over-whelming me +with explanations and copies of letters; and declared it was at Mrs. +Freke’s request he did and said all this, and that he was to follow her +early the next morning to ----shire. I broke from him, simply wishing +him a good journey, and as much family peace as his patience merited. He +knows that I know his wife’s history, and though _she_ has no shame, he +has some. I had the _satisfaction_ to leave him blushing with anger, and +I supported the character of the comic muse a full hour afterwards, +to convince him that all their combined malice would fail to break +my spirit in public: what I suffer in private is known only to my own +heart.” + +As she finished these words, Lady Delacour rose abruptly, and hummed a +new opera air. Then she retired to her boudoir, saying, with an air of +levity, to Belinda as she left the room, + +“Good bye, my dear Belinda; I leave you to ruminate sweet and bitter +thoughts; to think of the last speech and confession of Lady Delacour, +or what will interest you much more, the first speech and confession +of--Clarence Hervey.” + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +BIRTHDAY DRESSES. + + +Lady Delacour’s history, and the manner in which it was related, +excited in Belinda’s mind astonishment, pity, admiration, and contempt: +astonishment at her inconsistency, pity for her misfortunes, admiration +of her talents, and contempt for her conduct. To these emotions +succeeded the recollection of the promise which she had made, not to +leave her in her last illness at the mercy of an insolent attendant. +This promise Belinda thought of with terror: she dreaded the sight of +sufferings which she knew must end in death: she dreaded the sight of +that affected gaiety and of that real levity which so ill became the +condition of a dying woman. She trembled at the idea of being under the +guidance of one who was so little able to conduct herself: and she could +not help blaming her aunt Stanhope severely for placing her in such a +perilous situation. It was obvious that some of Lady Delacour’s history +must have been known to Mrs. Stanhope; and Belinda, the more she +reflected, was the more surprised at her aunt’s having chosen such +a chaperon for a young woman just entering into the world. When the +understanding is suddenly roused and forced to exert itself, what a +multitude of deductions it makes in a short time! Belinda saw things in +a new light; and for the first time in her life she reasoned for herself +upon what she saw and felt. It is sometimes safer for young people to +see than to hear of certain characters. At a distance, Lady Delacour had +appeared to Miss Portman the happiest person in the world; upon a nearer +view, she discovered that her ladyship was one of the most miserable of +human beings. To have married her niece to such a man as Lord Delacour, +Mrs. Stanhope would have thought the most fortunate thing imaginable; +but it was now obvious to Belinda, that neither the title of +viscountess, nor the pleasure of spending three fortunes, could ensure +felicity. Lady Delacour confessed, that in the midst of the utmost +luxury and dissipation she had been a constant prey to ennui; that +the want of domestic happiness could never be supplied by that public +admiration of which she was so ambitious; and that the immoderate +indulgence of her vanity had led her, by inevitable steps, into follies +and imprudences which had ruined her health, and destroyed her peace of +mind. “If Lady Delacour, with all the advantages of wealth, rank, wit, +and beauty, has not been able to make herself happy in this life of +fashionable dissipation,” said Belinda to herself, “why should I follow +the same course, and expect to be more fortunate?” + +It is singular, that the very means which Mrs. Stanhope had taken to +make a fine lady of her niece tended to produce an effect diametrically +opposite to what might have been expected. The result of Belinda’s +reflections upon Lady Delacour’s history was a resolution to benefit by +her bad example; but this resolution it was more easy to form than +to keep. Her ladyship, where she wished to please or to govern, had +fascinating manners, and could alternately use the sarcastic powers of +wit, and the fond tone of persuasion, to accomplish her purposes. It was +Belinda’s intention, in pursuance of her new plans of life, to spend, +whilst she remained in London, as little money as possible upon +superfluities and dress. She had, at her own disposal, only 100l. per +annum, the interest of her fortune; but besides this, her aunt, who was +desirous that she should go to court, and make a splendid figure there, +had sent her a draught on her banker for two hundred guineas. “You will, +I trust,” said her aunt, at the conclusion of the letter, “repay me when +you are established in the world; as I hope and believe, from what I +hear from Lady Delacour of the power of your charms, you will soon be, +to the entire satisfaction of all your friends. Pray do not neglect to +mention my friend Clarence Hervey particularly when you write next. +I understand from one who is well acquainted with him, and who has +actually seen his rent-roll, that he has a clear 10,000l. a year.” + +Belinda resolved neither to go to court, nor to touch her aunt’s two +hundred guineas; and she wrote a long letter to her, in which she +explained her feelings and views at large. In this letter she meant +to have returned Mrs. Stanhope’s draught, but her feelings and views +changed between the writing of this epistle and the going out of the +post. Mrs. Franks, the milliner, came in the interim, and brought home +Lady Delacour’s beautiful dress: it was not the sight of this, however, +which changed Belinda’s mind; but she could not resist Lady Delacour’s +raillery. + +“Why, my dear,” said her ladyship, after having listened to all Miss +Portman could say about her love of independence, and the necessity +of economy to preserve that independence, “all this is prodigiously +fine--but shall I translate it into plain English? You were mortally +wounded the other night by some random reflections of a set of foolish +young men--Clarence Hervey amongst the number; and instead of punishing +them, you sagely and generously determined to punish yourself. Then, to +convince this youth that you have not a thought of those odious nets and +cages, that you have no design whatever upon his heart, and that he has +no manner of influence on yours, you very judiciously determine, at +the first hint from him, to change your dress, your manners, and your +character, and thus to say to him, in as plain terms as possible--‘You +see, sir, a word to the wise is enough; I understand you disapprove of +showy dress and coquetry, and therefore, as I dressed and coquetted only +to please you, now I shall lay aside dress and coquetry, since I +find that they are not to your taste--and I hope, sir, you like my +simplicity!’ Depend upon it, my dear, Clarence Hervey understands +simplicity as well as you or I do. All this would be vastly well, if he +did not know that you overheard that conversation; but as he does know +it, trust me, he will attribute any sudden change in your manners and +appearance, right or wrong, to the motives I have mentioned. So don’t, +novice as you are! set about to manoeuvre for yourself. Leave all that +to your aunt Stanhope, or to me, and then you know your conscience will +be all the time as white as your hands,--which, by-the-bye, Clarence +Hervey, the other day, said were the whitest hands he had ever seen. +Perhaps all this time you have taken it into your head that full dress +will not become you; but I assure you that it will--you look well in any +thing-- + + ‘But from the hoop’s bewitching round, + The very shoe has power to wound.’ + +So come down to Mrs. Franks, and order your birthnight dress like a +reasonable creature.” + +Like a reasonable creature, Miss Portman followed Lady Delacour, and +bespoke, or rather let her ladyship bespeak for her, fifty guineas’ +worth of elegance and fashion. “You must go to the drawing-room with me +next week, and be presented,” said Lady Delacour, “and then, as it is +the first time, you must be elegantly dressed, and you must not wear +the same dress on the birthnight. So, Mrs. Franks, let this be finished +first, as fast as you can, and by that time, perhaps, we shall think of +something superlatively charming for the night of nights.” + +Mrs. Franks departed, and Belinda sighed. “A silver penny for your +thoughts!” cried Lady Delacour. “You are thinking that you are like +Camilla, and I like Mrs. Mitten. Novel reading.--as I dare say you have +been told by your governess, as I was told by mine, and she by hers, I +suppose--novel reading for young ladies is the most dangerous---- + +“Oh, Clarence Hervey, I protest!” cried Lady Delacour, as he at this +instant entered the room. “Do, pray, Clarence, help me out, for the sake +of this young lady, with a moral sentence against novel reading: but +that might go against your conscience, or your interest; so we’ll spare +you. How I regret that we had not the charming serpent at the masquerade +the other night!” + +The moment her ladyship mentioned the masquerade, the conversation +which had passed at Lady Singleton’s came full into Clarence Hervey’s +recollection, and his embarrassment was evident--not indeed to Belinda, +who had turned away to look over some new music that lay upon a stand +at the farthest end of the room; and she found this such a wonderfully +interesting occupation, that she did not for some minutes hear, or +appear to hear, one word of the conversation which was going on between +Mr. Hervey and Lady Delacour. At last, her ladyship tapped her upon +the shoulder, saying, in a playful tone, “Miss Portman, I arrest your +attention at the suit of Clarence Hervey: this gentleman is passionately +fond of music--to my curse--for he never sees my harp but he worries +me with reproaches for having left off playing upon it. Now he has just +given me his word that he will not reproach me again for a month to come +if you will favour us with one air. I assure you, Clarence, that Belinda +touches a harp divinely--she would absolutely charm----” “Your ladyship +should not waste such valuable praise,” interrupted Belinda. “Do you +forget that Belinda Portman and her accomplishments have already been as +well advertised as Packwood’s razor-strops?” + +The manner in which these words were pronounced made a great impression +upon Clarence Hervey, and he began to believe it was possible that a +niece of the match-making Mrs. Stanhope might not be “a compound of +art and affectation.” “Though her aunt has advertised her,” said he to +himself, “she seems to have too much dignity to advertise herself, and +it would be very unjust to blame her for the faults of another person. I +will see more of her.” + +Some morning visitors were announced, who for the time suspended +Clarence Hervey’s reflections: the effect of them, however, immediately +appeared; for as his good opinion of Belinda increased, his ambition to +please her was strongly excited. He displayed all his powers of wit +and humour; and not only Lady Delacour but every body present observed, +“that Mr. Hervey, who was always the most entertaining man in the world, +this morning surpassed himself, and was absolutely the most entertaining +man in the universe.” He was mortified, notwithstanding; for he +distinctly perceived, that whilst Belinda joined with ease and dignity +in the general conversation, her manner towards him was grave and +reserved. The next morning he called earlier than usual; but though Lady +Delacour was always at home to him, she was then unluckily dressing +to go to court: he inquired whether Miss Portman would accompany her +ladyship, and he learnt from his friend Marriott that she was not to be +presented this day, because Mrs. Franks had not brought home her dress. +Mr. Hervey called again two hours afterwards.--Lady Delacour was gone +to court. He asked for Miss Portman. “Not at home,” was the mortifying +answer; though, as he had passed by the windows, he had heard the +delightful sound of her harp. He walked up and down in the square +impatiently, till he saw Lady Delacour’s carriage appear. + +“The drawing-room has lasted an unconscionable time this morning,” + said he, as he handed her ladyship out of her coach, “Am not I the most +virtuous of virtuous women,” said Lady Delacour, “to go to court such a +day as this? But,” whispered she, as she went up stairs, “like all other +amazingly good people, I have amazingly good reasons for being good. The +queen is soon to give a charming breakfast at Frogmore, and I am paying +my court with all my might, in hopes of being asked; for Belinda must +see one of their galas before we leave town, _that_ I’m determined +upon.--But where is she?” “Not at home,” said Clarence, smiling. “Oh, +not at home is nonsense, you know. Shine out, appear, be found, my +lovely Zara!” cried Lady Delacour, opening the library door. “Here she +is--what doing I know not--studying Hervey’s Meditations on the Tombs, I +should guess, by the sanctification of her looks. If you be not totally +above all sublunary considerations, admire my lilies of the valley, and +let me give you a lecture, not upon heads, or upon hearts, but on what +is of much more consequence, upon hoops. Every body wears hoops, but +how few--‘tis a melancholy consideration--how very few can manage them! +There’s my friend Lady C----; in an elegant undress she passes for very +genteel, but put her into a hoop and she looks as pitiable a figure, as +much a prisoner, and as little able to walk, as a child in a go-cart. +She gets on, I grant you, and so does the poor child; but, getting on, +you know, is not walking. Oh, Clarence, I wish you had seen the two +Lady R.’s sticking close to one another, their father pushing them on +together, like two decanters in a bottle-coaster, with such magnificent +diamond labels round their necks!” + +Encouraged by Clarence Hervey’s laughter, Lady Delacour went on to mimic +what she called the hoop awkwardness of all her acquaintance; and if +these could have failed to divert Belinda, it was impossible for her to +be serious when she heard Clarence Hervey declare that he was convinced +he could manage a hoop as well as any woman in England, except Lady +Delacour. + +“Now here,” said he, “is the purblind dowager, Lady Boucher, just at the +door, Lady Delacour; she would not know my face, she would not see my +beard, and I will bet fifty guineas that I come into a room in a hoop, +and that she does not find me out by my air--that I do not betray +myself, in short, by my masculine awkwardness.” + +“I hold you to your word, Clarence,” cried Lady Delacour. “They have let +the purblind dowager in; I hear her on the stairs. Here--through this +way you can go: as you do every thing quicker than any body else in the +world, you will certainly be full dressed in a quarter of an hour; I’ll +engage to keep the dowager in scandal for that time. Go! Marriott has +old hoops and old finery of mine, and you have all-powerful influence, +I know, with Marriott: so go and use it, and let us see you in all your +glory--though I vow I tremble for my fifty guineas.” + +Lady Delacour kept the dowager in scandal, according to her engagement, +for a good quarter of an hour; then the dresses at the drawing-room took +up another quarter; and, at last, the dowager began to give an account +of sundry wonderful cures that had been performed, to her certain +knowledge, by her favourite concentrated extract or anima of quassia. +She entered into the history of the negro slave named Quassi, who +discovered this medical wood, which he kept a close secret till Mr. +Daghlberg, a magistrate of Surinam, wormed it out of him, brought +a branch of the tree to Europe, and communicated it to the great +Linnaeus--when Clarence Hervey was announced by the title of “The +Countess de Pomenars.” + +“An émigrée--a charming woman!” whispered Lady Delacour “she was to have +been at the drawing-room to-day but for a blunder of mine: ready dressed +she was, and I didn’t call for her! Ah, Mad. de Pomenars, I am actually +ashamed to see you,” continued her ladyship; and she went forward to +meet Clarence Hervey, who really made his entrée with very composed +assurance and grace. He managed his hoop with such skill and dexterity, +that he well deserved the praise of being a universal genius. The +Countess de Pomenars spoke French and broken English incomparably well, +and she made out that she was descended from the Pomenars of the time +of Mad. de Sevigné: she said that she had in her possession several +original letters of Mad. de Sevigné, and a lock of Mad. de Grignan’s +fine hair. + +“I have sometimes fancied, but I believe it is only my fancy,” said Lady +Delacour, “that this young lady,” turning to Belinda, “is not unlike +your Mad. de Grignan. I have seen a picture of her at Strawberry-hill.” + +Mad. de Pomenars acknowledged that there was a resemblance, but added, +that it was flattery in the extreme to Mad. de Grignan to say so. + +“It would be a sin, undoubtedly, to waste flattery upon the dead, my +dear countess,” said Lady Delacour; “but here, without flattery to the +living, as you have a lock of Mad. de Grignan’s hair, you can tell us +whether _la belle chevelure_, of which Mad. de Sevigné talked so much, +was any thing to be compared to my Belinda’s.” As she spoke, Lady +Delacour, before Belinda was aware of her intentions, dexterously let +down her beautiful tresses; and the Countess de Pomenars was so much +struck at the sight, that she was incapable of paying the necessary +compliments. “Nay, touch it,” said Lady Delacour--“it is so fine and so +soft.” + +At this dangerous moment her ladyship artfully let drop the comb. +Clarence Hervey suddenly stooped to pick it up, totally forgetting his +hoop and his character. He threw down the music-stand with his hoop. +Lady Delacour exclaimed “Bravissima!” and burst out a-laughing. Lady +Boucher, in amazement, looked from one to another for an explanation, +and was a considerable time before, as she said, she could believe her +own eyes. Clarence Hervey acknowledged he had lost his bet, joined in +the laugh, and declared that fifty guineas was too little to pay for the +sight of the finest hair that he had ever beheld. “I declare he deserves +a lock of _la belle chevelure_ for that speech, Miss Portman,” cried +Lady Delacour; “I’ll appeal to all the world--Mad. de Pomenars must have +a lock to measure with Mad. de Grignan’s? Come, a second rape of the +lock, Belinda.” + +Fortunately for Belinda, “the glittering forfex” was not immediately +produced, as fine ladies do not now, as in former times, carry any such +useless implements about with them. + +Such was the modest, graceful dignity of Miss Portman’s manners, that +she escaped without even the charge of prudery. She retired to her own +apartment as soon as she could. + +“She passes on in unblenched majesty,” said Lady Delacour. + +“She is really a charming woman,” said Clarence Hervey, in a low voice, +to Lady Delacour, drawing her into a recessed window: he in the same +low voice continued, “Could I obtain a private audience of a few minutes +when your ladyship is at leisure?--I have--” “I am never at leisure,” + interrupted Lady Delacour; “but if you have any thing particular to say +to me--as I guess you have, by my skill in human nature--come here to my +concert to-night, before the rest of the world. Wait patiently in the +music-room, and perhaps I may grant you a private audience, as you had +the grace not to call it a _tête-à-tête_. In the mean time, my dear +Countess de Pomenars, had we not better take off our hoops?” In the +evening, Clarence Hervey was in the music-room a considerable time +before Lady Delacour appeared: how patiently he waited is not known to +any one but himself. + +“Have not I given you time to compose a charming speech?” said Lady +Delacour as she entered the room; “but make it as short as you can, +unless you wish that Miss Portman should hear it, for she will be down +stairs in three minutes.” + +“In one word, then, my dear Lady Delacour, can you, and will you, make +my peace with Miss Portman?--I am much concerned about that foolish +razor-strop dialogue which she overheard at Lady Singleton’s.” + +“You are concerned that she overheard it, no doubt.” + +“No,” said Clarence Hervey, “I am rejoiced that she overheard it, since +it has been the means of convincing me of my mistake; but I am concerned +that I had the presumption and injustice to judge of Miss Portman so +hastily. I am convinced that, though she is a niece of Mrs. Stanhope’s, +she has dignity of mind and simplicity of character. Will you, my dear +Lady Delacour, tell her so?” + +“Stay,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “let me get it by heart. I should +have made a terrible bad messenger of the gods and goddesses, for I +never in my life could, like Iris, repeat a message in the same words +in which it was delivered to me. Let me see--‘Dignity of mind and +simplicity of character,’ was not it? May not I say at once, ‘My dear +Belinda, Clarence Hervey desires me to tell you that he is convinced +you are an angel?’ That single word _angel_ is so expressive, so +comprehensive, so comprehensible, it contains, believe me, all that can +be said or imagined on these occasions, _de part et d’autre_.” + +“But,” said Mr. Hervey, “perhaps Miss Portman has heard the song of-- + + ‘What know we of angels?-- I spake it in jest.’” + +“Then you are not in jest, but in downright sober earnest?--Ha!” said +Lady Delacour, with an arch look, “I did not know it was already come to +_this_ with you.” + +And her ladyship, turning to her piano-forte, played-- + + “There was a young man in Ballinacrasy, + Who wanted a wife to make him un_asy_, + And thus in gentle strains he spoke her, + Arrah, will you marry me, my dear Ally Croker?” + +“No, no,” exclaimed Clarence, laughing, “it is not come to _that_ with +me yet, Lady Delacour, I promise you; but is not it possible to say that +a young lady has dignity of mind and simplicity of character without +having or suggesting any thoughts of marriage?” + +“You make a most proper, but not sufficiently emphatic difference +between having or suggesting such thoughts,” said Lady Delacour. “A +gentleman sometimes finds it for his interest, his honour, or his +pleasure, to suggest what he would not for the world promise,--I mean +perform.” + +“A scoundrel,” cried Clarence Hervey, “not a gentleman, may find it for +his honour, or his interest, or his pleasure, to promise what he would +not perform; but I am not a scoundrel. I never made any promise to man +or woman that I did not keep faithfully. I am not a swindler in love.” + +“And yet,” said Lady Delacour, “you would have no scruple to trifle or +flatter a woman out of her heart.” + +_“Cela est selon!”_ said Clarence smiling; “a fair exchange, you know, +is no robbery. When a fine woman robs me of my heart, surely Lady +Delacour could not expect that I should make no attempt upon hers.”--“Is +this part of my message to Miss Portman?” said Lady Delacour. “As your +ladyship pleases,” said Clarence; “I trust entirely to your discretion.” + +“Why I really have a great deal of discretion,” said Lady Delacour; “but +you trust too much to it when you expect that I should execute, both +with propriety and success, the delicate commission of telling a young +lady, who is under my protection, that a young gentleman, who is a +professed admirer of mine, is in love with her, but has no thoughts, and +wishes to suggest no thoughts, of marriage.” + +“In love!” exclaimed Clarence Hervey; “but when did I ever use the +expression? In speaking of Miss Portman, I simply expressed esteem and +ad--------” + +“No additions,” said Lady Delacour; “content yourself with +esteem--simply,--and Miss Portman is safe, and you too, I presume. +Apropos; pray, Clarence, how do your esteem and _admiration_ (I may go +as far as that, may not I?) of Miss Portman agree with your admiration +of Lady Delacour?” + +“Perfectly well,” replied Clarence; “for all the world must be sensible +that Clarence Hervey is a man of too much taste to compare a country +novice in wit and accomplishments to Lady Delacour. He might, as men +of genius sometimes do, look forward to the idea of forming a country +novice for a wife. A man must marry some time or other--but my hour, +thank Heaven, is not come yet.” + +“Thank Heaven!” said Lady Delacour; “for you know a married man is lost +to the world of fashion and gallantry.” + +“Not more so, I should hope, than a married woman,” said Clarence +Harvey. Here a loud knocking at the door announced the arrival of +company to the concert. “You will make my peace, you promise me, with +Miss Portman,” cried Clarence eagerly. + +“Yes, I will make your peace, and you shall see Belinda smile upon +you once more, upon condition,” continued Lady Delacour, speaking +very quickly, as if she was hurried by the sound of people coming up +stairs--“but we’ll talk of that another time.” + +“Nay, nay, my dear Lady Delacour, now, now,” said Clarence, seizing her +hand.--“Upon condition! upon what condition?” + +“Upon condition that you do a little job for me--indeed for Belinda. She +is to go with me to the birth-night, and she has often hinted to me that +our horses are shockingly shabby for people of our condition. I know she +wishes that upon such an occasion--her first appearance at court, you +know--we should go in style. Now my dear positive lord has _said_ he +will not let us have a pair of the handsomest horses I ever saw, which +are at Tattersal’s, and on which Belinda, I know, has secretly set her +heart, as I have openly, in vain.” + +“Your ladyship and Miss Portman cannot possibly set your hearts on +any thing in vain--especially on any thing that it is in the power of +Clarence Hervey to procure. Then,” added he, gallantly kissing her hand, +“may I thus seal my treaty of peace?” + +“What audacity!--don’t you see these people coming in?” cried Lady +Delacour; and she withdrew her hand, but with no great precipitation. +She was evidently, “at this moment, as in all the past,” neither afraid +nor ashamed that Mr. Hervey’s devotions to her should be paid in public. +With much address she had satisfied herself as to his views with respect +to Belinda. She was convinced that he had no immediate thoughts of +matrimony; but that if he were condemned to marry, Miss Portman would +be his wife. As this did not interfere with her plans, Lady Delacour was +content. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WAYS AND MEANS. + + +When Lady Delacour repeated to Miss Portman the message about +“simplicity of mind and dignity of character,” she frankly said-- + +“Belinda, notwithstanding all this, observe, I’m determined to retain +Clarence Hervey among the number of my public worshippers during my +life--which you know cannot last long. After I am gone, my dear, he’ll +be all your own, and of that I give you joy. Posthumous fame is a silly +thing, but posthumous jealousy detestable.” + +There was one part of the conversation between Mr. Hervey and her +ladyship which she, in her great discretion, did not immediately +repeat to Miss Portman--that part which related to the horses. In this +transaction Belinda had no farther share than having once, when her +ladyship had the handsome horses brought for her to look at, assented +to the opinion that they were the handsomest horses she ever beheld. Mr. +Hervey, however gallantly he replied to her ladyship, was secretly vexed +to find that Belinda had so little delicacy as to permit her name to +be employed in such a manner. He repented having used the improper +expression of _dignity of mind_, and he relapsed into his former opinion +of Mrs. Stanhope’s niece. A relapse is always more dangerous than the +first disease. He sent home the horses to Lady Delacour the next +day, and addressed Belinda, when he met her, with the air of a man of +gallantry, who thought that his peace had been cheaply made. But in +proportion as his manners became more familiar, hers grew more reserved. +Lady Delacour rallied her upon _her prudery_, but in vain. Clarence +Hervey seemed to think that her ladyship had not fulfilled her part of +the bargain.--“Is not _smiling_,” said he, “the epithet always applied +to peace? yet I have not been able to obtain one smile from Miss +Portman since I have been promised peace.” Embarrassed by Mr. Hervey’s +reproaches, and provoked to find that Belinda was proof against all her +raillery, Lady Delacour grew quite ill-humoured towards her. Belinda, +unconscious of having given any just cause of offence, was unmoved; and +her ladyship’s embarrassment increased. At last, resuming all her former +appearance of friendship and confidence, she suddenly exclaimed one +night after she had flattered Belinda into high spirits-- + +“Do you know, my dear, that I have been so ashamed of myself +for this week past, that I have hardly dared to look you in the face. +I am sensible I was downright rude and cross to you one day, and ever +since I have been penitent; and, as all penitents are, very stupid and +disagreeable, I am sure: but tell me you forgive my caprice, and Lady +Delacour will be herself again.” + +It was not difficult to obtain Belinda’s forgiveness. + +“Indeed,” continued Lady Delacour, “you are too good; but then in my +own justification I must say, that I have more things to make me +ill-humoured than most people have. Now, my dear, that most obstinate +of human beings, Lord Delacour, has reduced me to the most terrible +situation--I have made Clarence Hervey buy a pair of horses for me, and +I cannot make my Lord Delacour pay for them; but I forgot to tell you +that I took your name--not in vain indeed--in this business. I told +Clarence, that upon condition he would do this _job_ for me, you would +forgive him for all his sins, and--nay, my dear, why do you look as if +I had stabbed you to the heart?--after all, I only drew upon your +pretty mouth for a few smiles. Pray let me see whether it has actually +forgotten _how_ to smile.” + +Belinda was too much vexed at this instant to understand raillery. She +was inspired by anger with unwonted courage, and, losing all fear of +Lady Delacour’s wit, she very seriously expostulated with her ladyship +upon having thus used her name without her consent or knowledge. Belinda +felt she was now in danger of being led into a situation which might +be fatal to her reputation and her happiness; and she was the more +surprised at her ladyship, when she recollected the history she had so +lately heard of Harriot Freke and Colonel Lawless. + +“You cannot but be sensible, Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “that after +the contempt I have heard Mr. Hervey express for match-making with Mrs. +Stanhope’s nieces, I should degrade myself by any attempts to attract +his attention. No wit, no eloquence, can change my opinion upon this +subject--I cannot endure contempt.” + +“Very likely--no doubt”--interrupted Lady Delacour; “but if you would +only open your eyes, which heroines make it a principle never to do--or +else there would be an end of the novel--if you would only open your +eyes, you would see that this man is in love with you; and whilst you +are afraid of his contempt, he is a hundred times more afraid of yours; +and as long as you are each of you in such fear of you know not +what, you must excuse me if I indulge myself in a little wholesome +raillery.”--Belinda smiled.--“There now; one such smile as that for +Clarence Hervey, and I’m out of debt and danger,” said Lady Delacour. + +“O Lady Delacour, why, why will you try your power over me in this +manner?” said Belinda. “You know that I ought not to be persuaded to do +what I am conscious is wrong. But a few days ago you told me yourself +that Mr. Hervey is--is not a marrying man; and a woman of your +penetration must see that--that he only means to flirt with me. I am +not a match for Mr. Hervey in any respect. He is a man of wit and +gallantry--I am unpractised in the ways of the world. I was not educated +by my aunt Stanhope--I have only been with her a few years--I wish I had +never been with her in my life.” + +“I’ll take care Mr. Hervey shall know that,” said Lady Delacour; “but in +the mean time I do think any fair appraiser of delicate distresses would +decide that I am, all the circumstances considered, more to be pitied +at this present moment than you are: for the catastrophe of the business +evidently is, that I must pay two hundred guineas for the horses somehow +or other.” + +“I can pay for them,” exclaimed Belinda, “and will with the greatest +pleasure. I will not go to the birthnight--my dress is not bespoke. +Will two hundred guineas pay for the horses? Oh, take the money--pay Mr. +Hervey, dear Lady Delacour, and it will all be right.” + +“You are a charming girl,” said Lady Delacour, embracing her; “but how +can I answer for it to my conscience, or to your aunt Stanhope, if you +don’t appear on the birthnight? That cannot be, my dear; besides, you +know Mrs. Franks will send home your drawing-room dress to-day, and +it would be so foolish to be presented for nothing--not to go to the +birthnight afterwards. If you say _a_ you must say _b.”_ + +“Then,” said Belinda, “I will not go to the drawing-room.”--“Not go, my +dear! What! throw away fifty guineas for nothing! Really I never saw any +one so lavish of her money, and so economic of her smiles.” + +“Surely,” said Miss Portman, “it is better for me to throw away fifty +guineas, poor as I am, than to hazard the happiness of my life. Your +ladyship knows that if I say _a_ to Mr. Hervey, I must say _b_. No, no, +my dear Lady Delacour; here is the draught for two hundred guineas: pay +Mr. Hervey, for Heaven’s sake, and there is an end of the business.” + +“What a positive child it is! Well, then, it shall not be forced to say +the a, b, c, of Cupid’s alphabet, to that terrible pedagogue, Clarence +Hervey, till it pleases: but seriously, Miss Portman, I am concerned +that you will make me take this draught: it is absolutely robbing you. +But Lord Delacour’s the person you must blame--it is all his obstinacy: +having once said he would not pay for the horses, he would see them +and me and the whole human race expire before he would change his silly +mind.--Next month I shall have it in my power, my dear, to repay you +with a thousand thanks; and in a few months more we shall have another +birthday, and a new star shall appear in the firmament of fashion, +and it shall be called Belinda. In the mean time, my dear, upon second +thoughts, perhaps we can get Mrs. Franks to dispose of your drawing-room +dress to some person of taste, and you may keep your fifty guineas for +the next occasion. I’ll see what can be done.--Adieu! a thousand thanks, +silly child as you are.” + +Mrs. Franks at first declared that it would be an impossibility to +dispose of Miss Portman’s dress, though she would do any thing upon +earth to oblige Lady Delacour; however, ten guineas made every thing +possible. Belinda rejoiced at having, as she thought, extricated herself +at so cheap a rate; and well pleased with her own conduct, she wrote to +her aunt Stanhope, to inform her of as much of the transaction as she +could disclose, without betraying Lady Delacour. “Her ladyship,” + she said, “had immediate occasion for two hundred guineas, and to +accommodate her with this sum she had given up the idea of going to +court.” + +The tenor of Miss Portman’s letter will be sufficiently apparent from +Mrs. Stanhope’s answer. + +MRS. STANHOPE TO MISS PORTMAN. + +“Bath, June 2nd. + +“I cannot but feel some astonishment, Belinda, at your very +extraordinary conduct, and more extraordinary letter. What you can mean +by principles and delicacy I own I don’t pretend to understand, when +I see you not only forget the respect that is due to the opinions +and advice of the aunt to whom you owe every thing; but you take upon +yourself to lavish her money, without common honesty. I send you two +hundred guineas, and desire you to go to court--you lend my two hundred +guineas to Lady Delacour, and inform me that as you think yourself bound +in honour to her ladyship, you cannot explain all the particulars to +me, otherwise you are sure I should approve of the reasons which have +influenced you. Mighty satisfactory, truly! And then, to mend the +matter, you tell me that you do not think that in your situation in life +it is necessary that you should go to court. Your opinions and mine, you +add, differ in many points. Then I must say that you are as ungrateful +as you are presumptuous; for I am not such a novice in the affairs of +the world as to be ignorant that when a young lady professes to be of +a different opinion from her friends, it is only a prelude to something +worse. She begins by saying that she is determined to think for herself, +and she is determined to act for herself--and then it is all over with +her: and all the money, &c. that has been spent upon her education is so +much dead loss to her friends. + +“Now I look upon it that a young girl who has been brought up, and +brought forward in the world as you have been by connexions, is bound to +be guided implicitly by them in all her conduct. What should you think +of a man who, after he had been brought into parliament by a friend, +would go and vote against that friend’s opinions? You do not want sense, +Belinda--you perfectly understand me; and consequently your errors I +must impute to the defect of your heart, and not of your judgment. I see +that, on account of the illness of the princess, the king’s birthday is +put off for a fortnight. If you manage properly, and if (unknown to Lady +----, who certainly has not used you well in this business, and to whom +therefore you owe no peculiar delicacy) you make Lord ---- sensible how +much your aunt Stanhope is disappointed and displeased (as I most truly +am) at your intention of missing this opportunity of appearing at court; +it is ten to one but his lordship--who has not made it a point to refuse +your request, I suppose--will pay you your two hundred guineas. You of +course will make proper acknowledgments; but at the same time entreat +that his lordship will not _commit_ you with his lady, as she might +be offended at your application to him. I understand from an intimate +acquaintance of his, that you are a great favourite of his lordship; and +though an obstinate, he is a good-natured man, and can have no fear of +being governed by you; consequently he will do just as you would have +him. + +“Then you have an opportunity of representing the thing in the +prettiest manner imaginable to Lady ----, as an instance of her lord’s +consideration for her: so you will oblige all parties (a very desirable +thing) without costing yourself one penny, and go to the birthnight +after all: and this only by using a little address, without which +nothing is to be done in this world. + +“Yours affectionately (if you follow my advice), + +“SELINA STANHOPE.” + +Belinda, though she could not, consistently with what she thought right, +follow the advice so artfully given to her in this epistle, was yet +extremely concerned to find that she had incurred the displeasure of an +aunt to whom she thought herself under obligations. She resolved to lay +by as much as she possibly could, from the interest of her fortune, and +to repay the two hundred guineas to Mrs. Stanhope. She was conscious +that she had no right to lend this money to Lady Delacour, if her aunt +had expressly desired that she should spend it only on her court-dress; +but this had not distinctly been expressed when Mrs. Stanhope sent her +niece the draft. That lady was in the habit of speaking and writing +ambiguously, so that even those who knew her best were frequently in +doubt how to interpret her words. Yet she was extremely displeased when +her hints and her half-expressed wishes were not understood. Beside +the concern she felt from the thoughts of having displeased her aunt, +Belinda was both vexed and mortified to perceive that in Clarence +Hervey’s manner towards her there was not the change which she had +expected that her conduct would naturally produce. + +One day she was surprised at his reproaching her for caprice in having +given up her intentions of going to court. Lady Delacour’s embarrassment +whilst Mr. Hervey spoke, Belinda attributed to her ladyship’s desire +that Clarence should not know that she had been obliged to borrow the +money to pay him for the horses. Belinda thought that this was a +species of mean pride; but she made it a point to keep her ladyship’s +secret--she therefore slightly answered Mr. Hervey, “that she wondered +that a man who was so well acquainted with the female sex should be +surprised at any instance of caprice from a woman.” The conversation +then took another turn, and whilst they were talking of indifferent +subjects, in came Lord Delacour’s man, Champfort, with Mrs. Stanhope’s +draft for two hundred guineas, which the coachmaker’s man had just +brought back because Miss Portman had forgotten to endorse it. Belinda’s +astonishment was almost as great at this instant as Lady Delacour’s +confusion. + +“Come this way, my dear, and we’ll find you a pen and ink. You need not +wait, Champfort; but tell the man to wait for the draft--Miss Portman +will endorse it immediately.”--And she took Belinda into another room. + +“Good Heavens! Has not this money been paid to Mr. Hervey?” exclaimed +Belinda. + +“No, my dear; but I will take all the blame upon myself, or, which +will do just as well for you, throw it all upon my better half. My Lord +Delacour would not pay for my new carriage. The coachmaker, insolent +animal, would not let it out of his yard without two hundred guineas in +ready money. Now you know I had the horses, and what could I do with the +horses without the carriage? Clarence Hervey, I knew, could wait for +his money better than a poor devil of a coachmaker; so I paid the +coachmaker, and a few months sooner or later can make no difference to +Clarence, who rolls in gold, my dear--if that will be any comfort to +you, as I hope it will.” + +“Oh, what will he think of me!” said Belinda. + +“Nay, what will he think of _me_, child!” + +“Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, in a firmer tone than she had ever before +spoken, “I must insist upon this draft being given to Mr. Hervey.” + +“Absolutely impossible, my dear.--I cannot take it from the coachmaker; +he has sent home the carriage: the thing’s done, and cannot be undone. +But come, since I know nothing else will make you easy, I will take +this mighty favour from Mr. Hervey entirely upon my own conscience: you +cannot object to that, for you are not the keeper of my conscience. I +will tell Clarence the whole business, and do you honour due, my dear: +so endorse the check, whilst I go and sound both the praises of your +dignity of mind, and simplicity of character, &c. &c. &c. &c.” + +Her ladyship broke away from Belinda, returned to Clarence Hervey, and +told the whole affair with that peculiar grace with which she knew how +to make a good story of a bad one. Clarence was as favourable an auditor +at this time as she could possibly have found; for no human being could +value money less than he did, and all sense of her ladyship’s meanness +was lost in his joy at discovering that Belinda was worthy of his +esteem. Now he felt in its fullest extent all the power she had over +his heart, and he was upon the point of declaring his attachment to her, +when _malheureusement_ Sir Philip Baddely and Mr. Rochfort announced +themselves by the noise they made on the staircase. These were the young +men who had spoken in such a contemptuous manner at Lady Singleton’s of +the match-making Mrs. Stanhope and her nieces. Mr. Hervey was anxious +that they should not penetrate into the state of his heart, and he +concealed his emotion by instantly assuming that kind of rattling gaiety +which always delighted his companions, who were ever in want of some +one to set their stagnant ideas in motion. At last they insisted upon +carrying Clarence away with them to taste some wines for Sir Philip +Baddely. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE SERPENTINE RIVER. + + +In his way to St. James’s street, where the wine-merchant lived, Sir +Philip Baddely picked up several young men of his acquaintance, who were +all eager to witness a trial of _taste_, of epicurean taste, between the +baronet and Clarence Hervey. Amongst his other accomplishments our hero +piqued himself upon the exquisite accuracy of his organs of taste. He +neither loved wine, nor was he fond of eating; but at fine dinners, +with young men who were real epicures, Hervey gave himself the airs of +a connoisseur, and asserted superiority even in judging of wine and +sauces. Having gained immortal honour at an entertainment by gravely +protesting that some turtle would have been excellent if it had not +been done _a bubble too much_, he presumed, elate as he was with the +applauses of the company, to assert, that no man in England had a more +correct taste than himself.--Sir Philip Baddely could not passively +submit to this arrogance; he loudly proclaimed, that though he would +not dispute Mr. Hervey’s judgment as far as eating was concerned, yet he +would defy him as a connoisseur in wines, and he offered to submit the +competition to any eminent wine-merchant in London, and to some common +friend of acknowledged taste and experience.--Mr. Rochfort was chosen +as the common friend of acknowledged taste and experience; and a +fashionable wine-merchant was pitched upon to decide with him the merits +of these candidates for bacchanalian fame. Sir Philip, who was just +going to furnish his cellars, was a person of importance to the +wine-merchant, who produced accordingly his choicest treasures. Sir +Philip and Clarence tasted of all in their turns; Sir Philip with real, +and Clarence with affected gravity; and they delivered their opinions +of the positive and comparative merits of each. The wine-merchant +evidently, as Mr. Hervey thought, leaned towards Sir Philip. “Upon +my word, Sir Philip, you are right--that wine is the best I have--you +certainly have a most discriminating taste,” said the complaisant +wine-merchant. + +“I’ll tell you what,” cried Sir Philip, “the thing is this: by Jove! +now, there’s no possibility now--no possibility now, by Jove! of +imposing upon me.” + +“Then,” said Clarence Hervey, “would you engage to tell the differences +between these two wines ten times running, blind-fold?” + +“Ten times! that’s nothing,” replied Sir Philip: “yes, fifty times, I +would, by Jove!” + +But when it came to the trial, Sir Philip had nothing left but oaths +in his own favour. Clarence Hervey was victorious; and his sense of the +importance of this victory was much increased by the fumes of the wine, +which began to operate upon his brain. His triumph was, as he said it +ought to be, bacchanalian: he laughed and sang with anacreontic +spirit, and finished by declaring that he deserved to be crowned with +vine-leaves. + +“Dine with me, Clarence,” said Rochfort, “and we’ll crown you with three +times three; and,” whispered he to Sir Philip, “we’ll have another trial +after dinner.” + +“But as it’s not near dinner-time yet--what shall we do with ourselves +till dinner-time?” said Sir Philip, yawning pathetically. + +Clarence not being used to drink in a morning, though all his companions +were, was much affected by the wine, and Rochfort proposed that they +should take a turn in the park to cool Hervey’s head. To Hyde-park they +repaired; Sir Philip boasting, all the way they walked, of the superior +strength of his head. + +Clarence protested that his own was stronger than any man’s in England, +and observed, that at this instant he walked better than any person in +company, Sir Philip Baddely not excepted. Now Sir Philip Baddely was a +noted pedestrian, and he immediately challenged our hero to walk +with him for any money he pleased. “Done,” said Clarence, “for ten +guineas--for any money you please:” and instantly they set out to +walk, as Rochfort cried “one, two, three, and away; keep the path, and +whichever reaches that elm tree first has it.” + +They were exactly even for some yards, then Clarence got ahead of Sir +Philip, and he reached the elm tree first; but as he waved his hat, +exclaiming, “Clarence has won the day,” Sir Philip came up with his +companions, and coolly informed him that he had lost his wager--“Lost! +lost! lost! Clarence--fairly lost.” + +“Didn’t I reach the tree first?” said Clarence. + +“Yes,” answered his companions; “but you didn’t keep the path. You +turned out of the way when you met that crowd of children yonder.” + +“Now _I_,” said Sir Philip, “dashed fairly through them--kept the path, +and won my bet.” + +“But,” said Hervey, “would you have had me run over that little child, +who was stooping down just in my way?” + +“_I_!’ not I,” said Sir Philip; “but I would have you go through with +your civility: if a man will be polite, he must pay for his politeness +sometimes.--You said you’d lay me _any money_ I pleased, recollect--now +I’m very moderate--and as you are a particular friend, Clarence, I’ll +only take your ten guineas.” + +A loud laugh from his companions provoked Clarence; they were glad “to +have a laugh against him,” because he excited universal envy by the real +superiority of his talents, and by his perpetually taking the lead in +those trifles which were beneath his ambition, and exactly suited to +engage the attention of his associates. + +“Be it so, and welcome; I’ll pay ten guineas for having better manners +than any of you,” cried Hervey, laughing; “but remember, though I’ve lost +this bet, I don’t give up my pedestrian fame.--Sir Philip, there are no +women to throw golden apples in my way now, and no children for me to +stumble over: I dare you to another trial--double or quit.” + +“I’m off, by Jove!” said Sir Philip. “I’m too hot, damme, to walk with +you any more--but I’m your man if you’ve a mind for a swim--here’s the +Serpentine river, Clarence--hey? damn it!--hey?” + +Sir Philip and all his companions knew that Clarence had never learned +to swim. + +“You may wink at one another, as wisely as you please,” said Clarence, +“but come on, my boys--I am your man for a swim--hundred guineas upon +it! + + ----‘Darest thou, Rochfort, now + Leap in with me into this weedy flood, + And swim to yonder point?’” + +and instantly Hervey, who had in his confused head some recollection of +an essay of Dr. Franklin on swimming, by which he fancied that he could +ensure at once his safety and his fame, threw off his coat and jumped +into the river--luckily he was not in boots. Rochfort, and all the other +young men stood laughing by the river side. + +“Who the devil are these two that seem to be making up to us?” said +Sir Philip, looking at two gentlemen who were coming towards them; “St. +George, hey? you know every body.” + +“The foremost is Percival, of Oakly-park, I think, ‘pon my honour,” + replied Mr. St. George, and he then began to settle how many thousands +a year Mr. Percival was worth. This point was not decided when the +gentlemen came up to the spot where Sir Philip was standing. + +The child for whose sake Clarence Hervey had lost his bet was Mr. +Percival’s, and he came to thank him for his civility.--The gentleman +who accompanied Mr. Percival was an old friend of Clarence Hervey’s; he +had met him abroad, but had not seen him for some years. + +“Pray, gentlemen,” said he to Sir Philip and his party, “is Mr. Clarence +Hervey amongst you? I think I saw him pass by me just now.” + +“Damn it, yes--where is Clary, though?” exclaimed Sir Philip, suddenly +recollecting himself.--Clarence Hervey at this instant was drowning: he +had got out of his depth, and had struggled in vain to recover himself. + +“Curse me, if it’s not all over with Clary,” continued Sir Philip. “Do +any of you see his head any where? Damn you, Rochfort, yonder it is.” + +“Damme, so it is,” said Rochfort; “but he’s so heavy in his clothes, +he’d pull me down along with him to Davy’s locker:--damme, if I’ll go +after him.” + +“Damn it, though, can’t some of ye swim? Can’t some of ye jump in?” + cried Sir Philip, turning to his companions: “damn it, Clarence will go +to the bottom.” + +And so he inevitably would have done, had not Mr. Percival at this +instant leaped into the river, and seized hold of the drowning Clarence. +It was with great difficulty that he dragged him to the shore.--Sir +Philip’s party, as soon as the danger was over, officiously offered +their assistance. Clarence Hervey was absolutely senseless. “Damn it, +what shall we do with him now?” said Sir Philip: “Damn it, we must call +some of the people from the boat-house--he’s as heavy as lead: damn me, +if I know what to do with him.” [2] + +Whilst Sir Philip was damning himself, Mr. Percival ran to the +boat-house for assistance, and they carried the body into the house. +The elderly gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Percival now made his way +through the midst of the noisy crowd, and directed what should be done +to restore Mr. Hervey’s suspended animation. Whilst he was employed in +this benevolent manner, Clarence’s worthy friends were sneering at him, +and whispering to one another; “Ecod, he talks as if he was a doctor,” + said Rochfort. + +“‘Pon honour, I do believe,” said St. George, “he is the famous Dr. +X----; I met him at a circulating library t’other day.” + +“Dr. X---- the writer, do you mean?” said Sir Philip; “then, damn me, +we’d better get out of his way as fast as we can, or he’ll have some +of us down in black and white; and curse me, if I should choose to meet +with myself in a book.” + +“No danger of that,” said Rochfort; “for how can one meet with oneself +in a book, Sir Philip, if one never opens one?--By Jove, that’s the true +way.” + +“But, ‘pon my honour,” said St. George, “I should like of all things to +see myself in print; ‘twould make one famously famous.” + +“Damn me, if I don’t flatter myself, though, one can make oneself famous +enough to all intents and purposes without having any thing to say to +these author geniuses. You’re a famous fellow, faith! to want to see +yourself in print--I’ll publish this in Bond-street: damn it, in point +of famousness, I’d sport my Random against all the books that ever were +read or written, damn me! But what are we doing here?” + +“Hervey’s in good hands,” said Rochfort, “and this here’s a cursed +stupid lounge for us--besides, it’s getting towards dinner-time; so +my voice is, let’s be off, and we can leave St. George (who has such a +famous mind to be in the doctor’s book) to bring Clary after us, when +he’s ready for dinner and good company again, you know--ha! ha! ha!” + +Away the faithful friends went to the important business of their day. + +When Clarence Hervey came to his senses he started up, rubbed his eyes, +and looked about, exclaiming--“What’s all this?--Where am I?--Where’s +Baddely?--Where’s Rochfort?--Where are they all?” + +“Gone home to dinner,” answered Mr. St. George, who was a hanger-on of +Sir Philip’s; “but they left me to bring you after them. Faith, Clary, +you’ve had a squeak for your life! ‘Pon my honour, we thought at one +time it was all over with you--but you’re a rough one: we shan’t have to +‘pour over your grave a full bottle of red’ as yet, my boy--you’ll do as +well as ever. So I’ll step and call a coach for you, Clary, and we shall +be at dinner as soon as the best of ‘em after all, by jingo! I leave you +in good hands with the doctor here, that brought you to life, and the +gentleman that dragged you out of the water. Here’s a note for you,” + whispered Mr. St. George, as he leaned over Clarence Hervey--“here’s +a note for you from Sir Philip and Rochfort: read it, do you mind, to +_yourself_.” + +“If I can,” said Clarence; “but Sir Philip writes a _bloody bad hand_.” + [3] + +“Oh, he’s a _baronet_,” said St. George, “ha! ha! ha!” and, charmed with +his own wit, he left the boat-house. + +Clarence with some difficulty deciphered the note, which contained these +words: + +“Quiz the doctor, Clary, as soon as you are up to it--he’s an author--so +fair game--quiz the doctor, and we’ll drink your health with three times +three in Rochfort’s burgundy. + +“Yours, &c. + +“PHIL. BADDELY. + +“P.S. Burn this when read.” + +With the request contained in the postscript Clarence immediately +complied; he threw the note into the fire with indignation the moment +that he had read it, and turning towards the gentleman to whom it +alluded, he began to express, in the strongest terms, his gratitude +for their benevolence. But he stopped short in the midst of his +acknowledgments, when he discovered to whom he was speaking. + +“Dr. X----!” cried he. “Is it possible? How rejoiced I am to see you, +and how rejoiced I am to be obliged to you! There is not a man in +England to whom I would rather be obliged.” + +“You are not acquainted with Mr. Percival, I believe,” said Dr. X----: +“give me leave, Mr. Percival, to introduce to you the young gentleman +whose life you have saved, and whose life--though, by the company in +which you found him, you might not think so--is worth saving. This, sir, +is no less a man than Mr. Clarence Hervey, of whose universal genius you +have just had a specimen; for which he was crowned with sedges, as he +well deserved, by the god of the Serpentine river. Do not be so unjust +as to imagine that he has any of the presumption which is sometimes the +chief characteristic of a man of universal genius. Mr. Clarence Hervey +is, without exception, the most humble man of my acquaintance; for +whilst all good judges would think him fit company for Mr. Percival, he +has the humility to think himself upon a level with Mr. Rochfort and Sir +Philip Baddely.” + +“You have lost as little of your satirical wit, Dr. X----, as of your +active benevolence, I perceive,” said Clarence Hervey, “since I met you +abroad. But as I cannot submit to your unjust charge of humility, will +you tell me where you are to be found in town, and to-morrow------” + +“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,” said Dr. X----: “why not +to-day?” + +“I am engaged,” said Clarence, hesitating and laughing---“I am +unfortunately engaged to-day to dine with Mr. Rochfort and Sir Philip +Baddely, and in the evening I am to be at Lady Delacour’s.” + +“Lady Delacour! Not the same Lady Delacour whom four years ago, when we +met at Florence, you compared to the Venus de Medici--no, no, it cannot +be the same--a goddess of four years’ standing!--Incredible!” + +“Incredible as it seems,” said Clarence, “it is true: I admire her +ladyship more than ever I did.” + +“Like a true connoisseur,” said Dr. X----, “you admire a fine picture +the older it grows: I hear that her ladyship’s face is really one of the +finest pieces of painting extant, with the advantage of + + ‘Ev’ry grace which time alone can grant.’” + +“Come, come, Dr. X----,” cried Mr. Percival, “no more wit at Lady +Delacour’s expense: I have a fellow-feeling for Mr. Hervey.” + +“Why, you are not in love with her ladyship, are you?” said Dr. X----. +“I am not in love with Lady Delacour’s picture of herself,” replied Mr. +Percival, “but I was once in love with the original.” + +“How?--When?--Where?” cried Clarence Hervey, in a tone totally different +from that in which he had first addressed Mr. Percival. + +“To-morrow you shall know the how, the when, and the where,” said Mr. +Percival: “here’s your friend, Mr. St. George, and his coach.” + +“The deuce take him!” said Clarence: “but tell me, is it possible that +you are not in love with her still?--and why?” + +“Why?” said Mr. Percival--“why? Come to-morrow, as you have promised, to +Upper Grosvenor-street, and let me introduce you to Lady Anne Percival; +she can answer your question better than I can--if not entirely to your +satisfaction, at least entirely to mine, which is more surprising, as +the lady is my wife.” + +By this time Clarence Hervey was equipped in a dry suit of clothes; +and by the strength of an excellent constitution, which he had never +injured, even amongst his dissipated associates, he had recovered from +the effects of his late imprudence.--“Clary, let’s away, here’s the +coach,” said Mr. St. George. “Why, my boy--that’s a famous fellow, +faith!--why, you look the better for being drowned. ‘Pon honour, if I +were you, I would jump into the Serpentine river once a day.” + +“If I could always be sure of such good friends to pull me out,” said +Hervey.--“Pray, St. George, by-the-bye, what were you, and Rochfort, +and Sir Philip, and all the rest of my friends doing, whilst I was +drowning?” + +“I can’t say particularly, upon my soul,” replied Mr. St. George; “for +my own part, I was in boots, so you know I was out of the question. But +what signifies all that now? Come, come, we had best think of looking +after our dinners.” + +Clarence Hervey, who had very quick feelings, was extremely hurt by +the indifference which his dear friends had shown when his life was in +danger: he was apt to believe that he was really an object of affection +and admiration amongst his companions; and that though they were neither +very wise, nor very witty, they were certainly very good-natured. When +they had forfeited, by their late conduct, these claims to his regard, +his partiality for them was changed into contempt. + +“You had better come home and dine with me, Mr. Hervey,” said Mr. +Percival, “if you be not absolutely engaged; for here is your physician, +who tells me that temperance is necessary for a man just recovered from +drowning, and Mr. Rochfort keeps too good a table, I am told, for one in +your condition.” + +Clarence accepted of this invitation with a degree of pleasure which +perfectly astonished Mr. St. George. + +“Every man knows his own affairs best,” said he to Clarence, as he +stepped into his hackney coach; “but for my share, I will do my friend +Rochfort the justice to say that no one lives as well as he does.” + +“If to live well mean nothing but to eat,” said Clarence. + +“Now,” said Dr. X----, looking at his watch, “it will be eight o’clock +by the time we get to Upper Grosvenor-street, and Lady Anne will +probably have waited dinner for us about two hours, which I apprehend +is sufficient to try the patience of any woman but Griselda. Do +not,” continued he, turning to Clarence Hervey, “expect to see an +old-fashioned, spiritless, patient Griselda, in Lady Anne Percival: I +can assure you that she is--but I will neither tell you what she is, +nor what she is not. Every man who has any abilities, likes to have the +pleasure and honour of finding out a character by his own penetration, +instead of having it forced upon him at full length in capital +letters of gold, finely emblazoned and illuminated by the hand of some +injudicious friend: every child thinks the violet of his own finding the +sweetest. I spare you any farther allusion and illustrations,” concluded +Dr. X----, “for here we are, thank God, in Upper Grosvenor-street.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A FAMILY PARTY. + + +They found Lady Anne Percival in the midst of her children, who all +turned their healthy, rosy, intelligent faces towards the door, the +moment that they heard their father’s voice. Clarence Hervey was so much +struck with the expression of happiness in Lady Anne’s countenance, that +he absolutely forgot to compare her beauty with Lady Delacour’s. Whether +her eyes were large or small, blue or hazel, he could not tell; nay, +he might have been puzzled if he had been asked the colour of her hair. +Whether she were handsome by the rules of art, he knew not; but he felt +that she had the essential charm of beauty, the power of prepossessing +the heart immediately in her favour. The effect of her manners, like +that of her beauty, was rather to be felt than described. Every body +was at ease in her company, and none thought themselves called upon to +admire her. To Clarence Hervey, who had been used to the brilliant and +_exigeante_ Lady Delacour, this respite from the fatigue of admiration +was peculiarly agreeable. The unconstrained cheerfulness of Lady Anne +Percival spoke a mind at ease, and immediately imparted happiness by +exacting sympathy; but in Lady Delacour’s wit and gaiety there was an +appearance of art and effort, which often destroyed the pleasure that +she wished to communicate. Mr. Hervey was, perhaps unusually, disposed +to reflection, by having just escaped from drowning; for he had made all +these comparisons, and came to this conclusion, with the accuracy of a +metaphysician, who has been accustomed to study cause and effect--indeed +there was no species of knowledge for which he had not taste and +talents, though, to please fools, he too often affected “the bliss of +ignorance.” + +The children at Lady Anne Percival’s happened to be looking at some gold +fish, which were in a glass globe, and Dr. X----, who was a general +favourite with the younger as well as with the elder part of the family, +was seized upon the moment he entered the room: a pretty little girl of +five years old took him prisoner by the flap of the coat, whilst two of +her brothers assailed him with questions about the ears, eyes, and +fins of fishes. One of the little boys filliped the glass globe, and +observed, that the fish immediately came to the surface of the water, +and seemed to hear the noise very quickly; but his brother doubted +whether the fish heard the noise, and remarked, that they might be +disturbed by seeing or feeling the motion of the water, when the glass +was struck. + +Dr. X---- observed, that this was a very learned dispute, and that the +question had been discussed by no less a person than the Abbé Nollet; +and he related some of the ingenious experiments tried by that +gentleman, to decide whether fishes can or cannot hear. Whilst the +doctor was speaking, Clarence Hervey was struck with the intelligent +countenance of one of the little auditors, a girl of about ten or twelve +years old; he was surprised to discover in her features, though not in +their expression, a singular resemblance to Lady Delacour. He remarked +this to Mr. Percival, and the child, who overheard him, blushed as red +as scarlet. Dinner was announced at this instant, and Clarence Hervey +thought no more of the circumstance, attributing the girl’s blush +to confusion at being looked at so earnestly. One of the little boys +whispered as they were going down to dinner, “Helena, I do believe that +this is the good-natured gentleman who went out of the path to make room +for us, instead of running over us as the other man did.” The children +agreed that Clarence Hervey certainly was the _good-natured gentleman_, +and upon the strength of this observation, one of the boys posted +himself next to Clarence at dinner, and by all the little playful +manoeuvres in his power endeavoured to show his gratitude, and to +cultivate a friendship which had been thus auspiciously commenced. +Mr. Hervey, who piqued himself upon being able always to suit his +conversation to his companions, distinguished himself at dinner by an +account of the Chinese fishing-bird, from which he passed to the various +ingenious methods of fishing practised by the Russian Cossacks. From +modern he went to ancient fish, and he talked of that which was so much +admired by the Roman epicures for exhibiting a succession of beautiful +colours whilst it is dying; and which was, upon that account, +always suffered to die in the presence of the guests, as part of the +entertainment.--Clarence was led on by the questions of the children +from fishes to birds; he spoke of the Roman aviaries, which were +so constructed as to keep from the sight of the prisoners that they +contained, “the fields, woods, and every object which might remind them +of their former liberty.”--From birds he was going on to beasts, when he +was nearly struck dumb by the forbidding severity with which an elderly +lady, who sat opposite to him, fixed her eyes upon him. He had not, +till this instant, paid the smallest attention to her; but her stern +countenance was now so strongly contrasted with the approving looks of +the children who sat next to her, that he could not help remarking it. +He asked her to do him the honour to drink a glass of wine with him. She +declined doing him that honour; observing that she never drank more than +one glass of wine at dinner, and that she had just taken one with Mr. +Percival. Her manner was well-bred, but haughty in the extreme; and +she was so passionate, that her anger sometimes conquered even her +politeness. Her dislike to Clarence Hervey was apparent, even in her +silence. “If the old gentlewoman has taken an antipathy to me at first +sight, I cannot help it,” thought he, and he went on to the beasts. The +boy, who sat next him, had asked some questions about the proboscis of +the elephant, and Mr. Hervey mentioned Ives’s account of the elephants +in India, who have been set to watch young children, and who draw them +back gently with their trunks, when they go out of bounds. He talked +next of the unicorn; and addressing himself to Dr. X---- and Mr. +Percival, he declared that in his opinion Herodotus did not deserve to +be called the father of lies; he cited the mammoth to prove that +the apocryphal chapter in the history of beasts should not be +contemned--that it would in all probability be soon established as true +history. The dessert was on the table before Clarence had done with the +mammoth. + +As the butler put a fine dish of cherries upon the table, he said, + +“My lady, these cherries are a present from the old gardener to Miss +Delacour.” + +“Set them before Miss Delacour then,” said Lady Anne. “Helena, my dear, +distribute your own cherries.” + +At the name of Delacour, Clarence Hervey, though his head was still half +full of the mammoth, looked round in astonishment; and when he saw +the cherries placed before the young lady, whose resemblance to Lady +Delacour he had before observed, he could not help exclaiming, + +“That young lady then is not a daughter of your ladyship’s?” + +“No; but I love her as well as if she were,” replied Lady Anne.--“What +were you saying about the mammoth?” + +“That the mammoth is supposed to be------------” but interrupting +himself, Clarence said in an inquiring tone--“A _niece_ of Lady +Delacour’s?” + +“Her ladyship’s _daughter_, sir,” said the severe old lady, in a voice +more terrific than her looks. + +“Shall I give you some strawberries, Mr. Hervey,” said lady Anne, “or +will you let Helena help you to some cherries?” + +“Her ladyship’s _daughter!_” exclaimed Clarence Hervey in a tone of +surprise. + +“Some cherries, sir?” said Helena; but her voice faltered so much, that +she could hardly utter the words. + +Clarence perceived that he had been the cause of her agitation, though +he knew not precisely by what means; and he now applied himself in +silence to the picking of his strawberries with great diligence. + +The ladies soon afterwards withdrew, and as Mr. Percival did not touch +upon the subject again, Clarence forbore to ask any further questions, +though he was considerably surprised by this sudden discovery. When he +went into the drawing-room to tea, he found his friend, the stern old +lady, speaking in a high declamatory tone. The words which he heard as +he came into the room were-- + +“If there were no Clarence Herveys, there would be no Lady +Delacours.”--Clarence bowed as if he had received a high compliment--the +old lady walked away to an antechamber, fanning herself with great +energy. + +“Mrs. Margaret Delacour,” said Lady Anne, in a low voice to Hervey, +“is an aunt of Lord Delacour’s. A woman whose heart is warmer than her +temper.” + +“And that is never cool,” said a young lady, who sat next to Lady Anne. +“I call Mrs. Margaret Delacour the volcano; I’m sure I am never in her +company without dreading an eruption. Every now and then out comes with +a tremendous noise, fire, smoke, and rubbish.” + +“And precious minerals,” said Lady Anne, “amongst the rubbish.” + +“But the best of it is,” continued the young lady, “that she is seldom +in a passion without making a hundred mistakes, for which she is usually +obliged afterwards to ask a thousand pardons.” + +“By that account,” said Lady Anne, “which I believe to be just, her +contrition is always ten times as great as her offence.” + +“Now you talk of contrition, Lady Anne,” said Mr. Hervey, “I should +think of my own offences: I am very sorry that my indiscreet questions +gave Miss Delacour any pain--my head was so full of the mammoth, that I +blundered on without seeing what I was about till it was too late.” + +“Pray, sir,” said Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who now returned, and took her +seat upon a sofa, with the solemnity of a person who was going to sit in +judgment upon a criminal, “pray, sir, may I ask how long you have been +acquainted with my Lady Delacour?” + +Clarence Hervey took up a book, and with great gravity kissed it, as if +he had been upon his oath in a court of justice, and answered, + +“To the best of my recollection, madam, it is now four years since I had +first the pleasure and honour of seeing Lady Delacour.” + +“And in that time, intimately as you have had the pleasure of being +acquainted with her ladyship, you have never discovered that she had a +daughter?” + +“Never,” said Mr. Hervey. + +“There, Lady Anne!--There!” cried Mrs. Delacour, “will you tell me after +this, that Lady Delacour is not a monster?” + +“Every body says that she’s a prodigy,” said Lady Anne; “and prodigies +and monsters are sometimes thought synonymous terms.” + +“Such a mother was never heard of,” continued Mrs. Delacour, “since the +days of Savage and Lady Macclesfield. I am convinced that she _hates_ +her daughter. Why she never speaks of her--she never sees her--she never +thinks of her!” + +“Some mothers speak more than they think of their children, and others +think more than they speak of them,” said Lady Anne. + +“I always thought,” said Mr. Hervey, “that Lady Delacour was a woman of +great sensibility.” + +“Sensibility!” exclaimed the indignant old lady, “she has no +sensibility, sir--none--none. She who lives in a constant round of +dissipation, who performs no one duty, who exists only for herself; how +does she show her sensibility?--Has she sensibility for her husband--for +her daughter--for any one useful purpose upon earth?--Oh, how I hate the +cambric handkerchief sensibility that is brought out only to weep at a +tragedy!--Yes; Lady Delacour has sensibility enough, I grant ye, when +sensibility is the fashion. I remember well her performing the part of +a nurse with vast applause; and I remember, too, the sensibility +she showed, when the child that she nursed fell a sacrifice to her +dissipation. The second of her children, that she killed--” + +“Killed!--Oh! surely, my dear Mrs. Delacour, that is too strong a word,” + said Lady Anne: “you would not make a Medea of Lady Delacour!” + +“It would have been better if I had,” cried Mrs. Delacour, “I can +understand that there may be such a thing in nature as a jealous wife, +but an unfeeling mother I cannot comprehend--that passes my powers of +imagination.” + +“And mine, so much,” said Lady Anne, “that I cannot believe such a being +to exist in the world--notwithstanding all the descriptions I have +heard of it: as you say, my dear Mrs. Delacour, it passes my powers +of imagination. Let us leave it in Mr. Hervey’s apocryphal chapter of +animals, and he will excuse us if I never admit it into true history, at +least without some better evidence than I have yet heard.” + +“Why, my dear, dear Lady Anne,” cried Mrs. Delacour--“I’ve made this +coffee so sweet, there’s no drinking it--what evidence would you have?” + +“None,” said Lady Anne, smiling, “I would have none.” “That is to say, +you will take none,” said Mrs. Delacour: “but can any thing be stronger +evidence than her ladyship’s conduct to _my_ poor Helen--to _your_ +Helen, I should say--for you have educated, you have protected her, you +have been a mother to her. I am an infirm, weak, ignorant, passionate +old woman--I could not have been what you have been to that child--God +bless you!--God will bless you!” + +She rose as she spoke, to set down her coffee-cup on the table. Clarence +Hervey took it from her with a look which said much, and which she was +perfectly capable of understanding. + +“Young man,” said she, “it is very unfashionable to treat age and +infirmity with politeness. I wish that your friend, Lady Delacour, +may at my time of life meet with as much respect, as she has met +with admiration and gallantry in her youth. Poor woman, her head has +absolutely been turned with admiration--and if fame say true, Mr. Hervey +has had his share in turning that head by his flattery.” + +“I am sure her ladyship has turned mine by her charms,” said Clarence; +“and I certainly am not to be blamed for admiring what all the world +admires.” + +“I wish,” said the old lady, “for her own sake, for the sake of her +family, and for the sake of her reputation, that my Lady Delacour had +fewer admirers, and more friends.” + +“Women who have met with so many admirers, seldom meet with many +friends,” said Lady Anne. + +“No,” said Mrs. Delacour, “for they seldom are wise enough to know their +value.” + +“We learn the value of all things, but especially of friends, by +experience,” said Lady Anne; “and it is no wonder, therefore, that those +who have little experience of the pleasures of friendship should not be +wise enough to know their value.” + +“This is very good-natured sophistry; but Lady Delacour is too vain ever +to have a friend,” said Mrs. Delacour. “My dear Lady Anne, you don’t +know her as well as I do--she has more vanity than ever woman had.” + +“That is certainly saying a great deal,” said Lady Anne; “but then we +must consider, that Lady Delacour, as an heiress, a beauty, and a wit, +has a right to a triple share at least.” + +“Both her fortune and her beauty are gone; and if she had any wit left, +it is time it should teach her how to conduct herself, I think,” said +Mrs. Delacour: “but I give her up--I give her up.” + +“Oh, no,” said Lady Anne, “you must not give her up yet, I have been +informed, and upon _the best authority_, that Lady Delacour was not +always the unfeeling, dissipated fine lady that she now appears to be. +This is only one of the transformations of fashion--the period of her +enchantment will soon be at an end, and she will return to her natural +character. I should not be at all surprised, if Lady Delacour were to +appear at once _la femme comme il y en a pen_.” + +“Or _la bonne mère_?” said Mrs. Delacour, sarcastically, “after thus +leaving her daughter----” + +“_Pour bonne bouche_,” interrupted Lady Anne, “when she is tired of +the insipid taste of other pleasures, she will have a higher relish for +those of domestic life, which will be new and fresh to her.” + +“And so you really think, my dear Lady Anne, that my Lady Delacour will +end by being a domestic woman. Well,” said Mrs. Margaret, after taking +two pinches of snuff, “some people believe in the millennium; but I +confess I am not one of them--are you, Mr. Hervey?” + +“If it were foretold to me by a good angel,” said Clarence, smiling, +as his eye glanced at Lady Anne; “if it were foretold to me by a good +angel, how could I doubt it?” + +Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of one of Lady +Anne’s little boys, who came running eagerly up to his mother, to ask +whether he might have “the sulphurs to show to Helena Delacour. I +want to show her Vertumnus and Pomona, mamma,” said he. “Were not the +cherries that the old gardener sent very good?” + +“What is this about the cherries and the old gardener, Charles?” said +the young lady who sat beside Lady Anne: “come here and tell me the +whole story.” + +“I will, but I should tell it you a great deal better another time,” + said the boy, “because now Helena’s waiting for Vertumnus and Pomona.” + +“Go then to Helena,” said Lady Anne, “and I will tell the story for +you.” + +Then turning to the young lady she began--“Once upon a time there lived +an old gardener at Kensington; and this old gardener had an aloe, which +was older than himself; for it was very near a hundred years of age, and +it was just going to blossom, and the old gardener calculated how much +he might make by showing his aloe, when it should be in full blow, to +the generous public--and he calculated that he might make a 100l.; and +with this 100l. he determined to do more than was ever done with a 100l. +before: but, unluckily, as he was thus reckoning his blossoms before +they were blown, he chanced to meet with a fair damsel, who ruined all +his calculations.” + +“Ay, Mrs. Stanhope’s maid, was not it?” interrupted Mrs. Margaret +Delacour. “A pretty damsel she was, and almost as good a politician as +her mistress. Think of that jilt’s tricking this poor old fellow out of +his aloe, and--oh, the meanness of Lady Delacour, to accept of that aloe +for one of her extravagant entertainments!” + +“But I always understood that she paid fifty guineas for it,” said Lady +Anne. + +“Whether she did or not,” said Mrs. Delacour, “her ladyship and Mrs. +Stanhope between them were the ruin of this poor old man. He was taken +in to marry that jade of a waiting-maid; she turned out just as you +might expect from a pupil of Mrs. Stanhope’s--the match-making Mrs. +Stanhope--you know, sir.” (Clarence Hervey changed colour.) “She turned +out,” continued Mrs. Delacour, “every thing that was bad--ruined her +husband--ran away from him--and left him a beggar.” + +“Poor man!” said Clarence Hervey. + +“But now,” said Lady Anne, “let’s come to the best part of the +story--mark how good comes out of evil. If this poor man had not lost +his aloe and his wife, I probably should never have been acquainted with +Mrs. Delacour, or with my little Helena. About the time that the old +gardener was left a beggar, as I happened to be walking one fine evening +in Sloane-street, I met a procession of school-girls--an old man begged +from them in a most moving voice; and as they passed, several of the +young ladies threw halfpence to him. One little girl, who observed that +the old man could not stoop without great difficulty, stayed behind +the rest of her companions, and collected the halfpence which they had +thrown to him, and put them into his hat. He began to tell his story +over again to her, and she stayed so long listening to it, that her +companions had turned the corner of the street, and were out of sight. +She looked about in great distress; and I never shall forget the +pathetic voice with which she said, ‘Oh! what will become of me? every +body will be angry with me.’ I assured her that nobody should be angry +with her, and she gave me her little hand with the utmost innocent +confidence. I took her home to her schoolmistress, and I was so pleased +with the beginning of this acquaintance, that I was determined to +cultivate it. One good acquaintance I have heard always leads to +another. Helena introduced me to her aunt Delacour as her best friend. +Mrs. Margaret Delacour has had the goodness to let her little niece +spend the holidays and all her leisure time with me, so that our +acquaintance has grown into friendship. Helena has become quite one of +my family.” + +“And I am sure she has become quite a different creature since she has +been so much with you,” cried Mrs. Delacour; “her spirits were quite +broken by her mother’s neglect of her: young as she is, she has a great +deal of real sensibility; but as to her mother’s sensibility--” + +At the recollection of Lady Delacour’s neglect of her child, Mrs. +Delacour was going again to launch forth into indignant invective, but +Lady Anne stopped her, by whispering-- + +“Take care what you say of the mother, for here is the daughter coming, +and she has, indeed, a great deal of real sensibility.” + +Helena and her young companions now came into the room, bringing with +them the sulphurs at which they had been looking. + +“Mamma,” said little Charles Percival, “we have brought the sulphurs to +you, because there are some of them that I don’t know.” + +“Wonderful!” said Lady Anne; “and what is not quite so wonderful, there +are some of them that I don’t know.” + +The children spread the sulphurs upon a little table, and all the +company gathered round it. + +“Here are all the nine muses for you,” said the least of the boys, who +had taken his seat by Clarence Hervey at dinner; “here are all the muses +for you, Mr. Hervey: which do you like best?--Oh, that’s the tragic muse +that you have chosen!--You don’t like the tragic better than the comic +muse, do you?” + +Clarence Hervey made no answer, for he was at that instant recollecting +how Belinda looked in the character of the tragic muse. + +“Has your ladyship ever happened to meet with the young lady who has +spent this winter with Lady Delacour?” said Clarence to Lady Anne. + +“I sat near her one night at the opera,” said Lady Anne: “she has a +charming countenance.” + +“Who?--Belinda Portman, do you mean?” said Mrs. Delacour. “I am sure if +I were a young man, I would not trust to the charming countenance of a +young lady who is a pupil of Mrs. Stanhope’s, and a friend of--Helena, +my dear, shut the door--the most dissipated woman in London.” + +“Indeed,” said Lady Anne, “Miss Portman is in a dangerous situation; +but some young people learn prudence by being placed in dangerous +situations, as some young horses, I have heard Mr. Percival say, learn +to be sure-footed, by being left to pick their own way on bad roads.” + +Here Mr. Percival, Dr. X----, and some other gentlemen, came up +stairs to tea, and the conversation took another turn. Clarence Hervey +endeavoured to take his share in it with his usual vivacity, but he was +thinking of Belinda Portman, dangerous situations, stumbling horses, &c; +and he made several blunders, which showed his absence of mind. + +“What have you there, Mr. Hervey?” said Dr. X----, looking over his +shoulder--“the tragic muse? This tragic muse seems to rival Lady +Delacour in your admiration.” + +“Oh,” said Clarence, smiling, “you know I was always a votary of the +muses.” + +“And a favoured votary,” said Dr. X----. “I wish for the interests of +literature, that poets may always be lovers, though I cannot say that +I desire lovers should always be poets. But, Mr. Hervey, you must never +marry, remember,” continued Dr. X----, “never--for your true poet must +always be miserable. You know Petrarch tells us, he would not have been +happy if he could; he would not have married his mistress if it had been +in his power; because then there would have been an end of his beautiful +sonnets.” + +“Every one to his taste,” said Clarence; “for my part I have even less +ambition to imitate the heroism than hope of being inspired with the +poetic genius of Petrarch. I have no wish to pass whole nights composing +sonnets. I would (am I not right, Mr. Percival?) infinitely rather be a +slave of the ring than a slave of the lamp.” + +Here the conversation ended; Clarence took his leave, and Mrs. Margaret +Delacour said, the moment he had left the room, “Quite a different sort +of young man from what I had expected to see!” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +ADVICE. + + +The next morning Mr. Hervey called on Dr. X----, and begged that he +would accompany him to Lady Delacour’s. + +“To be introduced to your tragic muse?” said the doctor. + +“Yes,” said Mr. Hervey: “I must have your opinion of her before I devote +myself.” + +“My opinion! but of whom?--Of Lady Delacour?” + +“No; but of a young lady whom you will see with her.” + +“Is she handsome?” + +“Beautiful!” + +“And young?” + +“And young.” + +“And graceful?” + +“The most graceful person you ever beheld.” + +“Young, beautiful, graceful; then the deuce take me,” said Dr. X----, +“if I give you my opinion of her: for the odds are, that she has a +thousand faults, at least, to balance these perfections.” + +“A thousand faults! a charitable allowance,” said Clarence, smiling. + +“There now,” said Dr. X---- + + ‘Touch him, and no minister’s so sore.’ + +To punish you for wincing at my first setting out, I promise you, that +if the lady have a million of faults, each of them high as huge Olympus, +I will see them as with the eye of a flatterer--not of a friend.” + +“I defy you to be so good or so bad as your word, doctor,” said Hervey. +“You have too much wit to make a good flatterer.” + +“And perhaps you think too much to make a good friend,” said Dr. X----. + +“Not so,” said Clarence: “I would at any time rather be cut by a sharp +knife than by a blunt one. But, my dear doctor, I hope you will not be +prejudiced against Belinda, merely because she is with Lady Delacour; +for to my certain knowledge, she in not under her ladyship’s influence. +She judges and acts for herself, of which I have had an instance.” + +“Very possibly!” interrupted Dr. X----. “But before we go any farther, +will you please to tell me of what Belinda you are talking?” + +“Belinda Portman. I forgot that I had not told you.” + +“Miss Portman, a niece of Mrs. Stanhope’s?” + +“Yes, but do not be prejudiced against her on that account,” said +Clarence, eagerly, “though I was at first myself.” + +“Then you will excuse my following your example instead of your +precepts.” + +“No,” said Clarence, “for my precepts are far better than my example.” + +Lady Delacour received Dr. X---- most courteously, and thanked Mr. +Hervey for introducing to her a gentleman with whom she had long desired +to converse. Dr. X---- had a great literary reputation, and she saw +that he was a perfectly well-bred man; consequently she was ambitious +of winning his admiration. She perceived also that he had considerable +influence with Clarence Hervey, and this was a sufficient reason to make +her wish for his good opinion. Belinda was particularly pleased with his +manners and conversation; she saw that he paid her much attention, and +she was desirous that he should think favourably of her; but she had +the good sense and good taste to avoid a display of her abilities and +accomplishments. A sensible man, who has any knowledge of the world and +talents for conversation, can easily draw out the knowledge of those +with whom he converses. Dr. X---- possessed this power in a superior +degree. + +“Well,” cried Clarence, when their visit was over, “what is your opinion +of Lady Delacour?” + +“I am ‘blasted with excess of light,’” said the doctor. + +“Her ladyship is certainly very brilliant,” said Clarence, “but I hope +that Miss Portman did not overpower you.” + +“No--I turned my eyes from Lady Delacour upon Miss Portman, as a painter +turns his eyes upon mild green, to rest them, when they have been +dazzled by glaring colours. + + ‘She yields her charms of mind with sweet delay.’” + +“I was afraid,” said Hervey, “that you might think her manners too +reserved and cold: they are certainly become more so than they used to +be. But so much the better; by and by we shall find beautiful flowers +spring up from beneath the snow.’” + +“A very poetical hope,” said Dr. X----; “but in judging of the human +character, we must not entirely trust to analogies and allusions taken +from the vegetable creation.” + +“What!” cried Clarence Hervey, looking eagerly in the doctor’s eyes, +“what do you mean? I am afraid you do not approve of Belinda.” + +“Your fears are almost as precipitate as your hopes, my good sir: but to +put you out of pain, I will tell you, that I approve of all I have seen +of this young lady, but that it is absolutely out of my power to form a +decisive judgment of a woman’s temper and character in the course of a +single morning visit. Women, you know, as well as men, often speak with +one species of enthusiasm, and act with another. I must see your Belinda +act, I must study her, before I can give you my final judgment. Lady +Delacour has honoured me with her commands to go to her as often as +possible. For your sake, my dear Hervey, I shall obey her ladyship most +punctually, that I may have frequent opportunities of seeing your Miss +Portman.” + +Clarence expressed his gratitude with much energy, for this instance +of the doctor’s friendship. Belinda, who had been entertained by Dr. +X----‘s conversation during this first visit, was more and more +delighted with his company as she became more acquainted with his +understanding and character. She felt that he unfolded her powers, and +that with the greatest politeness and address he raised her confidence +in herself, without ever descending to flattery. By degrees she +learned to look upon him as a friend; she imparted to him with great +ingenuousness her opinions on various subjects, and she was both amused +and instructed by his observations on the characters and manners of the +company who frequented Lady Delacour’s assemblies. She did not judge of +the doctor’s sincerity merely by the kindness he showed her, but by his +conduct towards others. + +One night, at a select party at Lady Delacour’s, a Spanish gentleman +was amusing the company with some anecdotes, to prove the extraordinary +passion which some of his countrymen formerly showed for the game of +chess. He mentioned families, in which unfinished games, bequeathed by +will, had descended from father to son, and where victory was doubtful +for upwards of a century. + +Mr. Hervey observed, that gaining a battle was, at that time, so common +to the court of Spain, that a victory at chess seemed to confer more +_éclat_; for that an abbé, by losing adroitly a game at chess to the +Spanish minister, obtained a cardinal’s hat. + +The foreigner was flattered by the manner in which Hervey introduced +this slight circumstance, and he directed to him his conversation, +speaking in French and Italian successively; he was sufficiently skilled +in both languages, but Clarence spoke them better. Till he appeared, +the foreigner was the principal object of attention, but he was soon +eclipsed by Mr. Hervey. Nothing amusing or instructive that could be +said upon the game of chess escaped him, and the literary ground, which +the slow Don would have taken some hours to go regularly over, our +hero traversed in a few minutes. From Twiss to Vida, from Irwin to Sir +William Jones, from Spain to India, he passed with admirable celerity, +and seized all that could adorn his course from Indian Antiquities or +Asiatic Researches. + +By this display of knowledge he surprised even his friend Dr. X----. +The ladies admired his taste as a poet, the gentlemen his accuracy as a +critic; Lady Delacour loudly applauded, and Belinda silently approved. +Clarence was elated. The Spanish gentleman, to whom he had just quoted +a case in point from Vida’s Scacchia, asked him if he were as perfect +in the practice as in the theory of the game. Clarence was too proud of +excelling in every thing to decline the Spaniard’s challenge. They sat +down to chess. Lady Delacour, as they ranged the pieces on the board, +cried, “Whoever wins shall be my knight; and a silver chess-man shall be +his prize. Was it not Queen Elizabeth who gave a silver chess-man to one +of her courtiers as a mark of her royal favour? I am ashamed to imitate +such a pedantic coquet--but since I have said it, how can I retract?” + +“Impossible! impossible!” cried Clarence Hervey: “a silver chess-man be +our prize; and if I win it, like the gallant Raleigh, I will wear it in +my cap; and what proud Essex shall dare to challenge it?” + +The combat now began--the spectators were silent. Clarence made an error +in his first move, for his attention was distracted by seeing Belinda +behind his adversary’s chair. The Spaniard was deceived by this mistake +into a contemptuous opinion of his opponent--Belinda changed her +place--Clarence recovered his presence of mind, and convinced him that +he was not a man to be despised. The combat was long doubtful, but at +length to the surprise of all present, Clarence Hervey was victorious. + +Exulting in his success, he looked round for Lady Delacour, from whom he +expected the honours of his triumph. She had left the room, but soon she +returned, dressed in the character of Queen Elizabeth, in which she had +once appeared at a masquerade, with a large ruff, and all the costume of +the times. + +Clarence Hervey, throwing himself at her feet, addressed her in that +high-flown style which her majesty was wont to hear from the gallant +Raleigh, or the accomplished Essex. + +Soon the coquetry of the queen entirely conquered her prudery; and +the favoured courtier, evidently elated by his situation, was as +enthusiastic as her majesty’s most insatiable vanity could desire. The +characters were well supported; both the actor and actress were +highly animated, and seemed so fully possessed by their parts as to +be insensible to the comments that were made upon the scene. Clarence +Hervey was first recalled to himself by the deep blush which he saw on +Belinda’s cheek, when Queen Elizabeth addressed her as one of her maids +of honour, of whom she affected to be jealous. He was conscious that he +had been hurried by the enthusiasm of the moment farther than he either +wished or intended. It was difficult to recede, when her majesty seemed +disposed to advance; but Sir Walter Raleigh, with much presence of mind, +turned to the foreigner, whom he accosted as the Spanish ambassador. + +“Your excellency sees,” said he, “how this great queen turns the heads +of her faithful subjects, and afterwards has the art of paying them +with nothing but words. Has the new world afforded you any coin half so +valuable?” + +The Spanish gentleman’s grave replies to this playful question gave +a new turn to the conversation, and relieved Clarence Hervey from his +embarrassment. Lady Delacour, though still in high spirits, was easily +diverted to other objects. She took the Spaniard with her to the +next room, to show him a picture of Mary, Queen of Scots. The company +followed her--Clarence Hervey remained with Dr. X---- and Belinda, who +had just asked the doctor, to teach her the moves at chess. + +“Lady Delacour has charming spirits,” said Clarence Hervey; “they +inspire every body with gaiety.” + +“Every body! they incline me more to melancholy than mirth,” said Dr. +X----. “These high spirits do not seem quite natural. The vivacity of +youth and of health, Miss Portman, always charms me; but this gaiety of +Lady Delacour’s does not appear to me that of a sound mind in a sound +body.” + +The doctor’s penetration went so near the truth, that Belinda, afraid +of betraying her friend’s secrets, never raised her eyes from the +chess-board whilst he spoke, but went on setting up the fallen castles, +and bishops, and kings, with expeditious diligence. + +“You are putting the bishop into the place of the knight,” said +Clarence. + +“Lady Delacour,” continued the doctor, “seems to be in a perpetual +fever, either of mind or body--I cannot tell which--and as a +professional man, I really have some curiosity to determine the +question. If I could feel her pulse, I could instantly decide; but I +have heard her say that she has a horror against having her pulse felt, +and a lady’s horror is invincible, by reason--” + +“But not by address,” said Clarence. “I can tell you a method of +counting her pulse, without her knowing it, without her seeing you, +without your seeing her.” + +“Indeed!” said Dr. X----, smiling; “that may be a useful secret in my +profession; pray impart it to me--you who excel in every thing.” + +“Are you in earnest, Mr. Hervey?” said Belinda. + +“Perfectly in earnest--my secret is quite simple. Look through the door +at the shadow of Queen Elizabeth’s ruff--observe how it vibrates; the +motion as well as the figure is magnified in the shadow. Cannot you +count every pulsation distinctly?” + +“I can,” said Dr. X----, “and I give you credit for making an ingenious +use of a trifling observation.” The doctor paused and looked round. +“Those people cannot hear what we are saying, I believe?” + +“Oh, no,” said Belinda, “they are intent upon themselves.” Doctor +X---- fixed his eyes mildly upon Clarence Hervey, and exclaimed in an +earnest friendly tone--“What a pity, Mr. Hervey, that a young man +of your talents and acquirements, a man who might be any thing, +should--pardon the expression--choose to be--nothing; should waste upon +petty objects powers suited to the greatest; should lend his soul +to every contest for frivolous superiority, when the same energy +concentrated might ensure honourable pre-eminence among the first men +in his country. Shall he who might not only distinguish himself in any +science or situation, who might not only acquire personal fame, but, +oh, far more noble motive! who might be permanently useful to his +fellow-creatures, content himself with being the evanescent amusement +of a drawing-room?--Shall one, who might be great in public, or happy +in private life, waste in this deplorable manner the best years of his +existence--time that can never be recalled?--This is declamation!--No: +it is truth put into the strongest language that I have power to use, in +the hope of making some impression: I speak from my heart, for I have a +sincere regard for you, Mr. Hervey, and if I have been impertinent, you +must forgive me.” + +“Forgive you!” cried Clarence Hervey, taking Dr. X---- by the hand, “I +think you a real friend; you shall have the best thanks not in words, +but in actions: you have roused my ambition, and I will pursue noble +ends by noble means. A few years have been sacrificed; but the lessons +that they have taught me remain. I cannot, presumptuous as I am, +flatter myself that my exertions can be of any material utility to my +fellow-creatures, but what I can do I will, my excellent friend! If I be +hereafter either successful in public, or happy in private life, it is +to you I shall owe it.” + +Belinda was touched by the candour and good sense with which Clarence +Hervey spoke. His character appeared in a new light: she was proud of +her own judgment, in having discerned his merit, and for a moment she +permitted herself to feel “unreproved pleasure in his company.” + +The next morning, Sir Philip Baddely and Mr. Rochfort called at Lady +Delacour’s--Mr. Hervey was present--her ladyship was summoned to Mrs. +Franks, and Belinda was left with these gentlemen. + +“Why, damme, Clary! you have been a lost man,” cried Sir Philip, “ever +since you were drowned. Damme, why did not you come to dine with us +that day, now I recollect it? We were all famously merry; but for your +comfort, Clarence, we missed you cursedly, and were damned sorry you +ever took that unlucky jump into the Serpentine river--damned sorry, +were not we, Rochfort?” + +“Oh,” said Clarence, in an ironical tone, “you need no vouchers to +convince me of the reality of your sorrow. You know I can never forget +your jumping so courageously into the river, to save the life of your +friend.” + +“Oh, pooh! damn it,” said Sir Philip, “what signifies who pulled you +out, now you are safe and sound? By-the-bye, Clary, did you ever quiz +that doctor, as I desired you? No, that I’m sure you didn’t; but I think +he has made a quiz of you: for, damme, I believe you have taken such a +fancy to the old quizzical fellow, that you can’t live without him. Miss +Portman, don’t you admire Hervey’s taste?” + +“In this instance I certainly do admire Mr. Hervey’s taste,” said +Belinda, “for the best of all possible reasons, because it entirely +agrees with my own.” + +“Very extraordinary, faith,” said Sir Philip. + +“And what the devil can you find to like in him, Clary?” continued Mr. +Rochfort, “for one wouldn’t be so rude to put that question to a lady. +Ladies, you know, are never to be questioned about their likings and +dislikings. Some have pet dogs, some have pet cats: then why not a _pet +quiz?_” + +“Ha! ha! ha! that’s a good one, Rochfort--a pet quiz!--Ha! ha! ha! Dr. +X---- shall be Miss Portman’s pet quiz. Put it about, put it about, +Rochfort,” continued the witty baronet, and he and his facetious +companion continued to laugh as long as they possibly could at this +happy hit. + +Belinda, without being in the least discomposed by their insolent folly, +as soon as they had finished laughing, very coolly observed, that she +could have no objection to give her reasons for preferring Dr. X----‘s +company but for fear they might give offence to Sir Philip and his +friends. She then defended the doctor with so much firmness, and yet +with so much propriety, that Clarence Hervey was absolutely enchanted +with her, and with his own penetration in having discovered her real +character, notwithstanding her being Mrs. Stanhope’s niece. + +“I never argue, for my part,” cried Mr. Rochfort: “‘pon honour, ‘tis a +deal too much trouble. A lady, a handsome lady, I mean, is always in the +right with me.” + +“But as to you, Hervey,” said Sir Philip, “damme, do you know, my boy, +that our club has come to a determination to black-ball you, if you keep +company with this famous doctor?” + +“Your club, Sir Philip, will do me honour by such an ostracism.” + +“Ostracism!” repeated Sir Philip.--“In plain English, does that mean +that you choose to be black-balled by us? Why, damn it, Clary, you’ll +be nobody. But follow your own genius--damn me, if I take it upon me to +understand your men of genius--they are in the Serpentine river one day, +and in the clouds the next: so fare ye well, Clary. I expect to see you +a doctor of physic, or a methodist parson, soon, damn me if I don’t: +so fare ye well, Clary. Is black-ball your last word? or will you think +better on’t, and give up the doctor?” + +“I can never give up Dr. X----‘s friendship--I would sooner be +black-balled by every club in London. The good lesson you gave me, Sir +Philip, the day I was fool enough to jump into the Serpentine river, has +made me wiser for life. I know, for I have felt, the difference between +real friends and fashionable acquaintance. Give up Dr. X----! Never! +never!” + +“Then fare you well, Clary,” said Sir Philip, “you’re no longer one of +us.” + +“Then fare ye well, Clary, you’re no longer the man for me,” said +Rochfort. + +“_Tant pis_, and _tant mieux_” said Clarence, and so they parted. + +As they left the room, Clarence Hervey involuntarily turned to Belinda, +and he thought that he read in her ingenuous, animated countenance, full +approbation of his conduct. + +“Hist! are they gone? quite gone?” said Lady Delacour, entering the room +from an adjoining apartment; “they have stayed an unconscionable time. +How much I am obliged to Mrs. Franks for detaining me! I have escaped +their vapid impertinence; and in truth, this morning I have such a +multiplicity of business, that I have scarcely a moment even for wit +and Clarence Hervey. Belinda, my dear, will you have the charity to look +over some of these letters for me, which, as Marriott tells me, have +been lying in my writing-table this week--expecting, most unreasonably, +that I should have the grace to open them? We are always punished for +our indolence, as your friend Dr. X---- said the other day: if we suffer +business to accumulate, it drifts with every ill wind like snow, till +at last an avalanche of it comes down at once, and quite overwhelms us. +Excuse me, Clarence,” continued her ladyship, as she opened her letters, +“this is very rude: but I know I have secured my pardon from you by +remembering your friend’s wit--wisdom, I should say: how seldom are +wit and wisdom joined! They might have been joined in Lady Delacour, +perhaps--there’s vanity!--if she had early met with such a friend as Dr. +X----; but it’s too late now,” said she, with a deep sigh. + +Clarence Hervey heard it, and it made a great impression upon his +benevolent imagination. “Why too late?” said he to himself. “Mrs. +Margaret Delacour is mistaken, if she thinks this woman wants +sensibility.” + +“What have you got there, Miss Portman?” said Lady Delacour, taking from +Belinda’s hand one of the letters which she had begged her to look +over: “something wondrous pathetic, I should guess, by your countenance. +‘_Helena Delacour_.’ Oh! read it to yourself, my dear--a school-girl’s +letter is a thing I abominate--I make it a rule never to read Helena’s +epistles.” + +“Let me prevail upon your ladyship to make an exception to the general +rule then,” said Belinda; “I can assure you this is not a common +school-girl’s letter: Miss Delacour seems to inherit her mother’s +‘_eloquence de billet_.’” + +“Miss Portman seems to possess, by inheritance, by instinct, by magic, +or otherwise, powers of persuasion, which no one can resist. There’s +compliment for compliment, my dear. Is there any thing half so well +turned in Helena’s letter? Really, ‘tis vastly well,” continued her +ladyship, as she read the letter: “where did the little gipsy learn to +write so charmingly? I protest I should like of all things to have her +at home with me this summer--the 21st of June--well, after the birthday, +I shall have time to think about it. But then, we shall be going out of +town, and at Harrowgate I should not know what to do with her; she had +better, much better, go to her humdrum Aunt Margaret’s, as she always +does--she is a fixture in Grosvenor-square. These stationary good +people, these zoophite friends, are sometimes very convenient; and Mrs. +Margaret Delacour is the most unexceptionable zoophite in the creation. +She has, it is true, an antipathy to me, because I’m of such a different +nature from herself; but then her antipathy does not extend to my +offspring: she is kind beyond measure to Helena, on purpose, I believe, +to provoke me. Now I provoke her in my turn, by never being provoked, +and she saves me a vast deal of trouble, for which she is overpaid by +the pleasure of abusing me. This is the way of the world, Clarence. +Don’t look so serious--you are not come yet to daughters and sons, and +schools and holidays, and all the evils of domestic life.” + +“Evils!” repeated Clarence Hervey, in a tone which surprised her +ladyship. She looked immediately with a significant smile at Belinda. +“Why do not you echo _evils_, Miss Portman?” + +“Pray, Lady Delacour,” interrupted Clarence Hervey, “when do you go to +Harrowgate?” + +“What a sudden transition!” said Lady Delacour. “What association of +ideas could just at that instant take you to Harrowgate? When do I go to +Harrowgate? Immediately after the birthday, I believe we shall--I advise +you to be of the party.” + +“Your ladyship does me a great deal of honour,” said Hervey: “I shall, +if it be possible, do myself the honour of attending you.” + +And soon after this arrangement was made, Mr. Hervey took his leave. + +“Well, my dear, are you still poring over that letter of Helena’s?” said +Lady Delacour to Miss Portman. + +“I fancy your ladyship did not quite finish it,” said Belinda. + +“No; I saw something about the Leverian Museum, and a swallow’s nest in +a pair of garden-shears; and I was afraid I was to have a catalogue of +curiosities, for which I have little taste and less time.” + +“You did not see, then, what Miss Delacour says of the lady who took her +to that Museum?” + +“Not I. What lady? her Aunt Margaret?” + +“No; Mrs. Margaret Delacour, she says, has been so ill for some time +past, that she goes no where but to Lady Anne Percival’s.” + +“Poor woman,” said Lady Delacour, “she will die soon, and then I shall +have Helena upon my hands, unless some other kind friend takes a fancy +to her. Who is this lady that has carried her to the Leverian Museum?” + +“Lady Anne Percival; of whom she speaks with so much gratitude and +affection, that I quite long----” + +“Lord bless me!” interrupted Lady Delacour, “Lady Anne Percival! Helena +has mentioned this Lady Anne Percival to me before, I recollect, in some +of her letters.” + +“Then you did read some of her letters?” + +“Half!--I never read more than half, upon my word,” said Lady Delacour, +laughing. + +“Why will you delight in making yourself appear less good than you are, +my dear Lady Delacour?” said Belinda, taking her hand. + +“Because I hate to be like other people,” said her ladyship, “who +delight in making themselves appear better than they are. But I was +going to tell you, that I do believe I did provoke Percival by marrying +Lord Delacour: I cannot tell you how much this Mea delights me--I am +sure that the man has a lively remembrance of me, or else he would never +make his wife take so much notice of my daughter.” + +“Surely, your ladyship does not think,” said Belinda, “that a wife is a +being whose actions are necessarily governed by a husband.” + +“Not necessarily--but accidentally. When a lady accidentally sets up for +being a good wife, she must of course love, honour, and obey. Now, you +understand, I am not in the least obliged to Lady Anne for her kindness +to Helena, because it all goes under the head of obedience, in my +imagination; and her ladyship is paid for it by an accession of +character: she has the reward of having it said, ‘Oh, Lady Anne Percival +is the best wife in the world!’--‘Oh, Lady Anne Percival is quite a +pattern woman!’ I hate pattern women. I hope I may never see Lady +Anne; for I’m sure I should detest her beyond all things living--Mrs. +Luttridge not excepted.” + +Belinda was surprised and shocked at the malignant vehemence with which +her ladyship uttered these words; it was in vain, however, that she +remonstrated on the injustice of predetermining to detest Lady Anne, +merely because she had shown kindness to Helena, and because she bore a +high character. Lady Delacour was a woman who never listened to reason, +or who listened to it only that she might parry it by wit. Upon this +occasion, her wit had not its usual effect upon Miss Portman; instead of +entertaining, it disgusted her. + +“You have called me your friend, Lady Delacour,” said she; “I should but +ill deserve that name, if I had not the courage to speak the truth to +you--if I had not the courage to tell you when I think you are wrong.” + +“But I have not the courage to hear you, my dear,” said Lady Delacour, +stopping her ears. “So your conscience may be at ease; you may suppose +that you have said every thing that is wise, and good, and proper, and +sublime, and that you deserve to be called the best of friends; you +shall enjoy the office of censor to Lady Delacour, and welcome; but +remember, it is a sinecure place, though I will pay you with my love and +esteem to any extent you please. You sigh--for my folly. Alas! my dear, +‘tis hardly worth while--my follies will soon be at an end. Of what use +could even the wisdom of Solomon be to me now? If you have any humanity, +you will not force me to reflect: whilst I yet live, I must _keep it +up_ with incessant dissipation--the teetotum keeps upright only while it +spins: so let us talk of the birthnight, or the new play that we are to +see to-night, or the ridiculous figure Lady H---- made at the concert; +or let us talk of Harrowgate, or what you will.” + +Pity succeeded to disgust and displeasure in Belinda’s mind, and she +could hardly refrain from tears, whilst she saw this unhappy creature, +with forced smiles, endeavour to hide the real anguish of her soul: she +could only say, “But, my dear Lady Delacour, do not you think that your +little Helena, who seems to have a most affectionate disposition, would +add to your happiness at home?” + +“Her affectionate disposition can be nothing to me,” said Lady Delacour. + +Belinda felt a hot tear drop upon her hand, which lay upon Lady +Delacour’s lap. + +“Can you wonder,” continued her ladyship, hastily wiping away the tear +which she had let fall; “can you wonder that I should talk of detesting +Lady Anne Percival? You see she has robbed me of the affections of my +child. Helena asks to come home: yes, but how does she ask it? Coldly, +formally,--as a duty. But look at the end of her letter; I have read +it all--every bitter word of it I have tasted. How differently she +writes--look even at the flowing hand--the moment she begins to speak of +Lady Anne Percival; then her soul breaks out: ‘Lady Anne has offered +to take her to Oakly-park--she should be extremely happy to go, if I +please.’ Yes, let her go; let her go as far from me as possible; let her +never, never see her wretched mother more!--Write,” said Lady Delacour, +turning hastily to Belinda, “write in my name, and tell her to go to +Oakly-park, and to be happy.” + +“But why should you take it for granted that she cannot be happy with +you?” said Belinda. “Let us see her--let us try the experiment.” + +“No,” said Lady Delacour; “no--it is too late: I will never condescend +in my last moments to beg for that affection to which it may be thought +I have forfeited my natural claim.” + +Pride, anger, and sorrow, struggled in her countenance as she spoke. She +turned her face from Belinda, and walked out of the room with dignity. + +Nothing remains for me to do, thought Belinda, but to sooth this haughty +spirit: all other hope, I see, is vain. + +At this moment Clarence Hervey, who had no suspicion that the gay, +brilliant Lady Delacour was sinking into the grave, had formed a design +worthy of his ardent and benevolent character. The manner in which her +ladyship had spoken of his friend Dr. X----, the sigh which she gave +at the reflection that she might have been a very different character +if she had early had a sensible friend, made a great impression upon Mr. +Hervey. Till then, he had merely considered her ladyship as an object +of amusement, and an introduction to high life; but he now felt so much +interested for her, that he determined to exert all his influence to +promote her happiness. He knew _that_ influence to be considerable: not +that he was either coxcomb or dupe enough to imagine that Lady Delacour +was in love with him; he was perfectly sensible that her only wish was +to obtain his admiration, and he resolved to show her that it could no +longer be secured without deserving his esteem. Clarence Hervey was +a thoroughly generous young man: capable of making the greatest +sacrifices, when encouraged by the hope of doing good, he determined +to postpone the declaration of his attachment to Belinda, that he might +devote himself entirely to his new project. His plan was to wean Lady +Delacour by degrees from dissipation, by attaching her to her daughter, +and to Lady Anne Percival. He was sanguine in all his hopes, and rapid, +but not unthinking, in all his decisions. From Lady Delacour he went +immediately to Dr. X----, to whom he communicated his designs. + +“I applaud your benevolent intentions,” said the doctor: “but have +you really the presumption to hope, that an ingenuous young man of +four-and-twenty can reform a veteran coquet of four-and-thirty?” + +“Lady Delacour is not yet thirty,” said Clarence; “but the older she +is, the better the chance of her giving up a losing game. She has an +admirable understanding, and she will soon--I mean as soon as she is +acquainted with Lady Anne Percival--discover that she has mistaken +the road to happiness. All the difficulty will be to make them fairly +acquainted with each other; for this, my dear doctor, I must trust to +you. Do you prepare Lady Anne to tolerate Lady Delacour’s faults, and I +will prepare Lady Delacour to tolerate Lady Anne’s virtues.” + +“You have generously taken the more difficult task of the two,” replied +Dr. X----. “Well, we shall see what can be done. After the birthday, +Lady Delacour talks of going to Harrowgate: you know, Oakly-park is +not far from Harrowgate, so they will have frequent opportunities of +meeting. But, take my word for it, nothing can be done till after +the birthday; for Lady Delacour’s head is at present full of crape +petticoats, and horses, and carriages, and a certain Mrs. Luttridge, +whom she hates with a hatred passing that of women.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE MYSTERIOUS BOUDOIR. + + +Accustomed to study human nature, Dr. X---- had acquired peculiar +sagacity in judging of character. Notwithstanding the address with which +Lady Delacour concealed the real motives for her apparently thoughtless +conduct, he quickly discovered that the hatred of Mrs. Luttridge 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 Delacour +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 coachmaker, that Mrs. Luttridge would sport +a most elegant new vis-à-vis on the king’s birthday. Lady Delacour +was immediately ambitious to outshine her in equipage; and it was this +paltry ambition that 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. Luttridge’s dress, Mrs. Luttridge’s vis-à-vis, Mrs. +Luttridge’s horses were nothing, absolutely nothing, in comparison with +Lady Delacour’s: her ladyship enjoyed the full exultation 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!--‘Twould be too much to see in one night +Mrs. Luttridge’s mortification, and my Belinda’s triumph. Adieu! +my love: we shall live to see another birthday, it is to be hoped. +Marriott, my drops. Oh, I have taken them.” + +Belinda, after her ladyship’s departure, retired to the library. Her +time passed so agreeably during Lady Delacour’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 birthnight +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; but 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 Baddely, 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. Luttridge’s +carriage get before hers. Mrs. Luttridge’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 been got out of the crowd +alive. He’s bringing her home in his own carriage, God bless him!” + +“But is 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 any rational account of any thing; +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 down stairs 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 +up stairs. “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--trust 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 am sure she is hurt, though she will +not acknowledge it,” cried Clarence Hervey. “My ankle is 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 up stairs: 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 Champfort nor any one 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’s 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 arquebusade. + +Lady Delacour rested her head upon the back of the sofa, her hands moved +with convulsive twitches--she was perfectly silent. Marriott 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 arquebusade, Marriott? Arquebusade, 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 Marriott, 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 some one concealed there, and +I _will_ go in.” Then with brutal oaths he dragged Marriott 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. +“Gad! we have hit 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 Marriott, Belinda, and Lady Delacour. Marriott 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--have 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 Marriott 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, Marriott,” 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 Marriott into the adjoining dressing-room. “Oh, +dear Miss Portman,” said Marriott, 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 any thing 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 every body 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 Marriott 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 us both.” + +“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. +“Marriott, you see, has lost all command of herself--I shall not have +strength to manage you---perhaps I may lose my presence of 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 any thing you +will--he will not trouble himself any more about me--he will forget all +that passed to-night by the time he is sober. Oh! give me the laudanum, +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 passed 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 any thing less than the power of magic +could have brought her lady to such a determination. + +Belinda had scarcely despatched 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 forsook 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 now leave you,” 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 +not 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 will 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 endeavoured, 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 any thing to say that can waken me: you +look as if some great misfortune had 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 raillery 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. Ay, 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 your 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 Delacour 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; but 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, “Waken 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 Delacour: 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 waken 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 sometime 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 a letter, that had just arrived +express 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 Delacour 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 mean time, 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 XI. + +DIFFICULTIES. + + +Before he left town, Dr. X---- called in Berkeley-square, to see Lady +Delacour; 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 for his going; he was sent for 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 Delacour, 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 half +way down 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 he had given to her. Dr. X---- first stated that +he was by no means certain that Lady Delacour really had the complaint +which she so much dreaded; but it was impossible for him to decide +without farther 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 Delacour 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 expedients: according to the usual progress of the disease, +Lady Delacour may live a year, or perhaps two. + +“It is possible that her life might be saved by a _skilful_ 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 +Delacour’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 Delacour, 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 Miss Portman for his intrusion, and +for the disturbance he had occasioned, which, he said, must be laid +to the blame of Lord Studley’s admirable burgundy. He expressed much +concern for Lady Delacour’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 Miss 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 Delacour 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 than she ever +would allow that he possessed. + +The reflections, however, which Miss 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. Matches 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; his +manner had sometimes expressed more than cold esteem. Lady Delacour had +assured her that it expressed love; but Lady Delacour 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 her self-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, contradistinguished 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. Clarence was destitute neither of address 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. He 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 with 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 common-place +flattery.” Belinda was glad that Lady Delacour 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 Comtesse de Pomenars_ +a lock of her _belle chevelure_. She could not help thinking, from the +recollection of several minute circumstances, that Clarence Hervey had +endeavoured to gain an interest in her affections, and she felt that +there would be great impropriety in receiving his ambiguous visits +during Lady Delacour’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 Delacour’s confinement, though his servant regularly came every +morning with inquiries after her ladyship’s health. She kept her room +for about ten days; a confinement to which she submitted with extreme +impatience: bodily 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[4] bidding their footman 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. Zimmermann 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, Marriott,” continued her ladyship, turning to +Marriott, 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 peal that ever thundering footman +gave at my door, than hear Marriott 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 Marriott. + +“Then to please you, Marriott, I will complain of the only noise that +does, or ever did disturb me--the screaming of your odious macaw.” + +Now Marriott had a prodigious affection for this macaw, and she defended +it with as much eagerness as if it had been her child. + +“Odious! O dear, my lady! to call my poor macaw odious!--I didn’t expect +it would ever have come to this--I am 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 Marriott actually burst into tears. “But, my dear Marriott,” + said Lady Delacour, “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?” + +Marriott 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 Delacour, “for she is not a bankrupt in sense. Oh, three minutes +won’t do; I must allow her three days’ grace, I perceive,” said Lady +Delacour when Marriott 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 zeal 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 Marriott’s, forbore 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 Delacour 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 Delacour to Belinda, “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, however, +_n’a pas une ame de boue_; 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 him +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, Belinda, 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 +Belinda. + +“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 Hervey’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, Belinda 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 every body, complained of a nervous head-ache, +left Belinda to do the honours for her, and retired. + +Miss Portman was now really placed in a difficult and dangerous +situation, and she had ample opportunities of learning and practising +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. Stanhope as their lawful prize. The ladies wondered that +the men could think Belinda Portman a beauty; but whilst they affected +to scorn, they sincerely feared her charms. Thus 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 Stanhope’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 a firm resolution not to be led even by timidity +into follies which the example of Lady Delacour had taught her to +despise. Belinda’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 endeavoured +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 Baddely 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 rapture. + +“Rochfort,” said he, one day, to his friend, “damme, if I was to think +of Belinda Portman in _any way_--you take me--Clary would look damned +blue--hey?--damned blue, and devilish small, and cursed silly too--hey?” + +“‘Pon honour, I should like to see him,” said Rochfort: “‘pon 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--‘pon honour, he deserves it from us.” + +Now it seems that Sir Philip Baddely and Mr. Rochfort, 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 gouvernante. This adventure they kept a profound +secret from Clarence, because they knew that he would have quarrelled +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 Delacour and Miss Portman. Such +for instance as--“Damme, we all know Clary’s a perfect connoisseur in +beauty--hey, Rochfort?--one beauty at a time is not enough for him--hey, +damme? 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 Delacour +often used her address to draw some farther explanation from Sir Philip: +his regular answer was, “No, no, your ladyship must excuse me there; I +can’t peach, damme--hey, Rochfort?” + +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 formerly in his visits at Lady Delacour’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 baronet thought it incumbent +upon him to eclipse his rival in conversation, and he began to talk of +the last fête champêtre at Frogmore. + +“What a cursed unlucky overturn that was of yours, Lady Delacour, 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 that had a card +too--how damned provoking!” + +“I regret extremely that my illness prevented me from being at this +charming fête; 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. + +“O, damme! but I would have driven you in my curricle,” 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 gipsies, and Mrs. Mills the +actress for the queen of the gipsies; and she gave us a famous good +song, Rochfort, you know--and then there _was_ two children upon an +_ass_--damme, I don’t know how they came there, for they’re things one +sees every day--and belonged only to two of the soldiers’ wives--for we +had the whole band of the Staffordshire playing at dinner, and we had +some famous glees--and Fawcett gave us his laughing song, and then we +had the launching of the ship, and only it was a boat, it would have +been well enough--but damme, the song of Polly Oliver was worth the +whole--except the Flemish Hercules, Ducrow, 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 musquet 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 was 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 gipsy girl, gave us _the +cottage on the moor_, the most charming thing, and would suit your +voice, Miss Portman--damme, you’d sing it like an angel----But where +was I?--Oh, then they had tea--and fireplaces built of brick, out in +the air--and then the entrance to the ball-room was all a colonnade +done with lamps and flowers, and that sort of thing--and there was +some bon-mot (but that was in the morning) amongst the gipsies about an +orange and the stadtholder--and then there was a Turkish dance, and a +Polonese 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--damme, now, I can’t describe the thing to you, ‘tis a cursed pity +you weren’t there, damme.” + +Lady Delacour assured Sir Philip that she had been more entertained by +the description than she could have been by the reality.--“Clarence, was +not it the best description you ever heard? But pray favour us with _a +touch_ of the Pyrrhic dance, Sir Philip.” + +Lady Delacour 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--Rochfort laughed first, Lady Delacour followed him, and Clarence +Hervey and Belinda could no longer restrain themselves. + +“Damme, 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 Delacour, 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 secresy. “As Hervey is or +was a sort of a friend, I can’t mention this sort of thing without such +a preliminary.”--Lady Delacour gave the preliminary promise, and Sir +Philip informed her, that people began to take 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 Delacour. + +“Why, damme, as to matrimony, I can’t say; but the girl’s so famously +beautiful, and Clary has been constant to her so many years----” + +“Many years! then she is not young?” + +“Oh, damme, 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 Clary keeps +her now, I can’t make out; but he has taken her away from Windsor. She +was then with a gouvernante, and is as proud as the devil, which smells +like matrimony for Clary.” + +“And do you know this peerless damsel’s name?” + +“I think the old Jezebel called her Miss St. Pierre--ay, damme, it was +Virginia too--Virginia St. Pierre.” + +“Virginia St. Pierre, a pretty romantic name,” said Lady Delacour: +“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 complement of oaths, +pronounced Miss Portman to be the finest girl he had ever seen, and took +his leave. + +When Lady Delacour repeated this story to Belinda, she concluded by +saying, “Now, my dear, you know Sir Philip Baddely 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 your ladyship,” said +Belinda; “I have always considered Mr. Hervey as--” + +“Oh, as a common acquaintance, no doubt--but we’ll pass over all those +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 the prettiest opportunity +for your lover’s 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 visit 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 manoeuvring 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 Delacour. +“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 maybe +a quizzification of Sir Philip’s--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 colour of her +hair?” + +“Yes, light brown; but the colour 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 colour of the hair which dropped from Hervey’s +letter with Sir Philip’s 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, endeavoured +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 endeavoured 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 Philip Baddely 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 connexion with the lady, but at last +he was piqued by her indifference, and by the raillery of his friend +Rochfort. + +“‘Pon honour,” said Rochfort, “the girl must be in love with Clary, for +she minds you no more than if you were nobody.” + +“I could make her sing to another tune, if I pleased,” said Sir Philip; +“but, damme, it would cost me too much--a wife’s too expensive a thing, +now-a-days. Why, a man could have twenty curricles, 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, damme, 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, Rochfort?--I should like to pay +him for the way he served us about that quiz of a doctor, hey?” + +“Ay,” said Rochfort, “you know he told us there was a _tant pis_ and a +_tant mieux_ in every thing--he’s not come to the _tant pis_ yet. ‘Pon +honour, Sir Philip, the thing rests with you.” + +The baronet vibrated for some time between the fear of being taken in by +one of Mrs. Stanhope’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 _d’avance_ the tone of a favoured lover. + +“Damme,” cried Sir Philip, one night, at Lady Delacour’s concert, +“I think that Mr. Hervey has taken out a patent for talking to Miss +Portman; but damme 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 Philip kept his post during +the remainder of the concert; but, though he had the field entirely to +himself, he could not think of any thing more interesting, more amusing, +to whisper in Belinda’s ear, than, “Don’t you think the candles want +snuffing famously?” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE MACAW. + + +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 Harrowgate yet?” + +“No: her ladyship has not yet felt herself well enough to undertake the +journey.” + +“That was a cursed unlucky overturn! She may thank Clarence Hervey for +that: it’s like him,--he thinks he’s a better judge of horses, and wine, +and every thing else, than any body in the world. Damme, now if I don’t +believe he thinks nobody else but himself has eyes enough to see that a +fine woman’s a fine woman; but I’d have him to know, that Miss Belinda +Portman has been Sir Philip Baddely’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. Stanhope now, pray, Miss Portman? +and your sister, Mrs. Tollemache? she was the finest woman, I thought, +the first winter she came out, that ever I saw, damme. 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. + +“Than the finest woman I had ever seen _then_,” said Sir Philip; “for, +damme, I did not know what it was to be in love _then_” (here the +baronet heaved an audible sigh): “I always laughed at love, and all +that, _then_, and marriage particularly. I’ll trouble you for Mrs. +Stanhope’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. Stanhope, +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 +Stanhope----” + +“Well guessed!” 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---- + +“Nay, damme, 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, now-a-days. As to trouble, all I meant was, +the trouble of writing to Mrs. Stanhope, 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 baronet 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 addresses. I am fully sensible,” added +Miss Portman, “of the honour Sir Philip Baddely 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 +baronet. + +“Perfectly in earnest, Sir Philip.” + +“Confusion seize me,” cried he, starting up, “if this isn’t the most +extraordinary thing I ever heard! Will you do me the honour, madam, to +let me know your particular objections to Sir Philip Baddely?” + +“My objections,” said Belinda, “cannot be obviated, and therefore it +would be useless to state them.” + +“Nay, pray, ma’am, do me the favour--I only ask for information sake--is +it to Sir Philip Baddely’s fortune, 15,000l. a year, you object, or +to his family, or to his person?--Oh, curse it!” 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 coquet!” + +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, damme, ma’am, then I’ve no more to say--a coquet is a thing I +understand as well as another, and 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, damme, 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 Delacour, +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 decamped 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 Delacour: “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 +Delacour. 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, for 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 Delacour 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 Delacour 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 wife’s, 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, by a sword in a cane, +for instance, ‘tis 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 a passion he forgets every thing, 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 Delacour, if +I did not come out with a little sly bit of 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, de man call to speak about de burgundy you order, milord,” said +Champfort, who came into the room with a sly, inquisitive face. + +“Tell him I’ll see him immediately--show him into the parlour, and give +him a newspaper to read.” + +“Yes, milord--milord has it in his pocket since he dress.” + +“Here it is,” said his lordship; and as Champfort came forward to +receive the newspaper, his eye glanced at the bank-notes, and then at +Miss Portman. + +“Here,” continued Lord Delacour, as Champfort 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 Delacour 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 Delacour 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 Delacour. +“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 every thing. I would +not give Lady Delacour 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 Delacour afterward said to Belinda, “My dear, would you believe +it, my Lord Delacour was absolutely a perfect example of the useful +and agreeable this morning--who knows but he may become the sublime and +beautiful in time? _En attendant_ here are your two hundred guineas, +my dear Belinda: a thousand thanks for the thing, and a million for the +manner--manner is all in all in 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. Apropos, 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 Harrowgate. Now +Oakly-park is within a few miles of Harrowgate. 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 Baddely? 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 part 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 Baddely 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, Marriott’s macaw began to scream, +so that Lady Delacour could not hear any thing 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--Marriott must give up this bird. Marriott, I cannot endure that +macaw--you must part with it for my sake, Marriott. 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. Champfort +never shut a door after him in his life, nor never will if he was to +live to the days of Methuselah.” + +“That is very little satisfaction to me, Marriott,” 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. Champfort’s fault.” + +“But it cannot be Champfort’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 Marriott, and 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 scream. “The macaw must go, +Marriott, that is certain,” said her ladyship, firmly. + +“Then _I_ must go, my lady,” said Marriott, angrily, “that is certain; +for to part with my macaw is a thing I cannot do to please _any_ body.” + Her eyes turned with 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’s 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 has 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 dear generous friend; tell +her never to come into this room again: take this pocket-book, pay +her whatever is due to her in the first place, and give her fifty +guineas--observe!--not as a bribe, but as a reward.” + +It was a delicate and difficult commission. Belinda found Marriott at +first incapable of listening to reason. “I am sure there is nobody in +the world that would treat me and my macaw in this 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, +‘tis time I should be gone.” + +“The only thing of which Lady Delacour complained was the noise of this +macaw,” said Belinda; “it was a pretty bird--how long have you had it?” + +“Scarcely a month,” said Marriott, 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 macaw! And at a time when your lady is so much in +want of you, Marriott! 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 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!--Oh, 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. Champfort, 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 supposed, and I beg your +pardon; but I was going to say that Mr. Champfort, who saw the _fracas_ +between my lord and me, about the key and the door, the night of my +lady’s accident, has whispered it about at Lady Singleton’s and every +where--Mrs. Luttridge’s maid, ma’am, who is my cousin, has pestered me +with so many questions and offers, from Mrs. Luttridge and Mrs. Freke, +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 any thing out of me. +Betray my lady! I’d sooner cut my tongue out this minute! Can she have +such a base opinion of me, or can you, ma’am?” + +“No, indeed, I am convinced that you are incapable of betraying her, +Marriott; but in all probability after you have left her----” + +“If my lady would let me keep my macaw,” interrupted Marriott, “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.” + +Marriott was beginning the history of Champfort and the doors again; but +Miss Portman stopped her by saying, “All this is past now. How much is +due to you, Mrs. Marriott? Lady Delacour has commissioned me to pay you +every thing 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 lady’s: she +is perfectly sensible of your attachment to her, and of 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 secresy. 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 Marriott, 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 Delacour was surprised by the sudden entrance of Marriott, and her +macaw. The chain which held the bird Marriott put into her ladyship’s +hand without being able to say any thing more than, “Do what you please, +my lady, with it--and with me.” + +Pacified by this submission, Lady Delacour granted Marriott’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-fancier’s, to take her with her, in hopes that she might be able to +meet with some bird more musical than a macaw, to console Marriott for +the loss of her screaming favourite. Lady Delacour commissioned Miss +Portman to go to any price she pleased. “If I were able, I would +accompany you myself, my dear, for poor Marriott’s sake, though I would +almost as soon go to the Augean stable.” + +There was a bird-fancier in High Holborn, 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. Marten and Co. for the Republican Museum at Paris, and lately +landed out of the French brig Urselle, taken on her voyage from Cayenne +to Brest, by His Majesty’s Ship Unicorn.” + +When Lady Boucher and Belinda arrived at this bird-fancier’s, 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 and 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. Marriott this beautiful pair of +green parroquets; or, stay, 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, mamma!” said one of the little boys, “this is the very thing that +is mentioned in Bewick’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 mamma better?” said she, in a timid tone. “I have some gold fish, +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 postscript to me in mamma’s last letter--that is the +reason I speak so freely to you now. Perhaps you would write to tell me +if mamma will see me; and Lady Anne Percival would take me at any time, +I am sure--but she goes to Oakly-park in a few days. I wish I might +be with mamma 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 +gold fish.” + +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 gold fish 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 for Mrs. Margaret Delacour. + +“Red macaws, my lady, I have in 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 Haydon-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 this 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SORTES VIRGILIANAE. + + +When Belinda got home, Lady Delacour was busy in the library looking +over a collection of French plays with the _ci-devant_ Count de N----; +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 am +glad you are come to give us your opinion,” said her ladyship; “no one +has a better taste: but first I should ask you what you have done at +your bird-fancier’s; I hope you have brought home some _horned cock_[5], +or some _monstrously_ beautiful creature for Marriott. If it has not a +voice like the macaw I shall be satisfied; but even if it be the bird +of paradise, I question whether Marriott 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 monsieur le +Comte.” And as she spoke, she took up a volume of plays which lay upon +the table. + +“Nanine, or La Prude, which shall we have?” said Lady Delacour: “or what +do you think of L’Ecossaise?” + +“The scene of L’Ecossaise 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 L’Ecossaise. M. +le Comte I am sure will do justice to the character of _Friport_ the +Englishman, ‘qui scait donner, mais qui ne scait pas vivre.’ 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. M. le Comte was quite delighted; but +Clarence was in a great hurry, he would only give us one scene, he was +going to Mr. Percival’s on 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--M. le Comte, 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 +just as the count took his leave, and as she was going up stairs, 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 gold fishes 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 her 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 Anne Percival, who +appears to me one of the most amiable and one of the happiest of women. +Oakly-park is but a few miles from Harrowgate.--But I am disappointed in +this scheme; Lady Delacour has changed her mind, she says, and will not +go there. Lady Anne, 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 effecting a reconciliation between Lady Delacour +and her husband’s relations, with some of whom Lady Anne is intimately +acquainted. To begin with my friend, Mrs. Margaret Delacour: the macaw +was most graciously received, and I flatter myself that I have prepared +Mrs. Delacour to think somewhat more favourably of her niece than she +was wont 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 the 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 effect 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. Freke hurt her +more in the eyes of the world than she was aware of. It is tacitly +understood by the public, that every lady goes bail 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 Baddely’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 Baddely; 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 gold fishes 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 Abbé Nollet’s experiments, which he had heard from his friend Doctor +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 transmission of sound in water?--Ha! whence come +these pretty gold fishes?” + +“These gold fishes,” said Belinda, “are come to console Marriott 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 the Arabian Tales. +And am I obliged to you, Clarence, for these subjects?” + +“No; I have only had the honour of bringing them to your ladyship +from----” + +“From whom?--Amongst all my numerous acquaintance, have I one in the +world who cares a gold fish 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 Harrowgate, +where, by-the-bye, I shall not go; so I won’t cheat her out of her gold +fishes; it was Mrs. Masterson, hey?” + +“No. But these little gold fishes came from a person who would be very +glad to go with you to Harrowgate!” said Clarence Hervey. “Or who would +be very glad to stay with you in town,” said Belinda: “from a person who +wants nothing from you but--your love.” + +“Male or female?” said Lady Delacour. + +“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 you will +promise to see her.” + +“You have really made me impatient to see her,” said Lady Delacour: “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 while?” + +“Very well worth while,” cried Belinda and Clarence Hervey, eagerly. + +“Ah, pardi! as M. le Comte exclaims continually, Ah, pardi! You are both +wonderfully interested in this business. It is some sister, niece, +or cousin of Lady Anne Percival’s; or--no, Belinda looks as if I were +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 yet 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 émigrée of Clarence Hervey’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 l’Enclos used to say, +_quit cost_. If she be half as agreeable and _graceful_, Clarence, as +Madame la Comtesse de Pomenars, I should not think her acquaintance too +dearly purchased by a dozen morning visits.” + +Here the conversation was interrupted by a thundering knock at the door. + +“Whose carriage is it?” said Lady Delacour. “Oh! Lady Newland’s +ostentatious livery; and here is her 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 her bale of gold muslin, and conscious of her bulse of +diamonds!--‘Worth, if I’m worth a farthing, five hundred thousand pounds +bank currency!’ she says or seems to say, whenever she comes into a +room. Now let us see her entrée--” + +“But, my dear,” cried Lady Delacour, starting at the sight of Belinda, +who was still in her morning dress, “absolutely below par!--Make your +escape to Marriott, I conjure you, by all your fears of the contempt +of a lady, who will at the first look estimate you, _au juste_, to a +farthing a yard.” + +As she left the room, Belinda heard Clarence Hervey repeat to Lady +Delacour-- + + “Give me a look, give me a face, + That makes simplicity a grace; + Robes loosely flowing, hair as free--” + +he paused--but Belinda recollected the remainder of the stanza-- + + “Such sweet neglect more taketh me + Than all th’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 Delacour’s curiosity was raised by the description which Belinda +and Clarence Hervey had given of the new acquaintance who sent her the +gold fishes, 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 down stairs to the hall to receive her: the little girl +took her hand in silence. “Your mother was much pleased with the pretty +gold fishes,” 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 to-day? I will not make the least noise,” + whispered Helena, as she went up stairs on tiptoe. + +“You need not be afraid to make a noise--you need not walk on tiptoe, +nor shut the doors softly; for Lady Delacour seems to like all noises +except the screaming of the macaw. This way, my dear.” + +“Oh, I forgot--it is so long since!--Is mamma 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 mamma?” + +“Nobody is with her now: so come into the library with me,” said +Belinda. “Lady Delacour, here is the young lady who sent you the gold +fishes.” + +“Helena!” cried Lady Delacour. + +“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 ingenuous +countenance, even in my best days: but certainly the hair of her head +is like mine--and her hands and arms. But why do you tremble, Helena? Is +there any thing so very terrible in the looks of your mother?” + +“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 +Oakly-hall, or--What’s the name of the place?--Oakly-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 this 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 +Delacour: “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 Delacour, “go to Oakly-park immediately--all +farther ceremony towards me may be spared.” + +“Ceremony, mamma!” 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,” resumed Lady Delacour, “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 Delacour, pursuing the train of her own +thoughts without attending to Belinda, “never yet was any thing 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 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 person win any thing 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 Delacour: “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 Delacour. “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 gold fishes 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, that 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 farther questions: I was not aware that there was any +secret in the case.” + +“There is no secret in the world in the case, mamma,” 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, mamma; no one put it into my head. But I was at the +bird-fancier’s 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 Delacour, “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, mamma, are you in earnest?” and she pressed close to +her mother’s bosom, clasping her with all her force. + +Lady Delacour 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 window-shutters, and +throw up the sash.” + +Whilst Belinda was supporting Lady Delacour, and whilst Helena was +trying to open the window, a servant came into the room to announce the +Count de N----. + +“Show him into the drawing-room,” said Belinda. Lady Delacour, though in +great pain, rose and retired to her dressing-room. “I shall not be able +to go down to these people yet,” said she; “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 Marriott. Do not forget, my dear, to tell Helena I was +not angry.” + +The reading party went on, and Lady Delacour made her appearance as the +company were drinking orgeat, between the fourth and fifth act. “Helena, +_my dear_,” said she, “will you bring me a glass of orgeat?” + +Clarence Hervey looked at Belinda with a congratulatory smile: “do not +you think,” whispered he, “that we shall succeed? Did you see that look +of Lady Delacour’s?” + +Nothing tends more to increase the esteem and affection of two people +for each other than their having one and 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 esprits_ 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 the Sortes Virgilianae.” + +Lady Delacour opened the book, which was a volume of Marmontel’s Tales. + +“La femme comme il y en a peu!” exclaimed Hervey. + +“Who will ever more have faith in the Sortes Virgilianae?” said Lady +Delacour, 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 upon 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 comme il y en a +peu managed a husband, who was excessively afraid of 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 am sure, by its elegance,” said +Lady Delacour. “So! this is a concerted plan between you two, I see,” + continued her ladyship, with an air of pique: “you have contrived +prettily de me dire des vérités! One says, ‘Let us try our fate by the +Sortes Virgilianae;’ 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 Delacour. + +“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 merest 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 Delacour is ever to be la femme comme il y en a peu, +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 Delacour, throwing aside the book, “This +heroine of Marmontel’s is not la femme comme il y en a peu, but la femme +comme il n’y en a _point_.” + +“Mrs. Margaret Delacour’s carriage, my lady, for Miss Delacour,” said a +footman to her ladyship. + +“Helena stays with me to-night--my compliments,” said Lady Delacour. + +“How pleased the little gipsy looks!” added she, turning to Helena, who +heard the message; “and how handsome she looks when she is pleased!--Do +these auburn locks of yours, Helena, curl naturally or artificially?” + +“Naturally, mamma.” + +“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 Delacour 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 Hervey 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 will eclipse, totally eclipse, the mother,” said Lady +Delacour. “That total eclipse has been foretold by many knowing people,” + said Clarence Hervey; “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 Delacour. +Clarence Hervey 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 Delacour, rising from table, “vous parlez +avec beaucoup d’onction. I advise you to write a sentimental comedy, +a comédie larmoyante, or a drama on the German model, and call it The +School for Mothers, and beg her grace of ---- to sit for your heroine.” + +“Your ladyship, surely, would not be so cruel as to send a faithful +servant a begging for a heroine?” said Clarence Hervey. + +Lady Delacour 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 Hervey, following her eagerly as she walked out of +the supper-room; “too late? Her grace of ---- is _some_ years older than +your ladyship.” + +“Well, I did not mean to say _too late_,” said Lady Delacour; “but let +us go on to something else. Why were you not at the fète champêtre the +other day? and where were you all this morning? And pray can you tell me +when your friend doctor 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 Delacour, “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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE EXHIBITION. + + +Two hours after her ladyship had retired to her room, as Belinda was +passing by the door to go to her own bedchamber, she heard Lady Delacour +call to her. + +“Belinda, you need not walk so softly; I am not asleep. Come in, will +you, my dear? I have something of consequence to say to you. Is all the +world gone?” + +“Yes; and I thought that you were asleep. I hope you are not in pain.” + +“Not just at present, thank you; but that was a terrible embrace of +poor little Helena’s. You see to what accidents I should be continually +exposed, if I had that child always about me; and yet she seems of such +an affectionate disposition, that I wish it were possible to keep her at +home. Sit down by my bedside, my dear Belinda, and I will tell you what +I have resolved upon.” + +Belinda sat down, and Lady Delacour was silent for some minutes. + +“I am resolved,” said she, “to make one desperate effort for my life. +New plans, new hopes of happiness, have opened to my imagination, and, +with my hopes of being happy, my courage rises. I am determined to +submit to the dreadful operation which alone can radically cure me--you +understand me; but it must be kept a profound secret. I know of a person +who could be got to perform this operation with the utmost secrecy.” + +“But, surely,” said Belinda, “safety must be your first object!” + +“No, secrecy is my first object. Nay, do not reason with me; it is a +subject on which I cannot, will not, reason. Hear me--I will keep Helena +with me for a few days; she was surprised by what passed in the library +this evening--I must remove all suspicion from her mind.” + +“There is no suspicion in her mind,” said Belinda. + +“So much the better: she shall go immediately to school, or to +Oakly-park. I will then stand my trial for life or death; and if I live +I will be, what I have never yet been, a mother to Helena. If I die, you +and Clarence Hervey will take care of her; I know you will. That young +man is worthy of you, Belinda. If I die, I charge you to tell him that +I knew his value; that I had a soul capable of being touched by the +eloquence of virtue.” Lady Delacour, after a pause, said, in an altered +tone, “Do you think, Belinda, that I shall survive this operation?” + +“The opinion of Dr. X----,” said Belinda, “must certainly be more +satisfactory than mine;” and she repeated what the doctor had left with +her in writing upon this subject. “You see,” said Belinda, “that Dr. +X----is by no means certain that you have the complaint which you +dread.” + +“I am certain of it,” said Lady Delacour, with a deep sigh. Then, after +a pause, she resumed: “So it is the doctor’s opinion, that I shall +inevitably destroy myself if, from a vain hope of secrecy, I put myself +into ignorant hands? These are his own words, are they? Very strong; and +he is prudent to leave that opinion in writing. Now, whatever happens, +he cannot be answerable for ‘measures which he does not guide:’ nor you +either, my dear; you have done all that is prudent and proper. But I +must beg you to recollect, that I am neither a child nor a fool; that I +am come to years of discretion, and that I am not now in the delirium +of a fever; consequently, there can be no pretence for _managing_ me. In +this particular I must insist upon managing myself. I have confidence +in the skill of the person whom I shall employ: Dr. X----, very likely, +would have none, because the man may not have a diploma for killing +or curing in form. That is nothing to the purpose. It is I that am to +undergo the operation: it is _my_ health, _my_ life, that is risked; and +if I am satisfied, that is enough. Secrecy, as I told you before, is my +first object.” + +“And cannot you,” said Belinda, “depend with more security upon the +honour of a surgeon who is at the head of his profession, and who has a +high reputation at stake, than upon a vague promise of secrecy from some +obscure quack, who has no reputation to lose?” + +“No,” said Lady Delacour: “I tell you, my dear, that I cannot depend +upon any of these ‘honourable men.’ I have taken means to satisfy myself +on this point: their honour and foolish delicacy would not allow them +to perform such an operation for a wife, without the knowledge, privity, +consent, &c. &c. &c. of her husband. Now Lord Delacour’s knowing the +thing is quite out of the question.” + +“Why, my dear Lady Delacour, why?” said Belinda, with great earnestness. +“Surely a husband has the strongest claim to be consulted upon such an +occasion! Let me entreat you to tell Lord Delacour your intention, and +then all will be right. Say Yes, my dear friend! let me prevail upon +you,” said Belinda, taking her ladyship’s hand, and pressing it between +both of hers with the most affectionate eagerness. + +Lady Delacour made no answer, but fixed her eyes upon Belinda’s. + +“Lord Delacour,” continued Miss Portman, “deserves this from you, by the +great interest, the increasing interest, that he has shown of late +about your health: his kindness and handsome conduct the other morning +certainly pleased you, and you have now an opportunity of showing that +confidence in him, which his affection and constant attachment to you +merit.” + +“I trouble myself very little about the constancy of Lord Delacour’s +attachment to me,” said her ladyship coolly, withdrawing her hand from +Belinda; “whether his lordship’s affection for me has of late increased +or diminished, is an object of perfect indifference to me. But if I were +inclined to reward him for his late attentions, I should apprehend that +we might hit upon some better reward than you have pitched upon. +Unless you imagine that Lord Delacour has a peculiar taste for surgical +operations, I cannot conceive how his becoming my confidant upon this +occasion could have an immediate tendency to increase his affection for +me--about which affection I don’t care a straw, as you, better than any +one else, must know; for I am no hypocrite. I have laid open my whole +heart to you, Belinda.” + +“For that very reason,” said Miss Portman, “I am eager to use the +influence which I know I have in your heart for your happiness. I am +convinced that it will be absolutely impossible that you should carry on +this scheme in the house with your husband without its being discovered. +If he discover it by accident, he will feel very differently from what +he would do if he were trusted by you.” + +“For Heaven’s sake, my dear,” cried Lady Delacour, “let me hear no more +about Lord Delacour’s feelings.” + +“But allow me then to speak of my own,” said Belinda: “I cannot be +concerned in this affair, if it is to be concealed from your husband.” + +“You will do about that as you think proper,” said Lady Delacour +haughtily. “Your sense of propriety towards Lord Delacour is, I observe, +stronger than your sense of honour towards me. But I make no doubt that +you act upon principle--just principle. You promised never to +abandon me; but when I most want your assistance, you refuse it, from +consideration for Lord Delacour. A scruple of delicacy absolves a person +of nice feelings, I find, from a positive promise--a new and convenient +code of morality!” + +Belinda, though much hurt by the sarcastic tone in which her ladyship +spoke, mildly answered, that the promise she had made to stay with her +ladyship during her illness was very different from an engagement to +assist her in such a scheme as she had now in contemplation. + +Lady Delacour suddenly drew the curtain between her and Belinda, saying, +“Well, my dear, at all events, I am glad to hear you don’t forget your +promise of _staying_ with me. You are, perhaps, prudent to refuse me +your assistance, all circumstances considered. Good night: I have kept +you up too long--good night!” + +“Good night!” said Belinda, drawing aside the curtain, “You will not be +displeased with me, when you reflect coolly.” + +“The light blinds me,” said Lady Delacour; and she turned her face away +from Miss Portman, and added, in a drowsy voice, “I will _think of what +has been said_ some time or other: but just now I would rather go +to sleep than say or hear any more; for I am more than half asleep +already.” + +Belinda closed the curtains and left the room. But Lady Delacour, +notwithstanding the drowsy tone in which she pronounced these last +words, was not in the least inclined to sleep. A passion had taken +possession of her mind, which kept her broad awake the remainder of the +night--the passion of jealousy. The extreme eagerness with which Belinda +had urged her to consult Lord Delacour, and to trust him with her +secret, displeased her; not merely as an opposition to her will, and +undue attention to his lordship’s feelings, but as “confirmation strong” + of a hint which had been dropped by Sir Philip Baddely, but which never +till now had appeared to her worthy of a moment’s consideration. Sir +Philip had observed, that, “if a young lady had any hopes of being a +viscountess, it was no wonder she thought a baronet beneath her notice.” + “Now,” thought Lady Delacour, “this is not impossible. In the first +place, Belinda Portman is niece to Mrs. Stanhope; she may have all her +aunt’s art, and the still greater art to conceal it under the mask of +openness and simplicity: _Volto sciolto, pensieri stretti_, is the grand +maxim of the Stanhope school.” The moment Lady Delacour’s mind turned +to suspicion, her ingenuity rapidly supplied her with circumstances and +arguments to confirm and justify her doubts. + +“Miss Portman fears that my husband is growing too fond of me: she says, +he has been very attentive to me of late. Yes, so he has; and on purpose +to disgust him with me, she immediately urges me to tell him that I have +a loathsome disease, and that I am about to undergo a horrid operation. +How my eyes have been blinded by her artifice! This last stroke was +rather too bold, and has opened them effectually, and now I see a +thousand things that escaped me before. Even to-night, the Sortes +Virgilianae, the myrtle leaf, Miss Portman’s mark, left in the book +exactly at the place where Marmontel gives a receipt for managing a +husband of Lord Delacour’s character. Ah, ah! By her own confession, she +had been reading this: studying it. Yes, and she has studied it to some +purpose; she has made that poor weak lord of mine think her an angel. +How he ran on in her praise the other day, when he honoured me with a +morning visit! That morning visit, too, was of her suggestion; and +the bank-notes, as he, like a simpleton, let out in the course of the +conversation, had been offered to her first. She, with a delicacy that +charmed my short-sighted folly, begged that they might go through my +hands. How artfully managed! Mrs. Stanhope herself could not have done +better. So, she can make Lord Delacour do whatever she pleases; and +she condescends to make him behave _prettily_ to me, and desires him +to bring me peace-offerings of bank-notes! She is, in fact, become my +banker; mistress of my house, my husband, and myself! Ten days I have +been confined to my room. Truly, she has made a good use of her time: +and I, fool that I am, have been thanking her for all her disinterested +kindness! + +“Then her attention to my daughter! disinterested, too, as I +thought!--But, good Heavens, what an idiot I have been! She looks +forward to be the step-mother of Helena; she would win the simple +child’s affections even before my face, and show Lord Delacour what a +charming wife and mother she would make! He said some such thing to me, +as well as I remember, the other day. Then her extreme prudence! She +never coquets, not she, with any of the young men who come here on +purpose to see her. Is this natural? Absolutely unnatural--artifice! +artifice! To contrast herself with me in Lord Delacour’s opinion is +certainly her object. Even to Clarence Hervey, with whom she was, or +pretended to be, smitten, how cold and reserved she is grown of late; +and how haughtily she rejected my advice, when I hinted that she was +not taking the way to win him! I could not comprehend her; she had no +designs on Clarence Hervey, she assured me. Immaculate purity! I believe +you. + +“Then her refusal of Sir Philip Baddely!--a baronet with fifteen +thousand a year to be refused by a girl who has nothing, and merely +because he is a fool! How could I be such a fool as to believe it? +Worthy niece of Mrs. Stanhope, I know you now! And now I recollect that +extraordinary letter of Mrs. Stanhope’s which I snatched out of Miss +Portman’s hands some months ago, full of blanks, and inuendoes, and +references to some letter which Belinda had written about my disputes +with my husband! From that moment to this, Miss Portman has never let me +see another of her aunt’s letters. So I may conclude they are all in the +same style; and I make no doubt that she has instructed her niece, +all this time, how to proceed. Now I know why she always puts Mrs. +Stanhope’s letters into her pocket the moment she receives them, and +never opens them in my presence. And I have been laying open my whole +heart, telling my whole history, confessing all my faults and follies, +to this girl! And I have told her that I am dying! I have taught her +to look forward with joy and certainty to the coronet, on which she has +fixed her heart. + +“On my knees I conjured her to stay with me to receive my last breath. +Oh, dupe, miserable dupe, that I am! could nothing warn me? In the +moment that I discovered the treachery of one friend, I went and +prostrated myself to the artifices of another--of another a thousand +times more dangerous--ten thousand times more beloved! For what was +Harriot Freke in comparison with Belinda Portman? Harriot Freke, even +whilst she diverted me most, I half despised. But Belinda!--Oh, Belinda! +how entirely have I loved--trusted--admired--adored--respected--revered +you!” + +Exhausted by the emotions to which she had worked herself up by the +force of her powerful imagination, Lady Delacour, after passing several +restless hours in bed, fell asleep late in the morning; and when she +awaked, Belinda was standing by her bedside. “What could you be dreaming +of?” said Belinda, smiling. “You started, and looked at me with such +horror, when you opened your eyes, as if I had been your evil genius.” + It is not in human nature, thought Lady Delacour, suddenly overcome by +the sweet smile and friendly tone of Belinda, it is not in human nature +to be so treacherous; and she stretched out both her arms to Belinda, +saying, “You my evil genius? No. My guardian angel, my dearest Belinda, +kiss me, and forgive me.” + +“Forgive you for what?” said Belinda; “I believe you are dreaming still, +and I am sorry to awaken you; but I am come to tell you a wonderful +thing--that Lord Delacour is up, and dressed, and actually in the +breakfast-room; and that he has been talking to me this half hour--of +what do you think?--of Helena. He was quite surprised, he said, to see +her grown such a fine girl, and he declares that he no longer regrets +that she was not a boy; and he says that he will dine at home to-day, on +purpose to drink Helena’s health in his new burgundy; and, in short, I +never saw him in such good spirits, or so agreeable: I always thought he +was one of the best-natured men I had ever seen. Will not you get up to +breakfast? Lord Delacour has asked for you ten times within these five +minutes.” + +“Indeed!” said Lady Delacour, rubbing her eyes. “All this is vastly +wonderful; but I wish you had not awakened me so soon.” + +“Nay, nay,” said Belinda, “I know by the tone of your voice, that you +do not mean what you say; I know you will get up, and come down to us +directly--so I will send Marriott.” + +Lady Delacour got up, and went down to breakfast, in much uncertainty +what to think of Miss Portman; but ashamed to let her into her mind, and +still more afraid that Lord Delacour should suspect her of doing him the +honour to be jealous, Belinda had not the least guess of what was really +passing in her ladyship’s heart; she implicitly believed her expressions +of complete indifference to her lord; and jealousy was the last feeling +which Miss Portman would have attributed to Lady Delacour, because she +unfortunately was not sufficiently aware that jealousy can exist without +love. The idea of Lord Delacour as an object of attachment, or of a +coronet as an object of ambition, or of her friend’s death as an object +of joy, were so foreign to Belinda’s innocent mind, that it was scarcely +possible she could decipher Lady Delacour’s thoughts. Her ladyship +affected to be in “remarkable good spirits this morning,” declared that +she had never felt so well since her illness, ordered her carriage +as soon as breakfast was over, and said she would take Helena to +Maillardet’s, to see the wonders of his little conjuror and his +singing-bird. “Nothing equal to Maillardet’s singing-bird has ever been +seen or heard of, my dear Helena, since the days of Aboulcasem’s peacock +in the Persian Tales. Since Lady Anne Percival has not shown you these +charming things, I must.” + +“But I hope you won’t tire yourself, mamma,” said the little girl. + +“I’m afraid you will,” said Belinda. “And you know, my dear,” added Lord +Delacour, “that Miss Portman, who is so very obliging and good-natured, +_could_ go just as well with Helena; and I am sure, _would_, rather than +that you should tire yourself, or give yourself an unnecessary trouble.” + +“Miss Portman is very good,” answered Lady Delacour, hastily; “but I +think it no unnecessary trouble to give my daughter any pleasure in my +power. As to its tiring me, I am neither dead, nor dying, _yet_; for the +rest, Miss Portman, who understands what is proper, blushes for you, as +you see, my lord, when you propose that she, who is not _yet_ a married +woman, should _chaperon_ a young lady. It is quite out of rule; and Mrs. +Stanhope would be shocked if her niece could, or would, do such a thing +to oblige any body.” + +Lord Delacour was too much in the habit of hearing sarcastic, and to him +incomprehensible speeches from her ladyship, to take any extraordinary +notice of this; and if Belinda blushed, it was merely from the confusion +into which she was thrown by the piercing glance of Lady Delacour’s +black eyes--a glance which neither guilt nor innocence could withstand. +Belinda imagined that her ladyship still retained some displeasure from +the conversation that had passed the preceding night, and the first +time that she was alone with Lady Delacour, she again touched upon the +subject, in hopes of softening or convincing her. “At all events, +my dear friend,” said she, “you will not, I hope, be offended by the +sincerity with which I speak--I _can_ have no object but your safety and +happiness.” + +“Sincerity never offends me,” was her ladyship’s cold answer. And all +the time that they were out together, she was unusually ceremonious +to Miss Portman; and there would have been but little conversation, +if Helena had not been present, to whom her mother talked with fluent +gaiety. When they got to Spring Gardens, Helena exclaimed, “Oh! there’s +Lady Anne Percival’s carriage, and Charles and Edward with her--they are +going to the same place that we are, I dare say, for I heard Charles +ask Lady Anne to take him to see Maillardet’s little bird--Mr. Hervey +mentioned it to us, and he said it was a curious piece of machinery.” + +“I wish you had told me sooner that Lady Anne was likely to be there--I +don’t wish to meet her so awkwardly: I am not well enough yet, indeed, +to go to these odious, hot, close places; and, besides, I hate seeing +sights.” + +Helena, with much good humour, said that she would rather give up +seeing the sight than be troublesome to her mother. When they came to +Maillardet’s, however, Lady Delacour saw Mrs. ---- getting out of her +carriage, and to her she consigned Helena and Miss Portman, saying that +she would take a turn or two in the park, and call for them in half +an hour. When the half hour was over, and her ladyship returned, she +carelessly asked, as they were going home, whether they had been pleased +with their visit to the bird and the conjuror. “Oh, yes, mamma!” said +Helena: “and do you know, that one of the questions that the people +ask the conjuror is, _Where is the happiest family to be found?_” And +Charles and Edward immediately said, “if he is a good conjuror, if he +tells truth, he’ll answer, ‘At Oakly-park.’” + +“Miss Portman, had you any conversation with Lady Anne Percival?” said +Lady Delacour, coldly. + +“A great deal,” said Belinda, “and such as I am sure you would have +liked: and so far from being a ceremonious person, I think I never saw +any body who had such easy engaging manners.” + +“And did she ask you, Helena, again to go with her to that place where +the happiest family in the world is to be found?” + +“Oakly-park?--No, mamma; she said that she was very glad that I was with +you; but she asked Miss Portman to come to see her whenever it was in +her power.” + +“And could Miss Portman withstand such a temptation?” + +“You know that I am engaged to your ladyship,” said Belinda. + +Lady Delacour bowed. “But from what passed last night,” said she, “I was +afraid that you might repent your engagement to me: and if so, I give up +my bond. I should be miserable if I apprehended that any one, but more +especially Miss Portman, felt herself a prisoner in my house.” + +“Dear Lady Delacour! I do not feel myself a prisoner; I have always till +now felt myself a friend in your house; but we’ll talk of this another +time. Do not look at me with so much coldness; do not speak to me with +so much politeness. I will not let you forget that I am your friend.” + +“I do not wish to forget it, Belinda,” said Lady Delacour, with emotion; +“I am not ungrateful, though I may seem capricious--bear with me.” + +“There now, you look like yourself again, and I am satisfied,” cried +Belinda. “As to going to Oakly-park, I give you my word I have not the +most distant thoughts of it. I stay with you from choice, and not from +compulsion, believe me.” + +“I _do_ believe you,” said Lady Delacour; and for a moment she was +convinced that Belinda stayed with her for her own sake alone; but the +next minute she suspected that Lord Delacour was the secret cause of her +refusing to go to Oakly-park. His lordship dined at home this day, and +two or three succeeding days, and he was not intoxicated from +Monday till Thursday. These circumstances appeared to his lady very +extraordinary. In fact, he was pleased and amused with his little +daughter, Helena; and whilst she was yet almost a stranger to him, he +wished to appear to her in the most agreeable and respectable light +possible. One day after dinner, Lord Delacour, who was in a remarkably +good humour, said to her ladyship, “My dear, you know that your new +carriage was broken almost to pieces the night when you were overturned. +Well, I have had it all set to rights again, and new painted, and it is +all complete, except the hammer-cloth, which must have new fringe. What +colour will you have the fringe?” + +“What do you say, Miss Portman?” said her ladyship. + +“Black and orange would look well, I think,” said Belinda, “and would +suit the lace of your liveries--would not it?” + +“Certainly: black and orange then,” said Lord Delacour, “it shall be.” + +“If you ask my opinion,” said Lady Delacour, “I am for blue and white, +to match the cloth of the liveries.” + +“Blue and white then it shall be,” said Lord Delacour. + +“Nay, Miss Portman has a better taste than I have; and she says black +and orange, my lord.” + +“Then you’ll have it black and orange, will you?” said Lord Delacour. + +“Just as you please,” said Lady Delacour, and no more passed. + +Soon afterward a note came from Lady Anne Percival, with some trifles +belonging to Helena, for which her mother had sent. The note was for +Belinda--another pressing invitation to Oakly-park--and a very civil +message from Mrs. Margaret Delacour, and thanks to Lady Delacour for +the macaw. Ay, thought Lady Delacour, Miss Portman wants to ingratiate +herself in time with all my husband’s relations. “Mrs. Margaret Delacour +should have addressed these thanks to you, Miss Portman, for I had not +the grace to think of sending her the macaw.” Lord Delacour, who was +very fond of his aunt, immediately joined his thanks, and observed that +Miss Portman was always considerate--always obliging--always kind. +Then he drank her health in a bumper of burgundy, and insisted upon his +little Helena’s drinking her health. “I am sure you ought, my dear, for +Miss Portman is very good--too good to you, child.” + +“Very good--not too good, I hope,” said Lady Delacour. “Miss Portman, +your health.” + +“And I hope,” continued his lordship, after swallowing his bumper, “that +my Lady Anne Percival does not mean to inveigle you away from us, Miss +Portman. You don’t think of leaving us, Miss Portman, I hope? Here’s +Helena would break her little heart;--I say nothing for my Lady +Delacour, because she can say every thing so much better for herself; +and I say nothing for myself, because I am the worst man in the world +at making speeches, when I really have a thing at heart--as I have your +staying with us, Miss Portman.” + +Belinda assured him that there was no occasion to press her to do what +was perfectly agreeable to her, and said that she had no thoughts of +leaving Lady Delacour. Her ladyship, with some embarrassment, expressed +herself “extremely obliged, and gratified, and happy.” Helena, with +artless joy, threw her arms about Belinda, and exclaimed, “I am glad +you are not going; for I never liked any body so much, of whom I knew so +little.” + +“The more you know of Miss Portman the more you will like her, child--at +least I have found it so,” said Lord Delacour. + +“Clarence Hervey would, I am sure, have given the Pigot diamond, if it +were in his gift, for such a smile as you bestowed on Lord Delacour just +now,” whispered Lady Delacour. For an instant Belinda was struck with +the tone of pique and reproach, in which, her ladyship spoke. “Nay, +my dear, I did not mean to make you blush so piteously,” pursued her +ladyship: “I really did not think it a blushing matter--but you know +best. Believe me, I spoke without malice; we are so apt to judge from +our own feelings--and I could as soon blush about the old man of the +mountains as about my Lord Delacour.” + +“Lord Delacour!” said Belinda, with a look of such unfeigned surprise, +that her ladyship instantly changed countenance, and, taking her hand +with gaiety, said, “So, my little Belinda, I have caught you--the blush +belongs then to Clarence Hervey? Well, any man of common sense would +rather have one blush than a thousand smiles for his share: now we +understand one another. And will you go with me to the exhibition +to-morrow? I am told there are some charming pictures this year. Helena, +who really has a genius for drawing, should see these things; and whilst +she _is_ with me, I will make her as happy as possible. You see the +reformation is beginning--Clarence Hervey and Miss Portman can do +wonders. If it be my fate, at last, to be _la bonne mère_, or _la femme +comme il y en a peu_, how can I help it? There is no struggling against +fate, my dear!” + +Whenever Lady Delacour’s suspicions of Belinda were suspended, all her +affections returned with double force; she wondered at her own folly, +she was ashamed that she could have let such ideas enter her mind, +and she was beyond measure astonished that any thing relative to Lord +Delacour could so far have interested her attention. “Luckily,” said she +to herself, “he has not the penetration of a blind beetle; and, besides, +he has little snug jealousies of his own: so he will never find me +out. It would be an excellent thing indeed, if he were to turn my +‘_master-torment_’ against myself--it would be a judgment upon me. The +manes of poor Lawless would then be appeased. But it is impossible I +should ever be a jealous wife: I am only a jealous friend, and I +must satisfy myself about Belinda. To be a second time a dupe to +the treachery of a friend would be too much for me--too much for my +pride--too much for my heart.” + +The next day, when they came to the exhibition, Lady Delacour had an +opportunity of judging of Belinda’s real feelings. As they went up the +stairs, they heard the voices of Sir Philip Baddely and Mr. Rochfort, +who were standing upon the landing-place, leaning over the banisters, +and running their little sticks along the iron rails, to try which could +make the loudest noise. + +“Have you been much pleased with the pictures, gentlemen?” said Lady +Delacour, as she passed them. + +“Oh, damme! no--‘tis a cursed bore; and yet there are some fine +pictures: one in particular--hey, Rochfort?--one damned fine picture!” + said Sir Philip. And the two gentlemen laughing significantly, followed +Lady Delacour and Belinda into the rooms. + +“Ay, there’s one picture that’s worth all the rest, ‘pon honour!” + repeated Rochfort; “and we’ll leave it to your ladyship’s and Miss +Portman’s taste and judgment to find it out, mayn’t we, Sir Philip?” + +“Oh, damme! yes,” said Sir Philip, “by all means.” But he was so +impatient to direct her eyes, that he could not keep himself still an +instant. + +“Oh, curse it! Rochfort, we’d better tell the ladies at once, else they +may be all day looking and looking!” + +“Nay, Sir Philip, may not I be allowed to guess? Must I be told which is +your fine picture?--This is not much in favour of my taste.” + +“Oh, damn it! your ladyship has the best taste in the world, every body +knows; and so has Miss Portman--and this picture will hit her taste +particularly, I’m sure. It is Clarence Hervey’s fancy; but this is a +dead secret--dead--Clary no more thinks that we know it, than the man in +the moon.” + +“Clarence Hervey’s fancy! Then I make no doubt of its being good for +something,” said Lady Delacour, “if the painter have done justice to his +imagination; for Clarence has really a fine imagination.” + +“Oh, damme! ‘tis not amongst the history pieces,” cried Sir Philip; +“‘tis a portrait.” + +“And a history piece, too, ‘pon honour!” said Rochfort: “a family +history piece, I take it, ‘pon honour! it will turn out,” said Rochfort; +and both the gentlemen were, or affected to be, thrown into convulsions +of laughter, as they repeated the words, “family history piece, ‘pon +honour!--family history piece, damme!” + +“I’ll take my oath as to the portrait’s being a devilish good likeness,” + added Sir Philip; and as he spoke, he turned to Miss Portman: “Miss +Portman has it! damme, Miss Portman has him!” + +Belinda hastily withdrew her eyes from the picture at which she was +looking. “A most beautiful creature!” exclaimed Lady Delacour. + +“Oh, faith! yes; I always do Clary the justice to say, he has a damned +good taste for beauty.” + +“But this seems to be foreign beauty,” continued Lady Delacour, “if one +may judge by her air, her dress, and the scenery about her--cocoa-trees, +plantains: Miss Portman, what think you?” + +“I think,” said Belinda, (but her voice faltered so much that she could +hardly speak,) “that it is a scene from Paul and Virginia. I think the +figure is St. Pierre’s Virginia.” + +“Virginia St. Pierre! ma’am,” cried Mr. Rochfort, winking at Sir Philip. +“No, no, damme! there you are wrong, Rochfort; say Hervey’s Virginia, +and then you have it, damme! or, may be, Virginia Hervey--who knows?” + +“This is a portrait,” whispered the baronet to Lady Delacour, “of +Clarence’s mistress.” Whilst her ladyship leant her ear to this whisper, +which was sufficiently audible, she fixed a seemingly careless, but most +observing, inquisitive eye upon poor Belinda. Her confusion, for she +heard the whisper, was excessive. + +“She loves Clarence Hervey--she has no thoughts of Lord Delacour and +his coronet: I have done her injustice,” thought Lady Delacour, and +instantly she despatched Sir Philip out of the room, for a catalogue +of the pictures, begged Mr. Rochfort to get her something else, and, +drawing Miss Portman’s arm within hers, she said, in a low voice, “Lean +upon me, my dearest Belinda: depend upon it, Clarence will never be such +a fool as to marry the girl--Virginia Hervey she will never be!” + +“And what will become of her? can Mr. Hervey desert her? she looks +like innocence itself--and so young, too! Can he leave her for ever to +sorrow, and vice, and infamy?” thought Belinda, as she kept her eyes +fixed, in silent anguish, upon the picture of Virginia. “No, he cannot +do this: if he could he would be unworthy of me, and I _ought_ to think +of him no more. No; he will marry her; and I _must_ think of him no +more.” + +She turned abruptly away from the picture, and she saw Clarence Hervey +standing beside her. + +“What do you think of this picture? is it not beautiful? We are quite +enchanted with it; but you do not seem to be struck with it, as we were +at the first glance,” said Lady Delacour. + +“Because,” answered Clarence, gaily, “it is not the first glance I have +had at that picture--I admired it yesterday, and admire it to-day.” + +“But you are tired of admiring it, I see. Well, we shall not force you +to be in raptures with it--shall we, Miss Portman? A man may be tired of +the most beautiful face in the world, or the most beautiful picture; +but really there is so much sweetness, so much innocence, such tender +melancholy in this countenance, that, if I were a man, I should +inevitably be in love with it, and in love for ever! Such beauty, if it +were in nature, would certainly fix the most inconstant man upon earth.” + +Belinda ventured to take her eyes for an instant from the picture, to +see whether Clarence Hervey looked like the most inconstant man upon +earth. He was intently gazing upon her; but as soon as she looked +round, he suddenly exclaimed, as he turned to the picture--“A heavenly +countenance, indeed!--the painter has done justice to the poet.” + +“Poet!” repeated Lady Delacour: “the man’s in the clouds!” + +“Pardon me,” said Clarence; “does not M. de St. Pierre deserve to +be called a poet? Though he does not write in rhyme, surely he has a +poetical imagination.” + +“Certainly,” said Belinda; and from the composure with which Mr. Hervey +now spoke, she was suddenly inclined to believe, or to hope, that all +Sir Philip’s story was false. “M. de St. Pierre undoubtedly has a great +deal of imagination, and deserves to be called a poet.” + +“Very likely, good people!” said Lady Delacour; “but what has that to do +with the present purpose?” + +“Nay,” cried Clarence, “your ladyship certainly sees that this is St. +Pierre’s Virginia?” + +“St. Pierre’s Virginia! Oh, I know who it is, Clarence, as well as you +do. I am not quite so blind, or so stupid, as you take me to be.” Then +recollecting her promise, not to betray Sir Philip’s secret, she added, +pointing to the landscape of the picture, “These cocoa trees, this +fountain, and the words _Fontaine de Virginie_, inscribed on the rock--I +must have been stupidity itself, if I had not found it out. I absolutely +_can_ read, Clarence, and spell, and put together. But here comes Sir +Philip Baddely, who, I believe, cannot read, for I sent him an hour ago +for a catalogue, and he pores over the book as if he had not yet made +out the title.” + +Sir Philip had purposely delayed, because he was afraid of rejoining +Lady Delacour whilst Clarence Hervey was with her, and whilst they were +talking of the picture of Virginia. + +“Here’s the catalogue; here’s the picture your ladyship wants. St. +Pierre’s Virginia: damme! I never heard of that fellow before--he is +some new painter, damme! that is the reason I did not know the hand. Not +a word of what I told you, Lady Delacour--you won’t blow us to Clary,” + added he _aside_ to her ladyship. “Rochfort keeps aloof; and so will I, +damme!” + +A gentleman at this instant beckoned to Mr. Hervey with an air of great +eagerness. Clarence went and spoke to him, then returned with an altered +countenance, and apologized to Lady Delacour for not dining with her, as +he had promised. Business, he said, of great importance required that he +should leave town immediately. Helena had just taken Miss Portman into a +little room, where Westall’s drawings were hung, to show her a group +of Lady Anne Percival and her children; and Belinda was alone with +the little girl, when Mr. Hervey came to bid her adieu. He was in much +agitation. + +“Miss Portman, I shall not, I am afraid, see you again for some +time;--perhaps I may never have that--hem!--happiness. I had something +of importance that I wished to say to you before I left town; but I +am forced to go so suddenly, I can hardly hope for any moment but the +present to speak to you, madam. May I ask whether you purpose remaining +much longer with Lady Delacour?” + +“Yes,” said Belinda, much surprised. “I believe--I am not quite +certain--but I believe I shall stay with her ladyship some time longer.” + +Mr. Hervey looked painfully embarrassed, and his eyes involuntarily fell +upon little Helena. Helena drew her hand gently away from Belinda, left +the room, and retired to her mother. + +“That child, Miss Portman, is very fond of you,” said Mr. Hervey. +Again he paused, and looked round to see whether he could be overheard. +“Pardon me for what I am going to say. This is not a proper place. I +must be abrupt; for I am so circumstanced, that I have not a moment’s +time to spare. May I speak to you with the sincerity of a friend?” + +“Yes. Speak to me with sincerity,” said Belinda, “and you will deserve +that I should think you my friend.” She trembled excessively, but spoke +and looked with all the firmness that she could command. + +“I have heard a report,” said Mr. Hervey, “which is most injurious to +you.” + +“To me!” + +“Yes. No one can escape calumny. It is whispered, that if Lady Delacour +should die--.” + +At the word _die_, Belinda started. + +“That if Lady Delacour should die, Miss Portman would become the mother +of Helena!” + +“Good Heavens! what an absurd report! Surely _you_ could not for an +instant believe it, Mr. Hervey?” + +“Not for an instant. But I resolved, as soon as I heard it, to mention +it to you; for I believe that half the miseries of the world arise from +foolish mysteries--from the want of courage to speak the truth. Now that +you are upon your guard, your own prudence will defend you sufficiently. +I never saw any of your sex who appeared to me to have so much prudence, +and so little art; but--farewell--I have not a moment to lose,” added +Clarence, suddenly checking himself; and he hurried away from Belinda, +who stood fixed to the spot where he left her, till she was roused by +the voices of several people who came into the room to see the drawings. +She started as if from a dream, and went immediately in search of Lady +Delacour. + +Sir Philip Baddely was in earnest conversation with her ladyship; but +he stopped speaking when Belinda came within hearing, and Lady Delacour +turned to Helena, and said, “My dear, if you are satisfied, for mercy’s +sake let us be gone, for I am absolutely overcome with heat--and with +curiosity,” added she in a low voice to Belinda: “I long to hear how +Clarence Hervey likes Westall’s drawings.” + +As soon as they got home, Lady Delacour sent her daughter to practise +a new lesson upon the piano forte. “And now sit down, my dear Belinda,” + said she, “and satisfy my curiosity. It is the curiosity of a friend, +not of an impertinent busybody. Has Clarence declared himself? He chose +an odd time and place; but that is no matter; I forgive him, and so +do you, I dare say. But why do you tear that unfortunate carnation to +pieces? Surely you cannot be embarrassed in speaking to me! What’s +the matter? I once did tell you, that I would not give up my claim to +Clarence’s adorations during my life; but I intend to live a few years +longer after the amazonian operation is performed, you know; and I could +not have the conscience to keep you waiting whole years. It is better +to do things with a good grace, lest one should be forced at last to do +them with an ill grace. Therefore I give up all manner of claim to +every thing but--flattery! that of course you will allow me from poor +Clarence. So now do not begin upon another flower; but, without any +farther superfluous modesty, let me hear all the pretty things Clarence +said or swore.” + +Whilst Belinda was pulling the carnation to pieces, she recollected what +Mr. Hervey had said to her about mysteries: his words still sounded +in her ear. “_I believe that half the miseries of the world arise from +foolish mysteries--from the want of courage to speak the truth_.” I will +have the courage to speak the truth, thought she, whatever it may cost +me. + +“The only pretty thing that Mr. Hervey said was, that he never saw any +woman who had so much prudence and so little art,” said Belinda. + +“A very pretty thing indeed, my dear! But it might have been said in +open court by your grandfather, or your great-grandfather. I am sorry, +if that was all, that Helena did not stay to hear such a charming moral +compliment--_Moralité à la glace_. The last thing I should have expected +in a _tête-à-tête_ with Clarence Hervey. Was it worth while to pull that +poor flower to pieces for such a pretty speech as this? And so that was +all?” + +“No, not all: but you overpower me with your wit; and I cannot stand the +‘lightning of your eyes.’” + +“There!” said her ladyship, letting down her veil over her face, “the +fire of my eyes is not too much for you now.” + +“Helena was showing me Westall’s drawing of Lady Anne Percival and her +children--” + +“And Mr. Hervey wished that he was the father of such a charming group +of children, and you the mother--hey? was not that it? It was not put in +such plain terms, but that was the purport, I presume?” + +“No, not at all; he said nothing about Lady Anne Percival’s children, +but--” + +“But--why then did you bring in her ladyship and her children? To gain +time?--Bad policy!--Never, whilst you live, when you have a story +to tell, bring in a parcel of people who have nothing to do with the +beginning, the middle, or the end of it. How could I suspect you of +such false taste! I really imagined these children were essential to the +business; but I beg pardon for giving you these elements of criticism. I +assure you I interrupt you, and talk on so fast, from pure good-nature, +to give you time to recollect yourself; for I know you’ve the worst of +memories, especially for what Clarence Hervey says. But come, my dear, +dash into the middle of things at once, in the true Epic style.” + +“Then to dash into the midst of things at once,” said Miss Portman, +speaking very quick: “Mr. Hervey observed that Miss Delacour was growing +very fond of me.” + +“Miss Delacour, did you say?” cried her ladyship: “_Et puis_?” + +At this instant Champfort opened the door, looked in, and seeing Lady +Delacour, immediately retired. + +“Champfort, whom do you want--or what do you want?” said her ladyship. + +“Miladi, c’est que--I did come from milord, to see if miladi and +mademoiselle were visible. I did tink miladi was not at home.” + +“You see I am at home, though,” said her ladyship. “Has Lord Delacour +any business with me?” + +“No, miladi: not with miladi,” said Champfort; “it was with +mademoiselle.” + +“With me, Monsieur Champfort? then you will be so good as to tell Lord +Delacour I am here.” + +“And that _I_ am not here, Champfort; for I must be gone to dress.” + +She rose hastily to leave the room, but Miss Portman caught her hand: +“You won’t go, I hope, Lady Delacour,” said she, “till I have finished +my long story?” Lady Delacour sat down again, ashamed of her own +embarrassment. + +Whether this be art, innocence, or assurance, thought she, I cannot +tell; but we shall see. + +Lord Delacour now came in, with a half-unfolded newspaper, and a packet +of letters in his hand. He came to apologize to Miss Portman for having, +by mistake, broken the seal of a letter to her, which had been sent +under cover to him. He had simply asked Champfort whether the ladies +were at home, that he might not have the trouble of going up stairs if +they were out. Monsieur Champfort possessed, in an eminent degree, the +mischievous art of appearing mysterious about the simplest things in the +world. + +“Though I was so thoughtless as to break the seal before I looked at the +direction of the letter,” said Lord Delacour, “I assure you I went no +farther than the first three words; for I knew ‘my dear niece’ could not +possibly mean me.” He gave Miss Portman the letter, and left the +room. This explanation was perfectly satisfactory to Belinda; but Lady +Delacour, prejudiced by the hesitation of Champfort, could not help +suspecting that this letter was merely the ostensible cause of his +lordship’s visit. + +“From my aunt Stanhope,” said Miss Portman, as she opened her letter. +She folded it up again after glancing over the first page, and put it +into her pocket, colouring deeply. + +All Lady Delacour’s suspicions about Mrs. Stanhope’s epistolary counsels +and secrets instantly recurred, with almost the force of conviction to +her mind. + +“Miss Portman,” said she, “I hope your politeness to me does not prevent +you from reading your letter? Some ceremonious people think it vastly +rude to read a letter in company; but I am not one of them: I can write +whilst you read, for I have fifty notes and more to answer. So pray read +your letter at your ease.” + +Belinda had but just unfolded her letter again, when Lord Delacour +returned, followed by Champfort, who brought with him a splendid +hammer-cloth. + +“Here, my dear Lady Delacour,” said his lordship, “is a little surprise +for you: here is a new hammer-cloth, of my bespeaking and taste, which I +hope you will approve of.” + +“Very handsome, upon my word!” said Lady Delacour, coldly, and she fixed +her eyes upon the fringe, which was black and orange: “Miss Portman’s +taste, I see!” + +“Did you not say black and orange fringe, my dear?” + +“No. I said blue and white, my lord.” + +His lordship declared he did not know how the mistake had happened; it +was merely a mistake:--but her ladyship was convinced that it was +done on purpose. And she said to herself, “Miss Portman will order my +liveries next! I have not even the shadow of power left in my own house! +I am not treated with even a decent show of respect! But this shall go +on till I have full conviction of her views.” + +Dissembling her displeasure, she praised the hammer-cloth, and +especially the fringe. Lord Delacour retired satisfied; and Miss Portman +sat down to read the following letter from her aunt Stanhope. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +JEALOUSY. + + +“Crescent, Bath, July--Wednesday. + +“MY DEAR NIECE, + +“I received safely the bank notes for my two hundred guineas, enclosed +in your last. But you should never trust unnecessarily in this manner to +the post--always, when you are obliged to send bank notes by post, cut +them in two, and send half by one post and half by another. This is +what is done by all prudent people. Prudence, whether in trifles or +in matters of consequence, can be learned only by experience (which is +often too dearly bought), or by listening, which costs nothing, to the +suggestions of those who have a thorough knowledge of the world. + +“A report has just reached me concerning you and _a certain lord_, which +gives me the most heartfelt concern. I always knew, and told you, that +you were _a great favourite_ with the person in question. I depended +on your prudence, delicacy, and principles, to understand this hint +properly, and I trusted that you would conduct yourself accordingly. +It is too plain, (from the report alluded to,) that there has been some +misconduct or mis-management somewhere. The misconduct I cannot--the +mis-management I must, attribute to you, my dear; for let a man’s +admiration for any woman be ever so great, unless she suffer herself +to be dazzled by vanity, or unless she be naturally of an inconsiderate +temper, she can surely prevent his partiality from becoming so glaring +as to excite envy: envy is always to be dreaded by handsome young women, +as being, sooner or later, infallibly followed by scandal. Of this, +I fear, you have not been sufficiently aware, and you see the +consequences--consequences which, to a female of genuine delicacy or of +real good sense, must be extremely alarming. Men of contracted minds and +cold tempers, who are absolutely incapable of feeling generous passion +for our sex, are often unaccountably ambitious to gain the reputation +of being _well_ with any woman whose beauty, accomplishments, or +connexions, may have brought her into fashion. Whatever affection may be +pretended, this is frequently the _ultimate_ and _sole_ object of these +selfish creatures. Whether or not the person I have in my eye deserves +to be included in this class, I will not presume positively to +determine; but you, who have personal opportunities of observation, +may decide this point (if you have any curiosity on the subject) by +observing whether he most affects to pay his devoirs to you in public or +in private. If the latter be the case, it is the most dangerous; because +a man even of the most contracted understanding has always sense or +instinct enough to feel that the slightest taint in the reputation +of the woman who is, or who is to be, his wife, would affect his own +private peace, or his honour in the eyes of the world. A husband who +has in a first marriage been, as it is said, in constant fear both of +matrimonial subjugation and disgrace, would, in his choice of a second +lady, be peculiarly nice, and probably _tardy_. Any degree of favour +that might have been shown him, any report that may have been raised, +and above all, any restraint he might feel himself under from +implied engagement, or from the discovery or reputation of superior +understanding and talents in the object beloved, would operate +infallibly against her, to the confusion of all her plans, and the +ruin at once of her reputation, her peace of mind, and her hopes of an +establishment. Nay, supposing the best that could possibly happen--that, +after playing with the utmost dexterity this desperate game, the pool +were absolutely your own; yet, if there were any suspicions of unfair +play buzzed about amongst the by-standers, you would not in the main be +a gainer; for my dear, without character, what is even wealth, or all +that wealth can bestow? I do not mean to trouble you with stale wise +sayings, which young people hate; nor musty morality, which is seldom +fit for use in the world, or which smells too much of books to be +brought into good company. This is not my way of giving advice; but I +only beg you to observe what actually passes before your eyes in the +circle in which we live. Ladies of the best families, with rank and +fortune, and beauty and fashion, and every thing in their favour, cannot +(as yet in this country) dispense with the strictest observance of the +rules of virtue and decorum. Some have fancied themselves raised so high +above the vulgar as to be in no danger from the thunder and lightning +of public opinion; but these ladies in the clouds have found themselves +mistaken--they have been blasted, and have fallen nobody knows where! +What is become of Lady ----, and the Countess of ----, and others I +could mention, who were as high as envy could look? I remember seeing +the Countess of ----, who was then the most beautiful creature my eyes +ever beheld, and the most admired that ever was heard of, come into +the Opera-house, and sit the whole night in her box without any woman’s +speaking or courtesying to her, or taking any more notice of her than +you would of a post, or a beggar-woman. Even a coronet cannot protect +a woman, you see, from disgrace: if she falls, she and it, and all +together, are trampled under foot. But why should I address all this to +my dear niece? Whither have the terror and confusion I was thrown into +by this strange report about you and Lord ---- led me? And yet +one cannot be too cautious--‘Ce n’est que le premier _mot_ qui +coute’--Scandal never stops after the first word, unless she be +instantly gagged by a dexterous hand. Nothing shall be wanting on my +part, but you alone are the person who can do any thing effectual Do not +imagine that I would have you quit Lady----; that is the first idea, +I know, that will come into your silly little head, but put it out +directly. If you were upon this attack to quit the field of battle, you +yield the victory to your enemies. To leave Lady----‘s house would be +folly and madness. As long as she is your friend, or _appears_ such, +all is safe; but any coolness on her part would, in the present +circumstances, be death to your reputation. And, even if you were to +leave her on the best terms possible, the malicious world would say +that you left her on the worst, and would assign as a reason the report +alluded to. People who have not yet believed it would then conclude +that it must be true; and thus by your cowardice you would furnish an +incontrovertible argument against your innocence. I therefore desire +that you will not, upon any account, think of coming home to me at +present; indeed, I hope your own good sense would prevent you from +wishing it, after the reasons that I have given. Far from quitting Lady +---- from false delicacy, it is your business, from consideration for +her peace, as well as your own, to redouble your attentions to her in +private, and, above all things, to appear as much as possible with her +in public. I am glad to hear her health is so far reestablished, that +she _can_ appear again in public; her spirits, as you may hint, will be +the better for a little amusement. Luckily, you have it completely in +your power to convince her and all the world of the correctness of your +mind. I believe I certainly should have fainted, my dear, when I first +heard this shocking report, if I had not just afterward received a +letter from Sir Philip Baddely which revived me. His proposal at this +crisis for you, my dear, is a charming thing. You have nothing to do but +to encourage his addresses immediately,--the report dies away of itself, +and all is just as your best friends wish. Such an establishment for +you, my dear, is indeed beyond their most sanguine expectations. Sir +Philip hints in his letter, that my influence might be wanting with you +in his favour; but this surely cannot be. As I have told him, he has +merely mistaken becoming female reserve for a want of sensibility on +your part, which would be equally unnatural and absurd. Do you know, my +dear, that Sir Philip Baddely has an estate of fifteen thousand a-year +in Wiltshire? and his uncle Barton’s estate in Norfolk will, in due +time, pay his debts. Then, as to family--look in the lists of baronets +in your pocket-book; and surely, my love, an old baronetage in actual +possession is worth something more than the reversion of a new coronet; +supposing that such a thing could properly be thought of, which Heaven +forbid! So I see no possible objection to Sir Philip, my dear Belinda! +and I am sure you have too much candour and good sense to make any +childish or romantic difficulties. Sir Philip is not, I know, a man of +what you call genius. So much the better, my dear--those men of genius +are dangerous husbands; they have so many oddities and eccentricities, +there is no managing them, though they are mighty pleasant men in +company to enliven conversation; for example, your favourite, Clarence +Hervey. As it is well known he is not a marrying man, you never can have +thought of him. You are not a girl to expose yourself to the ridicule, +&c., of all your female acquaintance by romance and nonsense. I +cannot conceive that a niece of mine could degrade herself by a mean +prepossession for a man who has never made any declaration of his +attachment to her, and who, I am sure, feels no such attachment. +That you may not deceive yourself, it is fit I should tell you, what +otherwise it might not be so proper to mention to a young lady, that +he keeps and has kept a mistress for some years; and those who are most +intimately in his confidence have assured me that, if ever he marries +any body, he will marry this girl; which is not impossible, considering +that she is, they say, the most beautiful young creature that ever was +seen, and he _a man of genius_. If you have any sense or spirit, I have +said enough. So adieu!--Let me hear, by return of the post, that every +thing is going on as it should do. I am impatient to write to your +sister Tollemache this good news. I always foretold that my Belinda +would marry better than her sister, or any of her cousins, and take +place of them all. Are not you obliged to me for sending you this winter +to town to Lady ----? It was an admirable hit. Pray tell Lady Delacour, +with my best compliments, that our _aloe_ friend (her ladyship will +understand me) cheated a gentleman of my acquaintance the other day, at +casino, out of seventy guineas. He hates the sight of her odious red wig +as much now as we always did. I knew, and told Lady D----, as she will +do me the justice to remember, that Mrs.----cheated at play. What a +contemptible character!--Pray, my dear, do not forget to tell Lady +Delacour, that I have a charming anecdote for her, about another +_friend_ of ours, who has lately gone over to the enemy. Has her +ladyship seen a manuscript that is handed about as a great secret, and +said to be by ----, a parallel between _our friend_ and the Chevalier +d’Eon? It is done with infinite wit and humour, in the manner of +Plutarch. I would send a copy, but am afraid my frank would be too heavy +if I began upon another sheet. So once more adieu, my dear niece! Write +to me without fail, and mention Sir Philip. I have written to him to +give my approbation, &c. + +“Yours sincerely, + +“SELINA STANHOPE.” + +“Mrs. Stanhope seems to have written you a volume instead of a letter, +Miss Portman,” cried Lady Delacour, as Belinda turned over the sheets +of her aunt’s long epistle. She did not attempt to read it regularly +through: some passages here and there were sufficient to astonish and +shock her extremely. “No bad news, I hope?” said Lady Delacour, again +looking up from her writing at Belinda, who sat motionless, leaning +her head upon her hand, as if deep in thought, Mrs. Stanhope’s +unfolded letter hanging from her hand. In the midst of the variety of +embarrassing, painful, and alarming feelings excited by this letter, she +had sufficient strength of mind to adhere to her resolution of speaking +the exact truth to Lady Delacour. When she was roused by her ladyship’s +question, “No bad news, I hope, Miss Portman?” she instantly answered, +with all the firmness she could command. “Yes. My aunt has been alarmed +by a strange report which I heard myself for the first time this morning +from Mr. Hervey. I am sure I am much obliged to him for having the +courage to speak the truth to me.” Here she repeated what Mr. Hervey had +said to her. Lady Delacour never raised her eyes whilst Belinda spoke, +but went on scratching out some words in what she was writing. Through +the mask of paint which she wore no change of colour could be visible; +and as Belinda did not see the expression of her ladyship’s eyes, she +could not in the least judge of what was passing in her mind. + +“Mr. Hervey has acted like a man of honour and sense,” said Lady +Delacour; “but it is a pity, for your sake, he did not speak +sooner--before this report became so public--before it reached Bath, and +your aunt. Though it could not surprise her much, she has such a perfect +knowledge of the world, and ----” + +Lady Delacour uttered these broken sentences in a voice of suppressed +anger; cleared her throat several times, and at last, unable to speak, +stopped short, and then began with much precipitation to put wafers into +several notes that she had been writing. So it has reached Bath, thought +she--the report is public! I never till now heard a hint of any such +thing except from Sir Philip Baddely; but it has doubtless been the +common talk of the town, and I am laughed at as a dupe and an idiot, as +I am. And now, when the thing can he concealed no longer, she comes to +me with that face of simplicity, and knowing my generous temper, throws +herself on my mercy, and trusts that her speaking to me with this +audacious plainness will convince me of her innocence. “You have acted +in the most prudent manner possible, Miss Portman,” said her ladyship, +as she went on sealing her notes, “by speaking at once to me of this +strange, scandalous, absurd report. Do you act from your aunt Stanhope’s +advice, or entirely from your own judgment and knowledge of my +character?” + +“From my own judgment and knowledge of your character, in which I +hope--I am not--I cannot be mistaken,” said Belinda, looking at her with +a mixture of doubt and astonishment. + +“No--you calculated admirably--‘twas the best, the only thing you could +do. Only,” said her ladyship, falling back in her chair with an hysteric +laugh, “only the blunder of Champfort, and the entrance of my Lord +Delacour, and the hammercloth with the orange and black fringe--forgive +me, my dear; for the soul of me I can’t help laughing--it was rather +unlucky; so awkward, such a contretemps! But you,” added she, wiping her +eyes, as if recovering from laughter, “you have such admirable presence +of mind, nothing disconcerts you! You are equal to all situations, +and stand in no need of such long letters of advice from your aunt +Stanhope,” pointing to the two folio sheets which lay at Belinda’s feet. + +The rapid, unconnected manner in which Lady Delacour spoke, the hurry of +her motions, the quick, suspicious, angry glances of her eye, her laugh, +her unintelligible words, all conspired at this moment to give Belinda +the idea that her intellects were suddenly disordered. She was so firmly +persuaded of her ladyship’s utter indifference to Lord Delacour, that +she never conceived the possibility of her being actuated by the passion +of jealousy--by the jealousy of power--a species of jealousy which she +had never felt, and could not comprehend. But she had sometimes seen +Lady Delacour in starts of passion that seemed to border on insanity, +and the idea of her losing all command of her reason now struck Belinda +with irresistible force. She felt the necessity of preserving her own +composure; and with all the calmness that she could assume, she took +up her aunt Stanhope’s letter, and looked for the passage in which Mrs. +Luttridge and Harriot Freke were mentioned. If I can turn the course of +Lady Delacour’s mind, thought she, or catch her attention, perhaps she +will recover herself. “Here is a message to you, my dear Lady Delacour,” + cried she, “from my aunt Stanhope, about--about Mrs. Luttridge.” + +Miss Portman’s hand trembled as she turned over the pages of the letter. +“I am all attention,” said Lady Delacour, with a composed voice; “only +take care, don’t make a mistake: I’m in no hurry; don’t read any thing +Mrs. Stanhope might not wish. It is dangerous to garble letters, almost +as dangerous as to snatch them out of a friend’s hand, as I once did, +you know--but you need not now be under the least alarm.” + +Conscious that this letter was not fit for her ladyship to see, Belinda +neither offered to show it to her, nor attempted any apology for +her reserve and embarrassment, but hastily began to read the message +relative to Mrs. Luttridge; her voice gaining confidence as she went on, +as she observed that she had fixed Lady Delacour’s attention, who now +sat listening to her, calm and motionless. But when Miss Portman came +to the words, “Do not forget to tell Lady D ----, that I have a charming +anecdote for her about another _friend_ of hers, who lately went over +to the enemy,” her ladyship exclaimed with great vehemence, +“_Friend_!--Harriot Freke!--Yes, like all other friends--Harriot +Freke!--What was she compared to? ‘Tis too much for me--too much!” and +she put her hand to her head. + +“Compose yourself, my dear _friend_,” said Belinda, in a calm, gentle +tone; and she went toward her with an intention of soothing her by +caresses; but, at her approach, Lady Delacour pushed the table on which +she had been writing from her with violence, started up, flung back the +veil which fell over her face as she rose, and darted upon Belinda a +look, which fixed her to the spot where she stood. It said, “Come not a +step nearer, at your peril!” Belinda’s blood ran cold--she had no longer +any doubt that this was insanity. She shut the penknife which lay upon +the table, and put it into her pocket. + +“Cowardly creature!” cried Lady Delacour, and her countenance changed to +the expression of ineffable contempt; “what is it you fear?” + +“That you should injure yourself. Sit down--for Heaven’s sake listen to +me, to your friend, to Belinda!” + +“My friend! my Belinda!” cried Lady Delacour, and she turned from her, +and walked away some steps in silence; then suddenly clasping her hands, +she raised her eyes to heaven with a fervent but wild expression of +devotion, and exclaimed, “Great God of heaven, my punishment is just! +the death of Lawless is avenged. May the present agony of my soul +expiate my folly! Of guilt--deliberate guilt--of hypocrisy--treachery--I +have not--oh, never may I have--to repent!” + +She paused--her eyes involuntarily returned upon Belinda. “Oh, Belinda! +You, whom I have so loved--so trusted!” + +The tears rolled fast down her painted cheeks; she wiped them hastily +away, and so roughly, that her face became a strange and ghastly +spectacle. Unconscious of her disordered appearance, she rushed past +Belinda, who vainly attempted to stop her, threw up the sash, and +stretching herself far out of the window, gasped for breath. Miss +Portman drew her back, and closed the window, saying, “The rouge is all +off your face, my dear Lady Delacour; you are not fit to be seen. Sit +down upon this sofa, and I will ring for Marriott, and get some fresh +rouge. Look at your face in this glass--you see--” + +“I see,” interrupted Lady Delacour, looking full at Belinda, “that she +who I thought had the noblest of souls has the meanest! I see that she +is incapable of feeling. _Rouge! not fit to be seen_!--At such a time +as this, to talk to me in this manner! Oh, niece of Mrs. +Stanhope!--dupe!--dupe that I am!” She flung herself upon the sofa, +and struck her forehead with her hand violently several times. Belinda +catching her arm, and holding it with all her force, cried in a tone of +authority, “Command yourself, Lady Delacour, I conjure you, or you will +go out of your senses; and if you do, your secret will be discovered by +the whole world.” + +“Hold me not--you have no right,” cried Lady Delacour, struggling to +free her hand. “All-powerful as you are in this house, you have no +longer any power over me! I am not going out of my senses! You cannot +get me into Bedlam, all-powerful, all-artful as you are. You have done +enough to drive me mad--but I am not mad. No wonder you cannot believe +me--no wonder you are astonished at the strong expression of feelings +that are foreign to your nature--no wonder that you mistake the +writhings of the heart, the agony of a generous soul, for madness! Look +not so terrified; I will do you no injury. Do not you hear that I can +lower my voice?--do not you see that I can be calm? Could Mrs. Stanhope +herself--could _you_, Miss Portman, speak in a softer, milder, more +polite, more proper tone than I do now? Are you pleased, are you +satisfied?” + +“I am better satisfied--a little better satisfied,” said Belinda. + +“That’s well; but still you tremble. There’s not the least occasion for +apprehension--you see I can command myself, and smile upon you.” + +“Oh, do not smile in that horrid manner!” + +“Why not?--‘Horrid!--Don’t you love deceit?” + +“I detest it from my soul.” + +“Indeed!” said Lady Delacour, still speaking in the same low, soft, +unnatural voice: “then why do you practise it, my love?” + +“I never practised it for a moment--I am incapable of deceit. When you +are _really_ calm, when you can _really_ command yourself, you will do +me justice, Lady Delacour; but now it is my business, if I can, to bear +with you.” + +“You are goodness itself, and gentleness, and prudence personified. You +know perfectly how to _manage_ a friend, whom you fear you have driven +just to the verge of madness. But tell me, good, gentle, prudent Miss +Portman, why need you dread so much that I should go mad? You know, if +I went mad, nobody would mind, nobody would believe whatever I say--I +should be no evidence against you, and I should be out of your way +sufficiently, shouldn’t I? And you would have all the power in your own +hands, would not you? And would not this be almost as well as if I were +dead and buried? No; your calculations are better than mine. The poor +mad wife would still be in your way, would yet stand between you and the +fond object of your secret soul--a coronet!” + +As she pronounced the word _coronet_, she pointed to a coronet set +in diamonds on her watch-case, which lay on the table. Then suddenly +seizing the watch, she dashed it upon the marble hearth with all her +force--“Vile bauble!” cried she; “must I lose my only friend for such +a thing as you? Oh, Belinda! do you see that a coronet cannot confer +happiness?” + +“I have seen it long: I pity you from the bottom of my soul,” said +Belinda, bursting into tears. + +“Pity me not. I cannot endure your pity, treacherous woman!” cried +Lady Delacour, and she stamped with a look of rage--“most perfidious of +women!” + +“Yes, call me perfidious, treacherous--stamp at me--say, do what you +will; I can and will bear it all--all patiently; for I am innocent, and +you are mistaken and unhappy,” said Belinda. “You will love me when you +return to your senses; then how can I be angry with you?” + +“Fondle me not,” said Lady Delacour, starting back from Belinda’s +caresses: “do not degrade yourself to no purpose--I never more can be +your dupe. Your protestations of innocence are wasted on me--I am not so +blind as you imagine--dupe as you think me, I have seen much in silence. +The whole world, you find, suspects you now. To save your reputation, +you want my friendship--you want--” + +“I want nothing from you, Lady Delacour,” said Belinda. “_You have +suspected me long in silence!_ then I have mistaken your character--I +can love you no longer. Farewell for ever! Find another--a better +friend.” + +She walked away from Lady Delacour with proud indignation; but, before +she reached the door, she recollected her promise to remain with this +unfortunate woman. + +Is a dying woman, in the paroxysm of insane passion, a fit object +of indignation? thought Belinda, and she stopped short. “No, Lady +Delacour,” cried she, “I will not yield to my humour--I will not listen +to my pride. A few words said in the heat of passion shall not make me +forget myself or you. You have given me your confidence; I am grateful +for it. I cannot, will not desert you: my promise is sacred.” + +“Your promise!” said Lady Delacour, contemptuously. “I absolve you from +your promise. Unless you find it _convenient_ to yourself to remember +it, pray let it be forgotten; and if I must die--” + +At this instant the door opened suddenly, and little Helena came in +singing-- + + “‘Merrily, merrily shall we live now, + Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.’ + +What comes next, Miss Portman?” + +Lady Delacour dragged her veil across her face, and rushed out of the +room. + +“What is the matter?--Is mamma ill?” + +“Yes, my dear,” said Belinda. But at this instant she heard the sound of +Lord Delacour’s voice upon the stairs; she broke from the little girl, +and with the greatest precipitation retreated to her own room. + +She had not been alone above an hour before Marriott knocked at the +door. + +“Miss Portman, you don’t know how late it is. Lady Singleton and the +Miss Singletons are come. But, merciful heaven!” exclaimed Marriott, as +she entered the room, “what is all this packing up? What is this trunk?” + +“I am going to Oakly-park with Lady Anne Percival,” said Belinda, +calmly. + +“I thought there was something wrong; my mind misgave me all the time I +was dressing my lady,--she was in such a flutter, and never spoke to me. +I’d lay my life this is, some way or other, Mr. Champfort’s doings. But, +good dear Miss Portman, can you leave my poor lady when she wants you +so much; and I’ll take upon me to say, ma’am, loves you so much at the +bottom of her heart? Dear me, how your face is flushed! Pray let me pack +up these things, if it must be. But I do hope, if it be possible, that +you should stay. However, I’ve no business to speak. I beg pardon for +being so impertinent: I hope you won’t take it ill,--it is only from +regard to my poor lady I ventured to speak.” + +“Your regard to your lady deserves the highest approbation, Marriott,” + said Belinda. “It is impossible that I should stay with her any longer. +When I am gone, good Marriott, and when her health and strength decline, +your fidelity and your services will be absolutely necessary to your +mistress; and from what I have seen of the goodness of your heart, I +am convinced that the more she is in want of you, the more _respectful_ +will be your attention.” + +Marriott answered only by her tears, and went on packing up in a great +hurry. + +Nothing could equal Lady Delacour’s astonishment when she learnt from +Marriott that Miss Portman was actually preparing to leave the house. +After a moment’s reflection, however, she persuaded herself that this +was only a new artifice to work upon her affections; that Belinda did +not mean to leave her; but that she would venture all lengths, in hopes +of being at the last moment pressed to stay. Under this persuasion, Lady +Delacour resolved to disappoint her expectations: she determined to meet +her with that polite coldness which would best become her own dignity, +and which, without infringing the laws of hospitality, would effectually +point out to the world that Lady Delacour was no dupe, and that Miss +Portman was an unwelcome inmate in her house. + +The power of assuming gaiety when her heart was a prey to the most +poignant feelings, she had completely acquired by long practice. With +the promptitude of an actress, she could instantly appear upon the +stage, and support a character totally foreign to her own. The loud +knocks at the door, which announced the arrival of company, were signals +that operated punctually upon her associations; and to this species of +conventional necessity her most violent passions submitted with magical +celerity. Fresh rouged, and beautifully dressed, she was performing her +part to a brilliant audience in her drawing-room when Belinda entered. +Belinda beheld her with much astonishment, but more pity. + +“Miss Portman,” said her ladyship, turning carelessly towards her, +“where do you buy your rouge?--Lady Singleton, would you rather at this +moment be mistress of the philosopher’s stone, or have a patent for +rouge that will come and go like Miss Portman’s?--Apropos! have you read +St. Leon?” Her ladyship was running on to a fresh train of ideas, when a +footman announced the arrival of Lady Anne Percival’s carriage; and Miss +Portman rose to depart. + +“You dine with Lady Anne, Miss Portman, I understand?--My compliments to +her ladyship, and my duty to Mrs. Margaret Delacour, and her macaw. _Au +revoir_! Though you talk of running away from me to Oakly-park, I am +sure you will do no such cruel thing. I am, with all due humility, so +confident of the irresistible attractions of this house, that I defy +Oakly-park and all its charms. So, Miss Portman, instead of adieu, I +shall only say, _au revoir!_” + +“Adieu, Lady Delacour!” said Belinda, with a look and tone which struck +her ladyship to the heart. All her suspicions, all her pride, all her +affected gaiety vanished; her presence of mind forsook her, and for some +moments she stood motionless and powerless. Then recollecting herself, +she flew after Miss Portman, abruptly stopped her at the head of the +stairs, and exclaimed, “My dearest Belinda, are you gone?--My best, my +only friend!--Say you are not gone for ever!--Say you will return!” + +“Adieu!” repeated Belinda. It was all she could say; she broke from Lady +Delacour, and hurried out of the house with the strongest feeling of +compassion for this unhappy woman, but with an unaltered sense of the +propriety and necessity of her own firmness. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. + + +There was an air of benevolence and perfect sincerity in the politeness +with which Lady Anne Percival received Belinda, that was peculiarly +agreeable to her agitated and harassed mind. + +“You see, Lady Anne,” said Belinda, “that I come to you at last, after +having so often refused your kind invitations.” + +“So you surrender yourself at discretion, just when I was going to raise +the siege in despair,” said Lady Anne: “now I may make my own terms; and +the only terms I shall impose are, that you will stay at Oakly-park with +us, as long as we can make it agreeable to you, and no longer. Whether +those who cease to please, or those who cease to be pleased, are most to +blame,[6] it may sometimes be difficult to determine; so difficult, +that when this becomes a question between two friends, they perhaps had +better part than venture upon the discussion.” + +Lady Anne Percival could not avoid suspecting that something +disagreeable had passed between Lady Delacour and Belinda; but she +was not troubled with the disease of idle curiosity, and her example +prevailed upon Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who dined with her, to refrain +from all questions and comments. + +The prejudice which this lady had conceived against our heroine, as +being a niece of Mrs. Stanhope’s, had lately been vanquished by the +favourable representations of her conduct which she had heard from her +nephew, and by the kindness that Belinda had shown to little Helena. + +“Madam,” said Mrs. Delacour, addressing herself to Miss Portman +with some formality, but much dignity, “permit me, as one of my Lord +Delacour’s nearest relations now living, to return you my thanks for +having, as my nephew informs me, exerted your influence over Lady +Delacour for the happiness of his family. My little Helena, I am sure, +feels her obligations towards you, and I rejoice that I have had an +opportunity of expressing, in person, my sense of what our family owes +to Miss Portman. As to the rest, her own heart will reward her. The +praise of the world is but an inferior consideration. However, it +deserves to be mentioned, as an instance of the world’s candour, and +for the singularity of the case, that every body agrees in speaking well +even of so handsome a young lady as Miss Portman.” + +“She must have had extraordinary prudence,” said Lady Anne; “and the +world does justly to reward it with extraordinary esteem.” + +Belinda, with equal pleasure and surprise, observed that all this was +said sincerely, and that the report, which she had feared was public, +had never reached Mrs. Delacour or Lady Anne Percival. + +In fact, it was known and believed only by those who had been prejudiced +by the malice or folly of Sir Philip Baddely. Piqued by the manner in +which his addresses had been received by Belinda, he readily listened to +the comfortable words of his valet de chambre, who assured him that he +had it from the best possible authority (Lord Delacour’s own gentleman, +Mr. Champfort), that his lordship was deeply _taken_ with Miss +Portman--that the young lady managed every thing in the house--that she +had been very prudent, to be sure, and had refused large presents--but +that there was no doubt of her becoming Lady Delacour, if ever his +lordship should be at liberty. Sir Philip was the person who mentioned +this to Clarence Hervey, and Sir Philip was the person who hinted it +to Mrs. Stanhope, in the very letter which he wrote to implore +her influence in favour of his own proposal. This manoeuvring lady +represented this report as being universally known and believed, in +hopes of frightening her niece into an immediate match with the baronet. +In the whole extent of Mrs. Stanhope’s politic imagination, she had +never foreseen the possibility of her niece’s speaking the simple truth +to Lady Delacour, and she had never guarded against this danger. She +never thought of Belinda’s mentioning this report to her ladyship, +because she would never have dealt so openly, had she been in the place +of her niece. Thus her art and falsehood operated against her own views, +and produced consequences diametrically opposite to her expectations. +It was her exaggerations that made Lady Delacour believe, when Belinda +repeated what she had said, that this report was universally known and +credited; her own suspicions were by these means again awakened, and her +jealousy and rage were raised to such a pitch, that, no longer mistress +of herself, she insulted her friend and guest. Miss Portman was then +obliged to do the very thing that Mrs. Stanhope most dreaded--to leave +Lady Delacour’s house and all its advantages. As to Sir Philip Baddely, +Belinda never thought of him from the moment she read her aunt’s letter, +till after she had left her ladyship; her mind was firmly decided upon +this subject; yet she could not help fearing that her aunt would not +understand her reasons, or approve her conduct. She wrote to Mrs. +Stanhope in the most kind and respectful manner; assured her that there +had been no foundation whatever for the report which had produced +so much uneasiness; that Lord Delacour had always treated her with +politeness and good-nature, but that such thoughts or views as had been +attributed to him, she was convinced had never entered his lordship’s +mind; that hearing of the publicity of this report had, however, _much +affected_ Lady D----. “I have, therefore,” said Belinda, “thought it +prudent to quit her ladyship, and to accept of an invitation from Lady +Anne Percival to Oakly-park. I hope, my dear aunt, that you will not be +displeased by my leaving town without seeing Sir Philip Baddely again. +Our meeting could indeed answer no purpose, as it is entirely out of my +power to return his partiality. Of his character, temper, and manners, +I know enough to be convinced, that our union could tend only to make +us both miserable. After what I have seen, nothing can ever tempt me to +marry from any of the common views of interest or ambition.” + +On this subject Belinda, though she declared her own sentiments with +firm sincerity, touched as slightly as she could, because she anxiously +wished to avoid all appearance of _braving_ the opinions of an aunt to +whom she was under obligations. She was tempted to pass over in silence +all that part of Mrs. Stanhope’s letter which related to Clarence +Hervey; but upon reflection, she determined to conquer her repugnance +to speak of him, and to make perfect sincerity the steady rule of her +conduct. She therefore acknowledged to her aunt, that of all the persons +she had hitherto seen, this gentleman was the most agreeable to her; but +at the same time she assured her, that the refusal of Sir Philip Baddely +was totally independent of all thoughts of Mr. Hervey--that, before she +had received her aunt’s letter, circumstances had convinced her that Mr. +Hervey was attached to another woman. She concluded by saying, that she +had neither romantic hopes nor wishes, and that her affections were at +her own command. + +Belinda received the following angry answer from Mrs. Stanhope:-- + +“Henceforward, Belinda, you may manage your own affairs as you think +proper; I shall never more interfere with my advice. Refuse whom you +please--go where you please--get what friends, and what admirers, and +what establishment you can--I have nothing more to do with it--I will +never more undertake the management of young people. There’s your sister +Tollemache has made a pretty return for all my kindness! she is going to +be parted from her husband, and basely throws all the blame upon me. But +‘tis the same with all of you. There’s your cousin Joddrell refused me a +hundred guineas last week, though the piano-forte and harp I bought +for her before she was married stood me in double that sum, and are +now useless lumber on my hands; and she never could have had Joddrell +without them, as she knows as well as I do. As for Mrs. Levit, she +never writes to me, and takes no manner of notice of me. But this is no +matter, for her notice can be of no consequence now to any body. Levit +has run out every thing he had in the world!--All his fine estates +advertised in to-day’s paper--an execution in the House, I’m told. I +expect that she will have the assurance to come to me in her distress: +but she shall find my doors shut, I promise her. Your cousin Valleton’s +match has, through her own folly, turned out like all the rest. She, her +husband, and all his relations are at daggers-drawing; and Valleton will +die soon, and won’t leave her a farthing in his will, I foresee, and all +the fine Valleton estate goes to God knows whom! + +“If she had taken my advice after marriage as before, it would have been +all her own at this instant. But the passions run away with people, and +they forget every thing--common sense, gratitude, and all--as you +do, Belinda. Clarence Hervey will never think of you, and I give you +up!--Now manage for yourself as you please, and as you can! I’ll have +nothing more to do with the affairs of young ladies who will take no +advice. + +“SELINA STANHOPE. + +“P. S. If you return directly to Lady Delacour’s, and marry Sir Philip +Baddely, I will forgive the past.” + +The regret which Belinda felt at having grievously offended her aunt was +somewhat alleviated by the reflection that she had acted with integrity +and prudence. Thrown off her guard by anger, Mrs. Stanhope had +inadvertently furnished her niece with the best possible reasons against +following her advice with regard to Sir Philip Baddely, by stating that +her sister and cousins, who had married with mercenary views, had made +themselves miserable, and had shown their aunt neither gratitude nor +respect. + +The tranquillity of Belinda’s mind was gradually restored by the society +that she enjoyed at Oakly-park. She found herself in the midst of a +large and cheerful family, with whose domestic happiness she could +not forbear to sympathize. There was an affectionate confidence, an +unconstrained gaiety in this house, which forcibly struck her, from its +contrast with what she had seen at Lady Delacour’s. She perceived that +between Mr. Percival and Lady Anne there was a union of interests, +occupations, taste, and affection. She was at first astonished by the +openness with which they talked of their affairs in her presence; that +there were no family secrets, nor any of those petty mysteries +which arise from a discordance of temper or struggle for power. In +conversation, every person expressed without constraint their wishes and +opinions; and wherever these differed, reason and the general good were +the standards to which they appealed. The elder and younger part of the +family were not separated from each other; even the youngest child in +the house seemed to form part of the society, to have some share and +interest in the general occupations or amusements The children +were treated neither as slaves nor as playthings, but as reasonable +creatures; and the ease with which they were managed, and with which +they managed themselves, surprised Belinda; for she heard none of that +continual lecturing which goes forward in some houses, to the great +fatigue and misery of all the parties concerned, and of all the +spectators. Without force or any factitious excitements, the taste for +knowledge, and the habits of application, were induced by example, and +confirmed by sympathy. Mr. Percival was a man of science and literature, +and his daily pursuits and general conversation were in the happiest +manner instructive and interesting to his family. His knowledge of the +world, and his natural gaiety of disposition, rendered his conversation +not only useful, but in the highest degree amusing. From the merest +trifles he could lead to some scientific fact, some happy literary +allusion, or philosophical investigation. + +Lady Anne Percival had, without any pedantry or ostentation, much +accurate knowledge, and a taste for literature, which made her the +chosen companion of her husband’s understanding, as well as of his +heart. He was not obliged to reserve his conversation for friends of +his own sex, nor was he forced to seclude himself in the pursuit of any +branch of knowledge; the partner of his warmest affections was also +the partner of his most serious occupations; and her sympathy and +approbation, and the daily sense of her success in the education of +their children, inspired him with a degree of happy social energy, +unknown to the selfish solitary votaries of avarice and ambition. + +In this large and happy family there was a variety of pursuits. One +of the boys was fond of chemistry, another of gardening; one of the +daughters had a talent for painting, another for music; and all their +acquirements and accomplishments contributed to increase their mutual +happiness, for there was no envy or jealousy amongst them. + +Those who unfortunately have never enjoyed domestic happiness, such as +we have just described, will perhaps suppose the picture to be visionary +and romantic; there are others--it is hoped many others--who will +feel that it is drawn from truth and real life. Tastes that have been +vitiated by the stimulus of dissipation might, perhaps, think these +simple pleasures insipid. + +Every body must ultimately judge of what makes them happy, from the +comparison of their own feelings in different situations. Belinda was +convinced by this comparison, that domestic life was that which could +alone make her really and permanently happy. She missed none of the +pleasures, none of the gay company, to which she had been accustomed at +Lady Delacour’s. She was conscious, at the end of each day, that it had +been agreeably spent; yet there were no extraordinary exertions made to +entertain her; every thing seemed in its natural course, and so did +her mind. Where there was so much happiness, no want of what is called +_pleasure_ was ever experienced. She had not been at Oakly-park a week +before she forgot that it was within a few miles of Harrowgate, and she +never once recollected her vicinity to this fashionable water-drinking +place for a month afterwards. + +“Impossible!” some young ladies will exclaim. We hope others will feel +that it was perfectly natural. But to deal fairly with our readers, we +must not omit to mention a certain Mr. Vincent, who came to Oakly-park +during the first week of Belinda’s visit, and who stayed there during +the whole succeeding month of felicity. Mr. Vincent was a creole; he was +about two-and-twenty: his person and manners were striking and engaging; +he was tall, and remarkably handsome; he had large dark eyes, an +aquiline nose, fine hair, and a manly sunburnt complexion; his +countenance was open and friendly, and when he spoke upon any +interesting subject, it lighted up, and became full of fire and +animation. He used much gesture in conversation; he had not the common +manners of young men who are, or who aim at being thought, fashionable, +but he was perfectly at ease in company, and all that was uncommon about +him appeared foreign. He had a frank, ardent temper, incapable of art +or dissimulation, and so unsuspicious of all mankind, that he could +scarcely believe falsehood existed in the world, even after he had +himself been its dupe. He was in extreme astonishment at the detection +of any species of baseness in a _gentleman_; for he considered honour +and generosity as belonging indefeasibly, if not exclusively, to the +privileged orders. His notions of virtue were certainly aristocratic in +the extreme, but his ambition was to entertain such only as would best +support and dignify an aristocracy. His pride was magnanimous, not +insolent; and his social prejudices were such as, in some degree, to +supply the place of the power and habit of reasoning, in which he was +totally deficient. One principle of philosophy he practically possessed +in perfection; he enjoyed the present, undisturbed by any unavailing +regret for the past, or troublesome solicitude about the future. All the +goods of life he tasted with epicurean zest; all the evils he bore with +stoical indifference. The mere pleasure of existence seemed to keep him +in perpetual good humour with himself and others; and his never-failing +flow of animal spirits exhilarated even the most phlegmatic. To persons +of a cold and reserved temper he sometimes appeared rather too much +of an egotist: for he talked with fluent enthusiasm of the excellent +qualities and beauties of whatever he loved, whether it were his dog, +his horse, or his country: but this was not the egotism of vanity; it +was the overflowing of an affectionate heart, confident of obtaining +sympathy from his fellow-creatures, because conscious of feeling it for +all that existed. + +He was as grateful as he was generous; and though high-spirited and +impatient of restraint, he would submit with affectionate gentleness to +the voice of a friend, or listen with deference to the counsel of those +in whose superior judgment he had confidence. Gratitude, respect, and +affection, all conspired to give Mr. Percival the strongest power over +his soul. Mr. Percival had been a guardian and a father to him. His own +father, an opulent merchant, on his death-bed requested that his son, +who was then about eighteen, might be immediately sent to England for +the advantages of a European education. Mr. Percival, who had a +regard for the father, arising from circumstances which it is not here +necessary to explain, accepted the charge of young Vincent, and managed +so well, that his ward when he arrived at the age of twenty-one did not +feel relieved from any restraint. On the contrary, his attachment to his +guardian increased from that period, when the laws gave him full command +over his fortune and his actions. Mr. Vincent had been at Harrowgate for +some time before Mr. Percival came into the country; but as soon as +he heard of Mr. Percival’s arrival, he left half finished a game of +billiards, of which, by-the-bye, he was extremely fond, to pay his +respects at Oakly-park. At the first sight of Belinda, he did not seem +much struck with her appearance; perhaps, from his thinking that there +was too little languor in her eyes, and too much colour in her cheeks; +he confessed that she was graceful, but her motions were not quite slow +enough to please him. + +It is somewhat singular that Lady Delacour’s faithful friend, Harriot +Freke, should be the cause of Mr. Vincent’s first fixing his favourable +attention on Miss Portman. + +He had a black servant of the name of Juba, who was extremely attached +to him: he had known Juba from a boy, and had brought him over with +him when he first came to England, because the poor fellow begged so +earnestly to go with young massa. Juba had lived with him ever since, +and accompanied him wherever he went. Whilst he was at Harrowgate, Mr. +Vincent lodged in the same house with Mrs. Freke. Some dispute arose +between their servants, about the right to a coach-house, which each +party claimed as exclusively their own. The master of the house was +appealed to by Juba, who sturdily maintained his massa’s right; he +established it, and rolled his massa’s curricle into the coach-house in +triumph. Mrs. Freke, who heard and saw the whole transaction from her +window, said, or swore, that she would make Juba repent of what she +called his insolence. The threat was loud enough to reach his ears, and +he looked up in astonishment to hear such a voice from a woman; but an +instant afterwards he began to sing very gaily, as he jumped into the +curricle to turn the cushions, and then danced himself up and down by +the springs, as if rejoicing in his victory. A second and a third time +Mrs. Freke repeated her threat, confirming it by an oath, and then +violently shut down the window and disappeared. Mr. Vincent, to whom +Juba, with much simplicity, expressed his aversion of the _man-woman_ +who lived in the house with them, laughed at the odd manner in which the +black imitated her voice and gesture, but thought no more of the matter. +Some time afterward, however, Juba’s spirits forsook him; he was never +heard to sing or to whistle, he scarcely ever spoke even to his master, +who was much surprised by this sudden change from gaiety and loquacity +to melancholy taciturnity. Nothing could draw from the poor fellow any +explanation of the cause of this alteration in his humour; and though +he seemed excessively grateful for the concern which his master showed +about his health, no kindness or amusement could restore him to his +wonted cheerfulness. Mr. Vincent knew that he was passionately fond of +music; and having heard him once express a wish for a tambourine, he +gave him one: but Juba never played upon it, and his spirits seemed +every day to grow worse and worse. This melancholy lasted during the +whole time that he remained at Harrowgate, but from the first day of his +arrival at Oakly-park he began to mend: after he had been there a week, +he was heard to sing, and whistle, and talk as he used to do, and his +master congratulated him upon his recovery. One evening his master +asked him to go back to Harrowgate for his tambourine, as little Charles +Percival wished to hear him play upon it. This simple request had a +wonderful effect upon poor Juba; he began to tremble from head to foot, +his eyes became fixed, and he stood motionless; after some time, he +suddenly clasped his hands, fell upon his knees, and exclaimed: + +“Oh, massa, Juba die! If Juba go back, Juba die!” and he wiped away the +drops that stood upon his forehead. “But me will go, if massa bid--me +will die!” + +Mr. Vincent began to imagine that the poor fellow was out of his senses. +He assured him, with the greatest kindness, that he would almost as soon +hazard his own life as that of such a faithful, affectionate servant; +but he pressed him to explain what possible danger he dreaded from +returning to Harrowgate. Juba was silent, as if afraid to speak--“Don’t +fear to speak to me,” said Mr. Vincent; “I will defend you: if anybody +have injured you, or if you dread that any body will injure you, trust +to me; I will protect you.” + +“Ah, massa, you no can! Me die, if me go back! Me no can say word more;” + and he put his finger upon his lips, and shook his head. Mr. Vincent +knew that Juba was excessively superstitious; and convinced, that, if +his mind were not already deranged, it would certainly become so, were +any secret terror thus to prey upon his imagination, he assumed a +very grave countenance, and assured him, that he should be extremely +displeased if he persisted in this foolish and obstinate silence. +Overcome by this, Juba burst into tears, and answered: + +“Den me will tell all.” + +This conversation passed before Miss Portman and Charles Percival, who +were walking in the park with Mr. Vincent, at the time he met Juba and +asked him to go for the tambourine. When he came to the words, “Me will +tell all,” he made a sign that he wished to tell it to his master alone. +Belinda and the little boy walked on, to leave him at liberty to speak; +and then, though with a sort of reluctant horror, he told that the +figure of an old woman, all in flames, had appeared to him in his +bedchamber at Harrowgate every night, and that he was sure she was one +of the obeah-women of his own country, who had pursued him to Europe to +revenge his having once, when he was a child, trampled upon an egg-shell +that contained some of her poisons. The extreme absurdity of this story +made Mr. Vincent burst out a laughing; but his humanity the next instant +made him serious; for the poor victim of superstitious terror, after +having revealed what, according to the belief of his country, it is +death to mention, fell senseless on the ground. When he came to himself, +he calmly said, that he knew he must now die, for that the obeah-women +never forgave those that talked of them or their secrets; and, with a +deep groan, he added, that he wished he might die before night, that he +might not see _her_ again. It was in vain to attempt to reason him out +of the idea that he had actually seen this apparition: his account of it +was, that it first appeared to him in the coach-house one night, when +he went thither in the dark--that he never afterwards went to the +coach-house in the dark--but that the same figure of an old woman, all +in flames, appeared at the foot of his bed every night whilst he stayed +at Harrowgate; and that he was then persuaded she would never let him +escape from her power till she had killed him. That since he had left +Harrowgate, however, she had not tormented him, for he had never seen +her, and he was in hopes that she had forgiven him; but that now he was +sure of her vengeance for having spoken of her. + +Mr. Vincent knew the astonishing power which the belief in this species +of sorcery[7] has over the minds of the Jamaica negroes; they pine +and actually die away from the moment they fancy themselves under the +malignant influence of these witches. He almost gave poor Juba over for +lost. The first person that he happened to meet after his conversation +was Belinda, to whom he eagerly related it, because he had observed, +that she had listened with much attention and sympathy to the beginning +of the poor fellow’s story. The moment that she heard of the flaming +apparition, she recollected having seen a head drawn in phosphorus, +which one of the children had exhibited for her amusement, and it +occurred to her that, perhaps, some imprudent or ill-natured person +might have terrified the ignorant negro by similar means. When she +mentioned this to Mr. Vincent, he recollected the threat that had been +thrown out by Mrs. Freke, the day that Juba had taken possession of +the disputed coach-house; and from the character of this lady, Belinda +judged that she would be likely to play such a trick, and to call it, +as usual, fun or frolic. Miss Portman suggested that one of the children +should show him the phosphorus, and should draw some ludicrous figure +with it in his presence. This was done, and it had the effect that she +expected. Juba, familiarized by degrees with the object of his secret +horror, and convinced that no obeah-woman was exercising over him her +sorceries, recovered his health and spirits. His gratitude to Miss +Portman, who was the immediate cause of his cure, was as simple and +touching as it was lively and sincere. This was the circumstance which +first turned Mr. Vincent’s attention towards Belinda. Upon examining the +room in which the negro used to sleep at Harrowgate, the strong smell +of phosphorus was perceived, and part of the paper was burnt on the very +spot where he had always seen the figure, so that he was now perfectly +convinced that this trick had been purposely played to frighten him, in +revenge for his having kept possession of the coach-house. + +Mrs. Freke, when she found herself detected, gloried in the jest, and +told the story as a good joke wherever she went--triumphing in the +notion, that it was she who had driven both _master and man_ from +Harrowgate. + +The exploit was, however, by no means agreeable in its consequences to +her friend Mrs. Luttridge, who was now at Harrowgate. For reasons of her +own, she was very anxious to fix Mr. Vincent in her society, and she +was much provoked by Mrs. Freke’s conduct. The ladies came to high words +upon the occasion, and an irreparable breach would have ensued had +not Mrs. Freke, in the midst of her rage, recollected Mrs. Luttridge’s +electioneering interest: and suddenly changing her tone, she declared +that “she was really sorry to have driven Mr. Vincent from Harrowgate; +that her only intention was to get rid of his black; she would lay any +wager, that, with Mrs. Luttridge’s assistance, they could soon get the +gentleman back again;” and she proposed, as a certain method of +fixing Mr. Vincent in Mrs. Luttridge’s society, to invite Belinda to +Harrowgate. + +“You may be sure,” said Mrs. Freke, “that she must by this time be +cursedly tired of her visit to those stupid good people at Oakly-park, +and never woman _wanted_ an excuse to do any thing she liked: so trust +to her own ingenuity to make some decent apology to the Percivals for +running away from them. As to Vincent, you may be sure Belinda Portman +is his only inducement for staying with that precious family-party; and +if we have her we have him. Now we can be sure of her, for she has just +quarrelled with our dear Lady Delacour. I had the whole story from +my maid, who had it from Champfort. Lady Delacour and she are at +daggers-drawing, and it will be delicious to her to hear her ladyship +handsomely abused. We are the declared enemies of her enemy, so we must +be her friends. Nothing unites folk so quickly and so solidly, as hatred +of some common foe.” + +This argument could not fail to convince Mrs. Luttridge, and the next +day Mrs. Freke commenced her operations. She drove in her _unicorn_ to +Oakly-park to pay Miss Portman a visit. She had no acquaintance either +with Mr. Percival or Lady Anne, and she had always treated Belinda, when +she met her in town, rather cavalierly, as an humble companion of Lady +Delacour. But it cost Mrs. Freke nothing to change her tone: she was one +of those ladies who can remember or forget people, be perfectly familiar +or strangely rude, just as it suits the convenience, fashion, or humour +of the minute. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +RIGHTS OF WOMAN. + + +Belinda was alone, and reading, when Mrs. Freke dashed into the room. + +“How do, dear creature?” cried she, stepping up to her, and shaking +hands with her boisterously--“How do?--Glad to see you, faith!--Been +long here?--Tremendously hot to-day!” + +She flung herself upon the sofa beside Belinda, threw her hat upon the +table, and then continued speaking. + +“And how d’ye go on here, poor child?--Gad! I’m glad you’re +alone--expected to find you encompassed by a whole host of the +righteous. Give me credit for my courage in coming to deliver you out of +their hands. Luttridge and I had such compassion upon you, when we heard +you were close prisoner here! I swore to set the distressed damsel free, +in spite of all the dragons in Christendom; so let me carry you off in +triumph in my unicorn, and leave these good people to stare when they +come home from their sober walk, and find you gone. There’s nothing I +like so much as to make good people stare--I hope you’re of my way o’ +thinking---you don’t look as if you were, though; but I never mind +young ladies’ looks--always give the lie to their thoughts. Now we talk +o’ looks--never saw you look so well in my life--as handsome as an angel! +And so much the better for me. Do you know, I’ve a bet of twenty guineas +on your head--on your face, I mean. There’s a young bride at Harrowgate, +Lady H----, they’re all mad about her; the men swear she’s the +handsomest woman in England, and I swear I know one ten times as +handsome. They’ve dared me to make good my word, and I’ve pledged myself +to produce my beauty at the next ball, and to pit her against their +belle for any money. Most votes carry it. I’m willing to double my +bet since I’ve seen you again. Come, had not we best be off? Now don’t +refuse me and make speeches--you know that’s all nonsense--I’ll take all +the blame upon myself.” + +Belinda, who had not been suffered to utter a word whilst Mrs. Freke ran +on in this strange manner, looked in unfeigned astonishment; but when +she found herself seized and dragged towards the door, she drew back +with a degree of gentle firmness that astonished Mrs. Freke. With a +smiling countenance, but a steady tone, she said, “that she was sorry +Mrs. Freke’s knight-errantry should not be exerted in a better cause, +for that she was neither a prisoner, nor a distressed damsel.” + +“And will you make me lose my bet?” cried Mrs. Freke “Oh, at all events, +you must come to the ball!--I’m down for it. But I’ll not press it now, +because you’re frightened out of your poor little wits, I see, at the +bare thoughts of doing any thing considered out of rule by these good +people. Well, well! it shall be managed for you--leave that to me: I’m +used to managing for cowards. Pray tell me--you and Lady Delacour are +off, I understand?--Give ye joy!--She and I were once great friends; +that is to say, I had over her ‘that power which strong minds have over +weak ones,’ but she was too weak for me--one of those people that have +neither courage to be good, nor to be bad.” + +“The courage to be bad,” said Belinda, “I believe, indeed, she does not +possess.” + +Mrs. Freke stared. “Why, I heard you had quarrelled with her!” + +“If I had,” said Belinda, “I hope that I should still do justice to her +merits. It is said that people are apt to suffer more by their friends +than their enemies. I hope that will never be the case with Lady +Delacour, as I confess that I have been one of her friends.” + +“‘Gad, I like your spirit--you don’t want courage, I see, to fight even +for your enemies. You are just the kind of girl I admire. I see you have +been prejudiced against me by Lady Delacour; but whatever stories she +may have trumped up, the truth of the matter is this, there’s no living +with her, she’s so jealous--so ridiculously jealous--of that lord of +hers, for whom all the time she has the impudence to pretend not to care +more than I do for the sole of my boot,” said Mrs. Freke, striking it, +with her whip; “but she hasn’t the courage to give him tit for tat: now +this is what I call weakness. Pray, how do she and Clarence Hervey go on +together?--Are they out o’ the hornbook of platonics yet?” + +“Mr. Hervey was not in town when I left it,” said Belinda. + +“Was not he?--Ho! ho!--He’s off then!--Ay, so I prophesied; she’s not +the thing for him: he has some strength of mind--some soul--above vulgar +prejudices; so must a woman be to hold him. He was caught at first by +her grace and beauty, and that sort of stuff; but I knew it could not +last--knew she’d dilly dally with Clary, till he would turn upon his +heel and leave her there.” + +“I fancy that you are entirely mistaken both with respect to Mr. Hervey +and Lady Delacour,” Belinda very seriously began to say. But Mrs. Freke +interrupted her, and ran on; “No! no! no! I’m not mistaken; Clarence has +found her out. She’s a _very_ woman--_that_ he could forgive her, and +so could I; but she’s a _mere_ woman--and that he can’t forgive--no more +can I.” + +There was a kind of drollery about Mrs. Freke, which, with some people, +made the odd things she said pass for wit. Humour she really possessed; +and when she chose it, she could be diverting to those who like +buffoonery in women. She had set her heart upon winning Belinda over to +her party. She began by flattery of her beauty; but as she saw that this +had no effect, she next tried what could be done by insinuating that she +had a high opinion of her understanding, by talking to her as an esprit +fort. + +“For my part,” said she, “I own I should like a strong devil better than +a weak angel.” + +“You forget,” said Belinda, “that it is not Milton, but Satan, who says, + + ‘Fallen spirit, to be weak is to be miserable.’” + +“You read, I see!--I did not know you were a reading girl. So was I +once; but I never read now. Books only spoil the originality of genius: +very well for those who can’t think for themselves--but when one has +made up one’s opinion, there is no use in reading.” + +“But to make them up,” replied Belinda, “may it not be useful?” + +“Of no use upon earth to minds of a certain class. You, who can think +for yourself, should never read.” + +“But I read that I may think for myself.” + +“Only ruin your understanding, trust me. Books are full of +trash--nonsense, conversation is worth all the books in the world.” + +“And is there never any nonsense in conversation?” + +“What have you here?” continued Mrs. Freke, who did not choose to attend +to this question; exclaiming, as she reviewed each of the books on the +table in their turns, in the summary language of presumptuous +ignorance, “Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments--milk and water! Moore’s +Travels--hasty pudding! La Bruyère--nettle porridge! This is what you +were at when I came in, was it not?” said she, taking up a book[8] +in which she saw Belinda’s mark: “Against Inconsistency in our +Expectations. Poor thing! who bored you with this task?” + +“Mr. Percival recommended it to me, as one of the best essays in the +English language.” + +“The devil! they seem to have put you in a course of the bitters--a +course of the woods might do your business better. Do you ever +hunt?--Let me take you out with me some morning--you’d be quite an angel +on horseback; or let me drive you out some day in my unicorn.” + +Belinda declined this invitation, and Mrs. Freke strode away to the +window to conceal her mortification, threw up the sash, and called out +to her groom, “Walk those horses about, blockhead!” + +Mr. Percival and Mr. Vincent at this instant came into the room. + +“Hail, fellow! well met!” cried Mrs. Freke, stretching out her hand to +Mr. Vincent. + +It has been remarked, that an antipathy subsists between creatures, +who, without being the same, have yet a strong external resemblance. Mr. +Percival saw this instinct rising in Mr. Vincent, and smiled. + +“Hail, fellow! well met! I say. Shake hands and be friends, man! Though +I’m not in the habit of making apologies, if it will be any satisfaction +to you, I beg your pardon for frightening your poor devil of a black.” + +Then turning towards Mr. Percival, she measured him with her eye, as a +person whom she longed to attack. She thought, that if Belinda’s opinion +of the understanding of _these Percivals_ could be lowered, she should +rise in her esteem: accordingly, she determined to draw Mr. Percival +into an argument. + +“I’ve been talking treason, I believe, to Miss Portman,” cried she; “for +I’ve been opposing some of your opinions, Mr. Percival.” + +“If you opposed them all, madam,” said Mr. Percival, “I should not think +it treason.” + +“Vastly polite!--But I think all our politeness hypocrisy: what d’ye say +to that?” + +“You know that best, madam!” + +“Then I’ll go a step farther; for I’m determined you shall contradict +me: I think all virtue is hypocrisy.” + +“I need not contradict you, madam,” said Mr. Percival, “for the terms +which you make use of contradict themselves.” + +“It is my system,” pursued Mrs. Freke, “that shame is always the cause +of the vices of women.” + +“It is sometimes the effect,” said Mr. Percival; “and, as cause and +effect are reciprocal, perhaps you may, in some instances, be right.” + +“Oh! I hate qualifying arguers--plump assertion or plump denial for me: +you sha’n’t get off so. I say shame is the cause of all women’s vices.” + +“False shame, I suppose you mean?” said Mr. Percival. + +“Mere play upon words! All shame is false shame--we should be a great +deal better without it. What say you, Miss Portman?--Silent, hey? +Silence that speaks.” + +“Miss Portman’s blushes,” said Mr. Vincent, “speak _for her_.” + +“_Against_ her,” said Mrs. Freke: “women blush because they understand.” + +“And you would have them understand without blushing?” said Mr. +Percival. “I grant you that nothing can be more different than innocence +and ignorance. Female delicacy--” + +“This is just the way you men spoil women,” cried Mrs. Freke, “by +talking to them of the _delicacy of their sex_, and such stuff. This +_delicacy_ enslaves the pretty delicate dears.” + +“No; it enslaves us,” said Mr. Vincent. + +“I hate slavery! Vive la liberté!” cried Mrs. Freke. “I’m a champion for +the Rights of Woman.” + +“I am an advocate for their happiness,” said Mr. Percival, “and for +their delicacy, as I think it conduces to their happiness.” + +“I’m an enemy to their delicacy, as I am sure it conduces to their +misery.” + +“You speak from experience?” said Mr. Percival. + +“No, from observation. Your most delicate women are always the greatest +hypocrites; and, in my opinion, no hypocrite can or ought to be happy.” + +“But you have not proved the hypocrisy,” said Belinda. “Delicacy is not, +I hope, an indisputable proof of it? If you mean _false_ delicacy----” + +“To cut the matter short at once,” cried Mrs. Freke, “why, when a woman +likes a man, does not she go and tell him so honestly?” + +Belinda, surprised by this question from a woman, was too much abashed +instantly to answer. + +“Because she’s a hypocrite. That is and must be the answer.” + +“No,” said Mr. Percival; “because, if she be a woman of sense, she knows +that by such a step she would disgust the object of her affection.” + +“Cunning!--cunning!--cunning!--the arms of the weakest.” + +“Prudence! prudence!--the arms of the strongest. Taking the best means +to secure our own happiness without injuring that of others is the +best proof of sense and strength of mind, whether in man or woman. +Fortunately for society, the same conduct in ladies which best secures +their happiness most increases ours.” + +Mrs. Freke beat the devil’s tattoo for some moments, and then exclaimed, +“You may say what you will, but the present system of society is +radically wrong:--whatever is, is wrong.” + +“How would you improve the state of society?” asked Mr. Percival, +calmly. + +“I’m not tinker-general to the world,” said she. + +“I’m glad of it,” said Mr. Percival; “for I have heard that tinkers +often spoil more than they mend.” + +“But if you want to know,” said Mrs. Freke, “what I would do to improve +the world, I’ll tell you: I’d have both sexes call things by their right +names.” + +“This would doubtless be a great improvement,” said Mr. Percival; “but +you would not overturn society to attain it, would you? Should we find +things much improved by tearing away what has been called the decent +drapery of life?” + +“Drapery, if you ask me my opinion,” cried Mrs. Freke, “drapery, whether +wet or dry, is the most confoundedly indecent thing in the world.” + +“That depends on _public_ opinion, I allow,” said Mr. Percival. “The +Lacedaemonian ladies, who were veiled only by public opinion, were +better covered from profane eyes than some English ladies are in wet +drapery.” + +“I know nothing of the Lacedaemonian ladies: I took my leave of them +when I was a schoolboy--girl, I should say. But pray, what o’clock is it +by you? I’ve sat till I’m cramped all over,” cried Mrs. Freke, getting +up and stretching herself so violently that some part of her habiliments +gave way. “Honi soit qui mal y pense!” said she, bursting into a horse +laugh. + +Without sharing in any degree that confusion which Belinda felt for her, +she strode out of the room, saying, “Miss Portman, you understand these +things better than I do; come and set me to rights.” + +When she was in Belinda’s room, she threw herself into an arm-chair, and +laughed immoderately. + +“How I have trimmed Percival this morning!” said she. + +“I am glad you think so,” said Belinda; “for I really was afraid he had +been too severe upon you.” + +“I only wish,” continued Mrs. Freke, “I only wish his wife had been by. +Why the devil did not she make her appearance? I suppose the prude was +afraid of my demolishing and unrigging her.” + +“There seems to have been more danger of that for you than for any body +else,” said Belinda, as she assisted to set Mrs. Freke’s rigging, as she +called it, to rights. + +“I do of all things delight in hauling good people’s opinions out of +their musty drawers, and seeing how they look when they’re all pulled +to pieces before their faces! Pray, are those Lady Anne’s drawers or +yours?” said Mrs. Freke, pointing to a chest of drawers. + +“Mine.” + +“I’m sorry for it; for if they were hers, to punish her for _shirking_ +me, by the Lord, I’d have every rag she has in the world out in the +middle of the floor in ten minutes! You don’t know me--I’m a terrible +person when provoked--stop at nothing!” + +As Mrs. Freke saw no other chance left of gaining her point with +Belinda, she tried what intimidating her would do. + +“I stop at nothing,” repeated she, fixing her eyes upon Miss Portman, to +fascinate her by terror. “Friend or foe! peace or war! Take your choice. +Come to the ball at Harrowgate, I win my bet, and I’m your sworn friend. +Stay away, I lose my bet, and am your sworn enemy.” + +“It is not in my power, madam,” said Belinda, calmly, “to comply with +your request.” + +“Then you’ll take the consequences,” cried Mrs. Freke. She rushed past +her, hurried down stairs, and called out, “Bid my blockhead bring my +unicorn.” + +She, her unicorn, and her blockhead, were out of sight in a few minutes. + +Good may be drawn from evil. Mrs. Freke’s conversation, though at the +time it confounded Belinda, roused her, upon reflection, to examine by +her reason the habits and principles which guided her conduct. She had +a general feeling that they were right and necessary; but now, with the +assistance of Lady Anne and Mr. Percival, she established in her own +understanding the exact boundaries between right and wrong upon many +subjects. She felt a species of satisfaction and security, from +seeing the demonstration of those axioms of morality, in which she had +previously acquiesced. Reasoning gradually became as agreeable to her as +wit; nor was her taste for wit diminished, it was only refined by this +process. She now compared and judged of the value of the different +species of this brilliant talent. + +Mrs. Freke’s wit, thought she, is like a noisy squib, the momentary +terror of passengers; Lady Delacour’s like an elegant firework, which +we crowd to see, and cannot forbear to applaud; but Lady Anne Percival’s +wit is like the refulgent moon, we + + “Love the mild rays, and bless the useful light.” + +“Miss Portman,” said Mr. Percival, “are not you afraid of making an +enemy of Mrs. Freke, by declining her invitation to Harrowgate?” + +“I think her friendship more to be dreaded than her enmity,” replied +Belinda. + +“Then you are not to be terrified by an obeah-woman?” said Mr. Vincent. + +“Not in the least, unless she were to come in the shape of a false +friend,” said Belinda. + +“Till lately,” said Mr. Vincent, “I was deceived in the character of +Mrs. Freke. I thought her a dashing, free-spoken, free-hearted sort of +eccentric person, who would make a staunch friend and a jolly companion. +As a mistress, or a wife, no man of any taste could think of her. +Compare that woman now with one of our Creole ladies.” + +“But why with a creole?” said Mr. Percival. + +“For the sake of contrast, in the first place: our creole women are all +softness, grace, delicacy----” + +“And indolence,” said Mr. Percival. + +“Their indolence is but a slight, and, in my judgment, an amiable +defect; it keeps them out of mischief, and it attaches them to domestic +life. The activity of a Mrs. Freke would never excite their emulation; +and so much the better.” + +“So much the better, no doubt,” said Mr. Percival. “But is there +no other species of activity that might excite their ambition with +propriety? Without diminishing their grace, softness, or delicacy, +might not they cultivate their minds? Do you think ignorance, as well as +indolence, an amiable defect, essential to the female character?” + +“Not essential. You do not, I hope, imagine that I am so much prejudiced +in favour of my countrywomen, that I can neither see nor feel the +superiority in _some instances_ of European cultivation? I speak only in +general.” + +“And in general,” said Lady Anne Percival, “does Mr. Vincent wish to +confine our sex to the bliss of ignorance?” + +“If it be bliss,” said Mr. Vincent, “what reason would they have for +complaint?” + +“_If_,” said Belinda; “but that is a question which you have not yet +decided.” + +“And how can we decide it?” said Mr. Vincent, “The taste and feelings of +individuals must be the arbiters of their happiness.” + +“You leave reason quite out of the question, then,” said Mr. Percival, +“and refer the whole to taste and feeling? So that if the most ignorant +person in the world assert that he is happier than you are, you are +bound to believe him.” + +“Why should not I?” said Mr. Vincent. + +“Because,” said Mr. Percival, “though he can judge of his own pleasures, +he cannot judge of yours; his are common to both, but yours are unknown +to him. Would you, at this instant, change places with that ploughman +yonder, who is whistling as he goes for want of thought? or, would you +choose to go a step higher in the bliss of ignorance, and turn savage?” + +Mr. Vincent laughed, and protested that he should be very unwilling to +give up his title to civilized society; and that, instead of wishing to +have less knowledge, he regretted that he had not more. “I am sensible,” + said he, “that I have many prejudices;--Miss Portman has made me ashamed +of some of them.” + +There was a degree of candour in Mr. Vincent’s manner and conversation, +which interested every body in his favour; Belinda amongst the rest. She +was perfectly at ease in Mr. Vincent’s company, because she considered +him as a person who wished for her friendship, without having any design +to engage her affections. From several hints that dropped from him, from +Mr. Percival, and from Lady Anne, she was persuaded that he was attached +to some creole lady; and all that he said in favour of the elegant +softness and delicacy of his countrywomen confirmed this opinion. + +Miss Portman was not one of those young ladies who fancy that every +gentleman who converses freely with them will inevitably fall a victim +to the power of their charms, and will see in every man a lover, or +nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A DECLARATION. + + +“I’ve found it!--I’ve found it, mamma!” cried little Charles Percival, +running eagerly into the room with a plant in his hand. “Will you send +this in your letter to Helena Delacour, and tell her that is the thing +that gold fishes are so fond of? And tell her that it is called lemna, +and that it may be found in any ditch or pool.” + +“But how can she find ditches and pools in Grosvenor-square, my dear?” + +“Oh, I forgot that. Then will you tell her, mamma, that I will send her +a great quantity?” + +“How, my dear?” + +“I don’t know, mamma, yet--but I will find out some way.” + +“Would it not be as well, my dear,” said his mother, smiling, “to +consider how you can perform your promises before you make them?” + +“A gentleman,” said Mr. Vincent, “never makes a promise that he cannot +perform.” + +“I know that very well,” said the boy, proudly: “Miss Portman, who is +very good-natured, will, I am sure, be so good, when she goes back to +Lady Delacour, as to carry food for the gold fishes to Helena--you see +that I have found out a way to keep my promise.” + +“No, I’m afraid not,” said Belinda; “for I am not going back to Lady +Delacour’s.” + +“Then I am very glad of it!” said the boy, dropping the weed, and +clapping his hands joyfully; “for then I hope you will always stay here, +don’t you, mamma?--don’t _you_, Mr. Vincent? Oh, _you_ do, I am sure, +for I heard you say so to papa the other day! But what makes you grow so +red?” + +His mother took him by the hand, as he was going to repeat the question, +and leading him out of the room, desired him to show her the place where +he found the food for the gold fishes. + +Belinda, to Mr. Vincent’s great relief, seemed not to take any notice of +the child’s question, nor to have any sympathy in his curiosity; she was +intently copying Westall’s sketch of Lady Anne Percival and her family, +and she had been roused, by the first mention of Helena Delacour’s name, +to many painful and some pleasing recollections. “What a charming woman, +and what a charming family!” said Mr. Vincent, as he looked at the +drawing; “and how much more interesting is this picture of domestic +happiness than all the pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses, and gods +and goddesses, that ever were drawn!” + +“Yes,” said Belinda, “and how much more interesting this picture is to +us, from our knowing that it is not a fancy-piece; that the happiness is +real, not imaginary: that this is the natural expression of affection in +the countenance of the mother; and that these children, who crowd round +her, are what they seem to be--the pride and pleasure of her life!” + +“There cannot,” exclaimed Mr. Vincent, with enthusiasm, “be a more +delightful picture! Oh, Miss Portman, is it possible that you should not +feel what you can paint so well?” + +“Is it possible, sir,” said Belinda, “that you should suspect me of +such wretched hypocrisy, as to affect to admire what I am incapable of +feeling?” + +“You misunderstand--you totally misunderstand me. Hypocrisy! No; +there is not a woman upon earth whom I believe to be so far above all +hypocrisy, all affectation. But I imagined--I feared--” + +As he spoke these last words he was in some confusion, and hastily +turned over the prints in a portfolio which lay upon the table. +Belinda’s eye was caught by an engraving of Lady Delacour in the +character of the comic muse. Mr. Vincent did not know the intimacy that +had subsisted between her ladyship and Miss Portman--she sighed from +the recollection of Clarence Hervey, and of all that had passed at the +masquerade. + +“What a contrast!” said Mr. Vincent, placing the print of Lady Delacour +beside the picture of Lady Anne Percival. “What a contrast! Compare +their pictures--compare their characters--compare--” + +“Excuse me,” interrupted Belinda; “Lady Delacour was once my friend, and +I do not like to make a comparison so much to her disadvantage. I have +never seen any woman who would not suffer by a comparison with Lady Anne +Percival.” + +“I have been more fortunate, I _have_ seen one--one equally worthy of +esteem--admiration--love.” + +Mr. Vincent’s voice faltered in pronouncing the word love; yet Belinda, +prepossessed by the idea that he was attached to some creole lady, +simply answered, without looking up from her drawing, “You are indeed +very fortunate--peculiarly fortunate. Are the West-Indian ladies----” + +“West-Indian ladies!” interrupted Mr. Vincent. “Surely, Miss Portman +cannot imagine that I am at this instant thinking of any West-Indian +lady!” Belinda looked up with an air of surprise. “Charming Miss +Portman,” continued he, “I have learnt to admire _European beauty, +European excellence_! I have acquired new ideas of the female +character--ideas--feelings that must henceforward render me exquisitely +happy or exquisitely miserable.” + +Miss Portman had been too often called “_charming_” to be much startled +or delighted by the sound: the word would have passed by unnoticed, but +there was something so impassioned in Mr. Vincent’s manner, that she +could no longer mistake it for common gallantry, and she was in evident +confusion. Now for the first time the idea of Mr. Vincent as a lover +came into her mind: the next instant she accused herself of vanity, and +dreaded that he should read her thoughts. “Exquisitely miserable!” said +she, in a tone of raillery: “I should not suppose, from what I have seen +of Mr. Vincent, that any thing could make him exquisitely miserable.” + +“Then you do not know my character--you do not know my heart: it is in +_your_ power to make me exquisitely miserable. Mine is not the cold, +hackneyed phrase of gallantry, but the fervid language of passion,” + cried he, seizing her hand. + +At this instant one of the children came in with some flowers to +Belinda; and, glad of the interruption, she hastily put up her drawings +and left the room, observing that she should scarcely have time to dress +before dinner. However, as soon as she found herself alone, she forgot +how late it was; and though she sat down before the glass to dress, +she made no progress in the business, but continued for some time +motionless, endeavouring to recollect and to understand all that had +passed. The result of her reflections was the conviction that her +partiality for Clarence Hervey was greater than she ever had till this +moment suspected. “I have told my aunt Stanhope,” thought she, “that the +idea of Mr. Hervey had no influence in my refusal of Sir Philip Baddely; +I have said that my affections are entirely at my own command: then why +do I feel this alarm at the discovery of Mr. Vincent’s views? Why do I +compare him with one whom I thought I had forgotten?--And yet how are we +to judge of character? How can we form any estimate of what is amiable, +of what will make us happy or miserable, but by comparison? Am I to +blame for perceiving superiority? Am I to blame if one person be more +agreeable, or seem to be more agreeable, than another? Am I to blame if +I cannot love Mr. Vincent?” + +Before Belinda had answered these questions to her satisfaction, the +dinner-bell rang. There happened to dine this day at Mr. Percival’s a +gentleman who had just arrived from Lisbon, and the conversation turned +upon the sailors’ practice of stilling the waves over the bar of Lisbon +by throwing oil upon the water. Charles Percival’s curiosity was excited +by this conversation, and he wished to see the experiment. In the +evening his father indulged his wishes. The children were delighted at +the sight, and little Charles insisted upon Belinda’s following him to +a particular spot, where he was well convinced that she could see better +than any where else in the world. “Take care,” cried Lady Anne, “or you +will lead your friend into the river, Charles.” The boy paused, and +soon afterwards asked his father several questions about swimming and +drowning, and bringing people to life after they had been drowned. +“Don’t you remember, papa,” said he, “_that_ Mr. Hervey, who was almost +drowned in the Serpentine river in London?”--Belinda coloured at hearing +unexpectedly the name of the person of whom she was at that instant +thinking, and the child continued--“I liked that Mr. Hervey very much--I +liked him from the first day I saw him. What a number of entertaining +things he told us at dinner! We used to call him the good-natured +gentleman: I like him very much--I wish he was here this minute. Did you +ever see him, Miss Portman? Oh, yes, you must have seen him; for it was +he who carried Helena’s gold fishes to her mother, and he used often to +be at Lady Delacour’s--was not he?” + +“Yes, my dear, often.” + +“And did not you like him very much?”--This simple question threw +Belinda into inexpressible confusion: but fortunately the crimson on +her face was seen only by Lady Anne Percival. To Belinda’s great +satisfaction, Mr. Vincent forbore this evening any attempt to renew +the conversation of the morning; he endeavoured to mix, with his usual +animation and gaiety, in the family society; and her embarrassment was +much lessened when she heard the next day, at breakfast, that he was +gone to Harrowgate. Lady Anne Percival took notice that she was this +morning unusually sprightly. + +After breakfast, as they were passing through the hall to take a walk in +the park, one of the little boys stopped to look at a musical instrument +which hung up against the wall. + +“What is this, mamma?--It is not a guitar, is it?” + +“No, my dear, it is called a banjore; it is an African instrument, of +which the negroes are particularly fond. Mr. Vincent mentioned it the +other day to Miss Portman, and I believe she expressed some curiosity to +see one. Juba went to work immediately to make a banjore, I find. Poor +fellow! I dare say that he was very sorry to go to Harrowgate, and to +leave his African guitar half finished; especially as it was intended +for an offering to Miss Portman. He is the most grateful, affectionate +creature I ever saw.” + +“But why, mamma,” said Charles Percival, “is Mr. Vincent gone away? I +am sorry he is gone; I hope he will soon come back. In the mean time, I +must run and water my carnations.” + +“His sorrow for his friend Mr. Vincent’s departure does not seem to +affect his spirits much,” said Lady Anne. “People who expect sentiment +from children of six years old will be disappointed, and will probably +teach them affectation. Surely it is much better to let their natural +affections have time to expand. If we tear the rosebud open we spoil the +flower.” Belinda smiled at this parable of the rosebud, which, she said, +might be applied to men and women, as well as to children. + +“And yet, upon reflection,” said Lady Anne, “the heart has nothing in +common with a rosebud. Nonsensical allusions pass off very prettily +in conversation. I mean, when we converse with partial friends: but +we should reason ill, and conduct ourselves worse, if we were to trust +implicitly to poetical analogies. Our affections,” continued Lady Anne, +“arise from circumstances totally independent of our will.” + +“That is the very thing I meant to say,” interrupted Belinda, eagerly. + +“They are excited by the agreeable or useful qualities that we discover +in things or in persons.” + +“Undoubtedly,” said Belinda. + +“Or by those which our fancies discover,” said Lady Anne. + +Belinda was silent; but, after a pause, she said, “That it was certainly +very dangerous, especially for women, to trust to fancy in bestowing +their affections.” “And yet,” said Lady Anne, “it is a danger to which +they are much exposed in society. Men have it in their power to assume +the appearance of every thing that is amiable and estimable, and women +have scarcely any opportunities of detecting the counterfeit.” + +“Without Ithuriel’s spear, how can they distinguish the good from the +evil?” said Belinda. “This is a common-place complaint, I know; the +ready excuse that we silly young women plead, when we make mistakes +for which our friends reproach us, and for which we too often reproach +ourselves.” + +“The complaint is common-place precisely because it is general and +just,” replied Lady Anne. “In the slight and frivolous intercourse, +which fashionable belles usually have with those fashionable beaux who +call themselves their lovers, it is surprising that they can discover +any thing of each other’s real character. Indeed they seldom do; and +this probably is the cause why there are so many unsuitable and unhappy +marriages. A woman who has an opportunity of seeing her lover in private +society, in domestic life, has infinite advantages; for if she has any +sense, and he has any sincerity, the real character of both may perhaps +be developed.” + +“True,” said Belinda (who now suspected that Lady Anne alluded to Mr. +Vincent); “and in such a situation a woman would readily be able to +decide whether the man who addressed her would suit her taste or not; +so she would be inexcusable if, either from vanity or coquetry, she +disguised her real sentiments.” + +“And will Miss Portman, who cannot, by any one to whom she is known, +be suspected of vanity or coquetry, permit me to speak to her with the +freedom of a friend?” + +Belinda, touched by the kindness of Lady Anne’s manner, pressed her +hand, and exclaimed, “Yes, dear Lady Anne, speak to me with freedom--you +cannot do me a greater favour. No thought of my mind, no secret feeling +of my heart, shall be concealed from you.” + +“Do not imagine that I wish to encroach upon the generous openness of +your temper,” said Lady Anne; “tell me when I go too far, and I will be +silent. One who, like Miss Portman, has lived in the world, has seen a +variety of characters, and probably has had a variety of admirers, must +have formed some determinate idea of the sort of companion that would +make her happy, if she were to marry--unless,” said Lady Anne, “she has +formed a resolution against marriage.” + +“I have formed no such resolution,” said Belinda. “Indeed, since I have +seen the happiness which you and Mr. Percival enjoy in your own family, +I have been much more disposed to think that a union--that a union such +as yours, would increase my happiness. At the same time, my aversion to +the idea of marrying from interest, or convenience, or from any motives +but esteem and love, is increased almost to horror. O Lady Anne! there +is nothing that I would not do to please the friends to whom I am under +obligations, except sacrificing my peace of mind, or my integrity, the +happiness of my life, by--” + +Lady Anne, in a gentle tone, assured her, that she was the last person +in the world who would press her to any union which would make her +unhappy. “You perceive that Mr. Vincent has spoken to me of what passed +between you yesterday. You perceive that I am his friend, but do not +forget that I am also yours. If you fear _undue influence_ from any of +your relations in favour of Mr. Vincent’s large fortune, &c. let his +proposal remain a secret between ourselves, till you can decide, from +farther acquaintance with him, whether it will be in your power to +return his affection.” + +“I fear, my dear Lady Anne,” cried Belinda, “that it is not in my power +to return his affection.” + +“And may I ask your objections?” + +“Is it not a sufficient objection, that I am persuaded I cannot love +him?” + +“No; for you may be mistaken in that persuasion. Remember what we said +a little while ago, about _fancy and spontaneous affections_. Does Mr. +Vincent appear to you defective in any of the qualities which you think +essential to happiness? Mr. Percival has known him from the time he was +a man, and can answer for his integrity and his good temper. Are not +these the first points you would consider? They ought to be, I am +sure, and I believe they are. Of his understanding I shall say nothing, +because you have had full opportunities of judging of it from his +conversation.” + +“Mr. Vincent appears to have a good understanding,” said Belinda. + +“Then to what do you object?--Is there any thing disgusting to you in +his person or manners?” + +“He is very handsome, he is well bred, and his manners are unaffected,” + said Belinda; “but--do not accuse me of caprice--altogether he does not +suit my taste; and I cannot think it sufficient not to feel disgust for +a husband--though I believe this is the fashionable doctrine.” + +“It is not mine, I assure you,” said Lady Anne. “I am not one of those +who think it ‘safest to begin with a little aversion;’ but since you +acknowledge that Mr. Vincent possesses the essential good qualities +that entitle him to your esteem, I am satisfied. We gradually acquire +knowledge of the good qualities of those who endeavour to please us; +and if they are really amiable, their persons become agreeable to us by +degrees, when we become accustomed to them.” + +“Accustomed!” said Belinda, smiling: “one does grow accustomed even to +disagreeable things certainly; but at this rate, my dear Lady Anne, I do +not doubt but one might grow _accustomed_ to Caliban.” + +“My belief in the reconciling power of custom does not go quite so far,” + said Lady Anne. “It does not extend to Caliban, or even to the hero of +La Belle et La Bête; but I do believe, that, in a mind so well regulated +as yours, esteem may certainly in time be improved into love. I will +tell Mr. Vincent so, my dear.” + +“No, my dear Lady Anne! no; you must not--indeed you must not. You have +too good an opinion of me--my mind is not so well regulated--I am much +weaker, much sillier, than you imagine--than you can conceive,” said +Belinda. + +Lady Anne soothed her with the most affectionate expressions, and +concluded with saying, “Mr. Vincent has promised not to return from +Harrowgate, to torment you with his addresses, if you be absolutely +determined against him. He is of too generous, and perhaps too proud +a temper, to persecute you with vain solicitations; and however Mr. +Percival and I may wish that he could obtain such a wife, we shall have +the common, or uncommon, sense and good-nature to allow our friends to +be happy their own way.” + +“You are very good--too good. But am I then to be the cause of banishing +Mr. Vincent from all his friends--from Oakly-park?” + +“Will he not do what is most prudent, to avoid the charming Miss +Portman,” said Lady Anne, smiling, “if he must not love her? This was at +least the advice I gave him, when he consulted us yesterday evening. +But I will not sign his writ of banishment lightly. Nothing but the +assurance that the heart is engaged can be a sufficient cause for +despair; nothing else could, in my eyes, justify you, my dear Belinda, +from the charge of caprice.” + +“I can give you no such assurance, I hope--I believe,” said Belinda, +in great confusion; “and yet I would not for the world deceive you: you +have a right to my sincerity.” She paused; and Lady Anne said with a +smile, “Perhaps I can spare you the trouble of telling me in words what +a blush told me, or at least made me suspect, yesterday evening, when we +were standing by the river side, when little Charles asked you--” + +“Yes, I remember--I saw you look at me.” + +“Undesignedly, believe me.” + +“Undesignedly, I am sure; but I was afraid you would think--” + +“The truth.” + +“No; but more than the truth. The truth you shall hear; and the rest I +will leave to your judgment and to your kindness.” + +Belinda gave a full account of her acquaintance with Clarence Hervey; of +the variations in his manner towards her; of his excellent conduct with +respect to Lady Delacour (of this, by-the-by, she spoke at large). But +she was more concise when she touched upon the state of her own heart; +and her voice almost failed when she came to the history of the lock of +beautiful hair, the Windsor incognita, and the picture of Virginia. She +concluded by expressing her conviction of the propriety of forgetting a +man, who was in all probability attached to another, and she declared +it to be her resolution to banish him from her thoughts. Lady Anne said, +“that nothing could be more prudent or praiseworthy than forming such +a resolution--except keeping it.” Lady Anne had a high opinion of Mr. +Hervey; but she had no doubt, from Belinda’s account, and from her own +observations on Mr. Hervey, and from slight circumstances which had +accidentally come to Mr. Percival’s knowledge, that he was, as Belinda +suspected, attached to another person. She wished, therefore, to confirm +Miss Portman in this belief, and to turn her thoughts towards one who, +beside being deserving of her esteem and love, felt for her the most +sincere affection. She did not, however, press the subject farther at +this time, but contented herself with requesting that Belinda would take +three days (the usual time given for deliberation in fairy tales) before +she should decide against Mr. Vincent. + +The next day they went to look at a porter’s lodge, which Mr. Percival +had just built; it was inhabited by an old man and woman, who had for +many years been industrious tenants, but who, in their old age, had been +reduced to poverty, not by imprudence, but by misfortune. Lady Anne was +pleased to see them comfortably settled in their new habitation; +and whilst she and Belinda were talking to the old couple, their +grand-daughter, a pretty looking girl of about eighteen, came in with +a basket of eggs in her hand. “Well, Lucy,” said Lady Anne, “have you +overcome your dislike to James Jackson?” The girl reddened, smiled, and +looked at her grand-mother, who answered for her in an arch tone, “Oh, +yes, my lady! We are not afraid of Jackson _now_; we are grown very +great friends. This pretty cane chair for my good man was his handiwork, +and these baskets he made for me. Indeed, he’s a most industrious, +ingenious, good-natured youth; and our Lucy takes no offence at his +courting her now, my lady, I can assure you. That necklace, which is +never off her neck now, he turned for her, my lady; it is a present of +his. So I tell him he need not be discouraged, though so be she did not +take to him at the first; for she’s a good girl, and a sensible girl--I +say it, though she’s my own; and the eyes are used to a face after a +time, and then it’s nothing. They say, fancy’s all in all in love: now +in my judgment, fancy’s little or nothing with girls that have sense. +But I beg pardon for prating at this rate, more especially when I am so +old as to have forgot all the little I ever knew about such things.” + +“But you have the best right in the world to speak about such things, +and your grand-daughter has the best reason in the world to listen to +you,” said Lady Anne, “because, in spite of all the crosses of fortune, +you have been an excellent and happy wife, at least ever since I can +remember.” + +“And ever since I can remember, that’s more; no offence to your +ladyship,” said the old man, striking his crutch against the ground. +“Ever since I can remember, she has made me the happiest man in the +whole world, in the whole parish, as every body knows, and I best of +all!” cried he, with a degree of enthusiasm that lighted up his aged +countenance, and animated his feeble voice. + +“And yet,” said the honest dame, “if I had followed my fancy, and taken +up with my first love, it would not ha’ been with _he_, Lucy. I had a +sort of a fancy (since my lady’s so good as to let me speak), I had a +sort of a fancy for an idle young man; but he, very luckily for me, took +it into his head to fall in love with another young woman, and then I +had leisure enough left me to think of your grandfather, who was not so +much to my taste like at first. But when I found out his goodness and +cleverness, and joined to all, his great tenderness for me, I thought +better of it, Lucy (as who knows but you may do, though there shall +not be a word said on my part to press you, for poor Jackson?); and my +thinking better is the cause why I have been so happy ever since, and am +so still in my old age. Ah, Lucy! dear, what a many years that same old +age lasts, after all! But young folks, for the most part, never think +what’s to come after thirty or forty at farthest. But I don’t say this +for you, Lucy; for you are a good girl, and a sensible girl, though my +own grand-daughter, as I said before, and therefore won’t be run away +with by fancy, which is soon past and gone: but make a prudent choice, +that you won’t never have cause to repent of. But I’ll not say a word +more; I’ll leave it all to yourself and James Jackson.” + +“You do right,” said Lady Anne: “good morning to you! Farewell, Lucy! +That’s a pretty necklace, and is very becoming to you--fare ye well!” + +She hurried out of the cottage with Belinda, apprehensive that the +talkative old dame might weaken the effect of her good sense and +experience by a farther profusion of words. + +“One would think,” said Belinda, with an ingenuous smile, “that this +lesson upon the dangers of _fancy_ was intended for me: at any rate, I +may turn it to my own advantage!” + +“Happy those who can turn all the experience of others to their own +advantage!” said Lady Anne: “this would be a more valuable privilege +than the power of turning every thing that is touched to gold.” + +They walked on in silence for a few minutes; and then Miss Portman, +pursuing the train of her own thoughts, and unconscious that she had +not explained them to Lady Anne, abruptly exclaimed, “But if I should be +entangled, so as not to be able to retract!--and if it should not be +in my power to love him at last, he will think me a coquette, a jilt, +perhaps: he will have reason to complain of me, if I waste his time, and +trifle with his affections. Then is it not better that I should avoid, +by a decided refusal, all possibility of injury to Mr. Vincent, and of +blame to myself?” + +“There is no danger of Mr. Vincent’s misunderstanding or misrepresenting +you. The risk that he runs is by his voluntary choice; and I am sure +that if, after farther acquaintance with him, you find it impossible to +return his affection, he will not consider himself as ill-used by your +refusal.” + +“But after a certain time--after the world suspects that two people are +engaged to each other, it is scarcely possible for the woman to recede: +when they come within a certain distance, they are pressed to unite, by +the irresistible force of external circumstances. A woman is too often +reduced to this dilemma: either she must marry a man she does not love, +or she must be blamed by the world--either she must sacrifice a portion +of her reputation, or the whole of her happiness.” + +“The world is indeed often too curious, and too rash in these affairs,” + said Lady Anne. “A young woman is not in this respect allowed sufficient +time for freedom of deliberation. She sees, as Mr. Percival once said, +‘the drawn sword of tyrant custom suspended over her head by a single +hair.’” + +“And yet, notwithstanding you are so well aware of the danger, your +ladyship would expose me to it?” said Belinda. + +“Yes; for I think the chance of happiness, in this instance, +overbalances the risk,” said Lady Anne. “As we cannot alter the common +law of custom, and as we cannot render the world less gossiping, or less +censorious, we must not expect always to avoid censure; all we can do +is, never to deserve it--and it would be absurd to enslave ourselves to +the opinion of the idle and ignorant. To a certain point, respect for +the opinion of the world is prudence; beyond that point, it is weakness. +You should also consider that the _world_ at Oakly-park and in London +are two different worlds. In London if you and Mr. Vincent were seen +often in each other’s company, it would be immediately buzzed about that +Miss Portman and Mr. Vincent were going to be married; and if the match +did not take place, a thousand foolish stories might be told to account +for its being broken off. But here you are not surrounded by busy eyes +and busy tongues. The butchers, bakers, ploughmen, and spinsters, who +compose our world, have all affairs of their own to mind. Besides, their +comments can have no very extensive circulation; they are used to see +Mr. Vincent continually here; and his staying with us the remainder of +the autumn will not appear to them any thing wonderful or portentous.” + +Their conversation was interrupted. Mr. Vincent returned to +Oakly-park--but upon the express condition that he should not make his +attachment public by any particular attentions, and that he should draw +no conclusions in his favour from Belinda’s consenting to converse with +him freely upon every common subject. To this treaty of amity Lady Anne +Percival was guarantee. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A WEDDING. + + +Belinda and Mr. Vincent could never agree in their definition of +the-word _flattery_; so that there were continual complaints on the one +hand of a breach of treaty, and, on the other, solemn protestations of +the most scrupulous adherence to his compact. However this might be, +it is certain that the gentleman gained so much, either by truth or +fiction, that, in the course of some weeks, he got the lady as far as +“gratitude and esteem.” + +One evening, Belinda was playing with little Charles Percival at +spillikins. Mr. Vincent, who found pleasure in every thing that amused +Belinda, and Mr. Percival, who took an interest in every thing which +entertained his children, were looking on at this simple game. + +“Mr. Percival,” said Belinda, “condescending to look at a game of +jack-straws!” + +“Yes,” said Lady Anne; “for he is of Dryden’s opinion, that, if a straw +can be made the instrument of happiness, he is a wise man who does not +despise it.” + +“Ah! Miss Portman, take care!” cried Charles, who was anxious that she +should win, though he was playing against her. “Take care! don’t touch +that knave.” + +“I would lay a hundred guineas upon the steadiness of Miss Portman’s +hand,” cried Mr. Vincent. + +“I’ll lay you sixpence, though,” cried Charles, eagerly, “that she’ll +stir the king, if she touches that knave--I’ll lay you a shilling.” + +“Done! done!” cried Mr. Vincent. + +“Done! done!” cried the boy, stretching out his hand, but his father +caught it. + +“Softly! softly, Charles!--No betting, if you please, my dear. Done and +done sometimes ends in--undone.” + +“It was my fault--it was I who was in the wrong,” cried Vincent +immediately. + +“I am sure you are in the right, now,” said Mr. Percival; “and, what +is better than my saying so, Miss Portman thinks so, as her smile tells +me.” + +“You moved, Miss Portman!” cried Charles:--“Oh, indeed! the king’s head +stirred, the very instant papa spoke. I knew it was impossible that you +could get that knave clear off without shaking the king. Now, papa, only +look how they were balanced.” + +“I grant you,” said Mr. Vincent, “I should have made an imprudent bet. +So it is well I made none; for now I see the chances were ten to one, +twenty to one, a hundred to one against me.” + +“It does not appear to me to be a matter of chance,” said Mr. Percival. +“This is a game of address, not chance, and that is the reason I like +it.” + +“Oh, papa! Oh, Miss Portman! look how nicely these are balanced. There! +my breath has set them in motion. Look, they shake, shake, shake, like +the great rocking-stones at Brimham Crags.” + +“That is comparing small things to great, indeed!” said Mr. Percival. + +“By-the-by,” cried Mr. Vincent, “Miss Portman has never seen those +wonderful rocking-stones--suppose we were to ride to see them +to-morrow?” + +The proposal was warmly seconded by the children, and agreed to by every +one. It was settled, that after they had seen Brimham Crags they should +spend the remainder of the day at Lord C----‘s beautiful place in the +neighbourhood. + +The next morning was neither too hot nor too cold, and they set out on +their little party of pleasure; the children went with their mother, to +their great delight, in the _sociable_; and Mr. Vincent, to his great +delight, rode with Belinda. When they came within sight of the Crags, +Mr. Percival, who was riding with them, exclaimed--“What is that yonder, +on the top of one of the great rocking-stones?” + +“It looks like a statue,” said Vincent. “It has been put up since we +were here last.” + +“I fancy it has got up of itself,” said Belinda, “for it seems to be +getting down of itself. I think I saw it stoop. Oh! I see now, it is a +man who has got up there, and he seems to have a gun in his hand, has +not he? He is going through his manual exercise for his diversion--for +the diversion of the spectators below, I perceive--there is a party of +people looking at him.” + +“Him!” said Mr. Percival. + +“I protest it is a woman!” said Vincent. + +“No, surely,” said Belinda: “it cannot be a woman!” + +“Not unless it be Mrs. Freke,” replied Mr. Percival. + +In fact it was Mrs. Freke, who had been out shooting with a party of +gentlemen, and who had scrambled upon this rocking-stone, on the summit +of which she went through the manual exercise at the word of command +from her officer. As they rode nearer to the scene of action, Belinda +heard the shrill screams of a female voice, and they descried amongst +the gentlemen a slight figure in a riding habit. + +“Miss Moreton, I suppose,” said Mr. Vincent. + +“Poor girl! what are they doing with her?” cried Belinda. + +“They seem to be forcing her up to the top of that place, where she has +no mind to go. Look how Mrs. Freke drags her up by the arm!” + +As they drew nearer, they heard Mrs. Freke laughing loud as she rocked +this frightened girl upon the top of the stone. + +“We had better keep out of the way, I think,” said Belinda: “for +perhaps, as she has vowed vengeance against me, she might take a fancy +to setting me upon that pinnacle of glory.” + +“She dare not,” cried Vincent, his eyes flashing with anger: “you may +trust to us to defend you.” + +“Certainly!--But I will not run into danger on purpose to give you the +pleasure of defending me,” said Belinda; and as she spoke, she turned +her horse another way. + +“You won’t turn back, Miss Portman?” cried Vincent eagerly, laying his +hand on her bridle.--“Good Heavens, ma’am! we can’t run away!--We came +here to look at these rocking-stones!--We have not half seen them. Lady +Anne and the children will be here immediately. You would not deprive +them of the pleasure of seeing these things!” + +“I doubt whether they would have much pleasure in seeing _some of these +things!_ and as to the rest, if I disappoint the children now, Mr. +Percival will, perhaps, have the goodness to bring them some other day.” + +“Certainly,” said Mr. Percival: “Miss Portman shows her usual prudence.” + +“The children are so good tempered, that I am sure they will forgive +me,” continued Belinda; “and Mr. Vincent will be ashamed not to follow +their example, though he seems to be rather angry with me at present for +obliging him to turn back--out of the path of danger.” + +“You must not be surprised at that,” said Mr. Percival, laughing; “for +Mr. Vincent is a lover and a hero. You know it is a ruled case, in all +romances, that when a lover and his mistress go out riding together, +some adventure must befal them. The horse must run away with the lady, +and the gentleman must catch her in his arms just as her neck is about +to be broken. If the horse has been too well trained for the heroine’s +purpose, ‘some footpad, bandit fierce, or mountaineer,’ some jealous +rival must make his appearance quite unexpectedly at the turn of a road, +and the lady must be carried off--robes flying--hair streaming--like +Bürger’s Leonora. Then her lover must come to her rescue just in the +proper moment. But if the damsel cannot conveniently be run away with, +she must, as the last resource, tumble into a river to make herself +interesting, and the hero must be at least half drowned in dragging her +out, that she may be under eternal obligations to him, and at last be +forced to marry him out of pure gratitude.” + +“Gratitude!” interrupted Mr. Vincent: “he is no hero, to my mind, who +would be content with gratitude, instead of love.” + +“You need not alarm yourself: Miss Portman does not seem inclined to +put you to the trial, you see,” said Mr. Percival, smiling. “Now it +is really to be regretted, that she deprived you of an opportunity of +fighting some of the gentlemen in Mrs. Freke’s train, or of delivering +her from the perilous height of one of those rocking-stones. It would +have been a new incident in a novel.” + +“How that poor girl screamed!” said Belinda. “Was her terror real or +affected?” + +“Partly real, partly affected, I fancy,” said Mr. Percival. + +“I pity her,” said Mr. Vincent; “for Mrs. Freke leads her a weary life.” + +“She is certainly to be pitied, but also to be blamed,” said Mr. +Percival. “You do not know her history. Miss Moreton ran away from her +friends to live with this Mrs. Freke, who has led her into all kinds +of mischief and absurdity. The girl is weak and vain, and believes that +every thing becomes her which Mrs. Freke assures her is becoming. At one +time she was persuaded to go to a public ball with her arms as bare as +Juno’s, and her feet as naked as Mad. Tallien’s. At another time Miss +Moreton (who unfortunately has never heard the Greek proverb, that half +is better than the whole,) was persuaded by Mrs. Freke to lay aside, her +half boots, and to equip herself in men’s whole boots; and thus she rode +about the country, to the amazement of all the world. These are trifles; +but women who love to set the world at defiance in trifles seldom +respect its opinion in matters of consequence. Miss Moreton’s whole +boots in the morning, and her bare feet in the evening, were talked of +by every body, till she gave them more to talk of about her attachment +to a young officer. Mrs. Freke, whose philosophy is professedly +latitudinarian in morals, laughed at the girl’s prejudice in favour of +the ceremony of marriage. So did the officer; for Miss Moreton had +no fortune. It is suspected that the young lady did not feel the +difficulty, which philosophers are sometimes said to find in suiting +their practice to their theory. The _unenlightened_ world reprobated the +theory much, and the practice more. I am inclined, in spite of scandal, +to think the poor girl was only imprudent: at all events, she repents +her folly too late. She has now no friend upon earth but Mrs. Freke, who +is, in fact, her worst enemy, and who tyrannizes over her without mercy. +Imagine what it is to be the butt of a buffoon!” + +“What a lesson to young ladies in the choice of female friends!” said +Belinda. “But had Miss Moreton no relations, who could interfere to get +her out of Mrs. Freke’s hands?” + +“Her father and mother were old, and, what is more contemptible, +old-fashioned: she would not listen to their advice; she ran away from +them. Some of her relations were, I believe, willing that she should +stay with Mrs. Freke, because she was a dashing, fashionable woman, and +they thought it might be what is called _an advantage_ to her. She had +one relation, indeed, who was quite of a different opinion, who saw the +danger of her situation, and remonstrated in the strongest manner--but +to no purpose. This was a cousin of Miss Moreton’s, a respectable +clergyman. Mrs. Freke was so much incensed by his _insolent +interference_, as she was pleased to call it, that she made an effigy +of Mr. Moreton dressed in his canonicals, and hung the figure up as a +scarecrow in a garden close by the high road. He was so much beloved +and respected for his benevolence and unaffected piety, that Mrs. Freke +totally failed in her design of making him ridiculous; her scarecrow was +torn to pieces by his parishioners; and though, in the true spirit of +charity, he did all he could to moderate their indignation against +his enemy, the lady became such an object of detestation, that she was +followed with hisses and groans whenever she appeared, and she dared not +venture within ten miles of the village. + +“Mrs. Freke now changed the mode of her persecution: she was acquainted +with a nobleman from whom our clergyman expected a living, and she +worked upon his lordship so successfully, that he insisted upon having +an apology made to the lady. Mr. Moreton had as much dignity of mind as +gentleness of character; his forbearance was that of principle, and so +was his firmness: he refused to make the concessions that were required. +His noble patron bullied. Though he had a large family to provide for, +the clergyman would not degrade himself by any improper submission. The +incumbent died, and the living was given to a more compliant friend. So +ends the history of one of Mrs. Freke’s numerous frolics.” + +“This was the story,” said Mr. Vincent, “which effectually changed my +opinion of her. Till I heard it, I always looked upon her as one of +those thoughtless, good-natured people, who, as the common saying is, do +nobody any harm but themselves.” + +“It is difficult in society,” said Mr. Percival, “especially for women, +to do harm to themselves, without doing harm to others. They may begin +in frolic, but they must end in malice. They defy the world--the world +in return excommunicates them--the female outlaws become desperate, and +make it the business and pride of their lives to disturb the peace of +their sober neighbours. Women who have lowered themselves in the public +opinion cannot rest without attempting to bring others to their own +level.” + +“Mrs. Freke, notwithstanding the blustering merriment that she affects, +is obviously unhappy,” said Belinda; “and since we cannot do her any +good, either by our blame or our pity, we had better think of something +else.” + +“Scandal,” said Mr. Vincent, “does not seem to give you much pleasure, +Miss Portman. You will be glad to hear that Mrs. Freke’s malice against +poor Mr. Moreton has not ruined him. Do you know Mr. Percival, that he +has just been presented to a good living by a generous young man, who +heard of his excellent conduct?” + +“I am extremely glad of it,” said Mr. Percival. “Who is this generous +young man? I should like to be acquainted with him.” + +“So should I,” said Mr. Vincent: “he is a Mr. Hervey.” + +“Clarence Hervey, perhaps?” + +“Yes, Clarence was his name.” + +“No man more likely to do a generous action than Clarence Hervey,” said +Mr. Percival. + +“Nobody more likely to do a generous action than Mr. Hervey,” repeated +Belinda, in rather a low tone. She could now praise Clarence Hervey +without blushing, and she could think even of his generosity without +partiality, though not without pleasure. By strength of mind, and +timely exertion, she had prevented her prepossession from growing into a +passion that might have made her miserable. Proud of this conquest over +herself, she was now disposed to treat Mr. Vincent with more favour +than usual. Self-complacency generally puts us in good-humour with our +friends. + +After spending some pleasant hours in Lord C------‘s beautiful grounds, +where the children explored to their satisfaction every dingle and bushy +dell, they returned home in the cool of the evening. Mr. Vincent thought +it the most delightful evening he had ever felt. + +“What! as charming as a West Indian evening?” said Mr. Percival. “This +is more than I expected ever to hear you acknowledge in favour of +England. Do you remember how you used to rave of the climate and of the +prospects of Jamaica?” + +“Yes, but my taste has quite changed.” + +“I remember the time,” said Mr. Percival, “when you thought it +impossible that your taste should ever change; when you told me that +taste, whether for the beauties of animate or inanimate nature, was +immutable.” + +“You and Miss Portman have taught me better sense. First loves are +generally silly things,” added he, colouring a little. Belinda coloured +also. + +“First loves,” continued Mr. Percival, “are not necessarily more foolish +than others; but the chances are certainly against them. From poetry or +romance, young people usually form their earlier ideas of love, before +they have actually felt the passion; and the image which they have in +their own minds of the _beau ideal_ is cast upon the first objects they +afterward behold. This, if I may be allowed the expression, is Cupid’s +Fata Morgana. Deluded mortals are in ecstasy whilst the illusion lasts, +and in despair when it vanishes.” + +Mr. Percival appeared to be unconscious that what he was saying was any +way applicable to Belinda. He addressed himself to Mr. Vincent solely, +and she listened at her ease. + +“But,” said she, “do not you think that this prejudice, as I am willing +to allow it to be, in favour of first loves, may _in our sex_ be +advantageous? Even when a woman may be convinced--that she ought not +to indulge a _first_ love, should she not be prevented by delicacy from +thinking of a second?” + +“Delicacy, my dear Miss Portman, is a charming word, and a still more +charming thing, and Mrs. Freke has probably increased our affection for +it; but even delicacy, like all other virtues, must be judged of by the +test of utility. We should run into romance, and error, and misery, if +we did not constantly refer to this standard. Our reasonings as to the +conduct of life, as far as moral prudence is concerned, must depend +ultimately upon facts. Now, of the numbers of people in this world, how +many do you think have married their _first loves?_ Probably not one +out of ten. Then, would you have nine out of ten pine all their lives in +celibacy, or fret in matrimony, because they cannot have the persons who +first struck their _fancy?_” + +“I acknowledge this would not add to the happiness of society,” said +Belinda. + +“Nor to its virtue,” said Mr. Percival. “I scarcely know an idea more +dangerous to domestic happiness than this belief in the unextinguishable +nature of a first flame. There are people who would persuade us that, +though it may be smothered for years, it must break out at last, +and blaze with destructive fury. Pernicious doctrine! false as it is +pernicious!--The struggles between duty and passion may be the charm of +romance, but must be the misery of real life. The woman who marries +one man, and loves another, who, in spite of all that an amiable and +estimable husband can do to win her confidence and affection, nourishes +in secret a _fatal_ prepossession for her first love, may perhaps, by +the eloquence of a fine writer, be made an interesting heroine;--but +would any man of sense or feeling choose to be troubled with such +a wife?--Would not even the idea that women admired such conduct +necessarily tend to diminish our confidence, if not in their virtue, +at least in their sincerity? And would not this suspicion destroy our +happiness? Husbands may sometimes have delicate feelings as well as +their wives, though they are seldom allowed to have any by these unjust +novel writers. Now, could a husband who has any delicacy be content to +possess the person without the mind?--the duty without the love?--Could +he be perfectly happy, if, in the fondest moments, he might doubt +whether he were an object of disgust or affection?--whether the smiles +of apparent joy were only the efforts of a suffering martyr?--Thank +Heaven! I am not married to one of these charming martyrs. Let those +live with them who admire them. For my part, I admire and love the wife, +who not only seems but is happy--as I,” added Mr. Percival smiling, +“have the fond credulity to believe. If I have spoken too long or +too warmly upon the chapter of _first loves_, I have at least been a +perfectly disinterested declaimer; for I can assure you, Miss Portman, +that I do not suspect Lady Anne Percival of sighing in secret for some +vision of perfection, any more than she suspects me of pining for the +charming Lady Delacour, who, perhaps, you may have heard was my _first +love_. In these days, however, so few people marry with even the +pretence to love of any sort, that you will think I might have spared +this tirade. No; there are ingenuous minds which will never be enslaved +by fashion or interest, though they may be exposed to be deceived by +romance, or by the _delicacy_ of their own imaginations.” + +“I hear,” said Belinda, smiling, “I hear and understand the emphasis +with which you pronounce that word _delicacy_. I see you have not +forgotten that I used it improperly half an hour ago, as you have +convinced me.” + +“Happy they,” said Mr. Percival, “who can be convinced in half an hour! +There are some people who cannot be convinced in a whole life, and who +end where they began, with saying--‘This is my opinion--I always thought +so, and always shall.’” + +Mr. Vincent at all times loved Mr. Percival; but he never felt so much +affection for him as he did this evening, and his arguments appeared to +him unanswerable. Though Belinda had never mentioned to Mr. Vincent +the name of Clarence Hervey till this day, and though he did not in the +least suspect from her manner that this gentleman ever possessed any +interest in her heart; yet, with her accustomed sincerity, she had +confessed to him that an impression had been made upon her mind before +she came to Oakly-park. + +After this conversation with Mr. Percival, Mr. Vincent perceived that he +gained ground more rapidly in her favour; and his company grew every day +more agreeable to her taste: he was convinced that, as he possessed her +esteem, he should in time secure her affections. + +“In time,” repeated Lady Anne Percival: “you must allow her time, or you +will spoil all.” + +It was with some difficulty that Mr. Vincent restrained his impatience, +even though he was persuaded of the prudence of his friend’s advice. +Things went on in this happy, but as he thought slow, state of +progression till towards the latter end of September. + +One fine morning Lady Anne Percival came into Belinda’s room with a +bridal favour in her hand. “Do you know,” said she, “that we are to have +a wedding to-day? This favour has just been sent to my maid. Lucy, the +pretty girl whom you may remember to have seen some time ago with +that prettily turned necklace, is the bride, and James Jackson is the +bridegroom. Mr. Vincent has let them a very pretty little farm in the +neighbourhood, and--hark! there’s the sound of music.” + +They looked out of the window, and they saw a troop of villagers, +gaily dressed, going to the wedding. Lady Anne, who was always eager to +promote innocent festivity, sent immediately to have a tent pitched +in the park; and all the rural company were invited to a dance in the +evening: it was a very cheerful spectacle. Belinda heard from all sides +praises of Mr. Vincent’s generosity; and she could not be insensible to +the simple but enthusiastic testimony which Juba bore to his master’s +goodness. Juba had composed, in his broken dialect, a little song +in honour of his master, which he sang to his banjore with the most +touching expression of joyful gratitude. In some of the stanzas Belinda +could distinguish that her own name was frequently repeated. Lady Anne +called him, and desired to have the words of this song. They were a +mixture of English and of his native language; they described in the +strongest manner what had been his feelings whilst he was under the +terror of Mrs. Freke’s fiery obeah-woman, then his joy on being +relieved from these horrors, with the delightful sensations of returning +health;--and thence he suddenly passed to his gratitude to Belinda, the +person to whom he owed his recovery. He concluded with wishing her all +sorts of happiness, and, above all, that she might be fortunate in +her love; which Juba thought the highest degree of felicity. He had no +sooner finished his song, which particularly touched and pleased +Miss Portman, than he begged his master to offer to her the little +instrument, which he had made with much pains and ingenuity. She +accepted the banjore with a smile that enchanted Mr. Vincent; but at +this instant they were startled by the sound of a carriage driving +rapidly into the park. Belinda looked up, and between the heads of +the dancers she just caught a glimpse of a well-known livery. “Good +heavens!” she exclaimed, “Lady Delacour’s carriage!--Can it be Lady +Delacour?” + +The carriage stopped, and Marriott hastily jumped out of it. Belinda +pressed forward to meet her; poor Marriott was in great agitation:--“Oh, +Miss Portman! my poor lady is very ill--very ill, indeed. She has sent +me for you--here’s her letter. Dear Miss Portman, I hope you won’t +refuse to come; she _has_ been very ill, and is very ill; but she would +be better, if she could see you again. But I’ll tell every thing, ma’am, +when we are by ourselves, and when you have read your letter.” + +Miss Portman immediately accompanied Marriott towards the house; and as +they walked thither, she learned that Lady Delacour had applied to +the quack-doctor in whom she had such implicit faith, and had in vain +endeavoured to engage him to perform for her the operation to which she +had determined to submit. He was afraid to hazard it, and he prevailed +upon her to give up the scheme, and to try some new external remedy from +which he promised wonders. No one knew what his medicines were, but they +affected her head in the most alarming manner. + +In her delirium she called frequently upon Miss Portman; sometimes +accusing her of the basest treachery, sometimes addressing her as if she +were present, and pouring forth the warmest expressions of friendship. +“In her lucid intervals, ma’am,” continued Marriott, “she for some weeks +scarcely ever mentioned your name, nor could bear to hear me mention +it. One day, when I was saying how much I wished that you were with her +again, she darted at me the most terrible look that ever I beheld. + +“‘When I am in my grave, Marriott,’ cried my lady, ‘it will be time +enough for Miss Portman again to visit this house, and you may then +express your attachment to her with more propriety than at present.’ +These were my lady’s own words--I shall never forget them: they struck +and astonished me, ma’am, so much, I stood like one stupified, and then +left the room to think them over again by myself, and make sense of +them, if I could. Well, ma’am, to be sure, it then struck me like a +flash of lightning, that my lady was jealous--and, begging your pardon, +ma’am--of you. This seemed to me the most unnatural thing in the world, +considering how easy my lady had always seemed to be about my lord; but +it was now clear to me, that this was the cause of your leaving us so +suddenly, ma’am. Well, I was confident that Mr. Champfort was at the +bottom of the business from the first; and now that I knew what scent to +go upon, I went to work with fresh spirit to find him out, which was a +thing I was determined upon--and what I’m determined upon, I generally +do, ma’am. So I put together things about Miss Portman and my lord, that +had dropped at odd times from Sir Philip Baddely’s gentleman; and I, +partly serious and partly flirting, which in a good cause is no sin, +drew from him (for he pretends to be a little an admirer of mine, ma’am, +though I never gave him the smallest encouragement) all he knew or +suspected, or had heard reported, or whispered; and out it came, ma’am, +that Mr. Champfort was the original of all; and that he had told a heap +of lies about some bank-notes that my lord had given you, and that you +and my lord were to be married as soon as my lady was dead; and I +don’t know what, which he maliciously circulated through Sir Philip’s +gentleman to Sir Philip himself, and so round again to my lady. Now, Sir +Philip’s man behaved like a gentleman upon the occasion, which I shall +ever be free to acknowledge and remember: and when I represented things +properly, and made him sensible of the mischief, which, he assured me, +was done purely with an eye to serve Sir Philip, his master, he very +candidly offered to assist me to unmask that villain Champfort, which +he could easily do with the assistance of a few bottles of claret, and +a few fair words; which, though I can’t abide hypocrisy, I thought +quite allowable upon such an occasion. So, ma’am, when Mr. Champfort was +thrown off his guard by the claret, Sir Philip’s gentleman began to talk +of my lord and my lady, and Miss Portman; and he observed that my lord +and my lady were coming together more than they used to be since Miss +Portman left the house. To which Champfort replied with an oath, like an +unmannered reprobate as he is, and in his gibberish, French and English, +which I can’t speak; but the sense of it was this:--‘My lord and lady +shall never come together, if I can help it. It was to hinder this I got +Miss Portman banished; for my lord was quite another man after she got +Miss Helena into the house; and I don’t doubt but he might have been +brought to leave off his burgundy, and set up for a sober, regular man; +which would not suit me at all. If my lady once was to get power over +him again, I might go whistle--so (with another reprobate oath) my lord +and my lady shall never come together again whilst I live.’ + +“Well, ma’am,” continued Marriott, “as soon as I was in possession of +this precious speech, I carried it and a letter of Sir Philip Baddely’s +gentleman vouching it to my lady. My lady was thunderstruck, and so +vexed to have been, as she said, a dupe, that she sent for my lord +directly, and insisted upon his giving up Mr. Champfort. My lord +demurred, because my lady spoke so high, and said _insist_. He would +have done it, I’m satisfied, of his own accord with the greatest +pleasure, if my lady had not, as it were, commanded it. But he answered +at last, ‘My Lady Delacour, I’m not a man to be governed by a wife--I +shall keep or part with my own servants in my own house, according to my +own pleasure;’ and saying so, he left the room. I never saw my lady so +angry as she was at this refusal of my lord to part with him. The house +was quite in a state of distraction for some days. I never would sit +down to the same table, ma’am, with Mr. Champfort, nor speak to him, nor +look at him, and parties ran high above and below stairs. And at last my +lady, who had been getting better, took to her bed again with a nervous +fever, which brought her almost to death’s door; she having been so +much weakened before by the quack medicines and convulsions, and all +her sufferings in secret. She would not see my lord on no account, and +Champfort persuaded him her illness was pretence, to bring him to her +purpose; which was the more readily believed, because nobody was ever +let into my lady’s bedchamber but myself. All this time she never +mentioned your name, ma’am; but once, when I was sitting by her bedside, +as she was asleep, she started suddenly, and cried out, ‘Oh, my dearest +Belinda! are you come back to me?’--She awakened herself with the start; +and raising herself quite up in her bed, she pulled back the curtains, +and looked all round the room. I’m sure she expected to see you; and +when she found it was a dream, she gave a heavy sigh, and sank down upon +her pillow. I then could not forbear to speak, and this time my lady was +greatly touched when I mentioned your name:--she shed tears, ma’am; and +you know it is not a little thing that can draw tears from my lady. But +when I said something about sending for you, she answered, she was sure +you would not return to her, and that she would never condescend to +ask a favour in vain, even from you. Then I replied that I was sure you +loved her still, and as well as ever: and that the proof of that was, +that Mrs. Luttridge and Mrs. Freke together, by all their wiles, +could not draw you over to their party at Harrowgate, and that you had +affronted Mrs. Freke by defending her ladyship. My lady was all surprise +at this, and eagerly asked how I came to know it. Now, ma’am, I had it +all by a post letter from Mrs. Luttridge’s maid, who is my cousin, and +knows every thing that’s going on. My lady from this moment forward +could scarce rest an instant without wishing for you, and fretting for +you as I knew by her manner. One day my lord met me on the stairs as I +was coming down from my poor lady’s room, and he asked me how she was, +and why she did not send for a physician. ‘The best physician, my lord, +she could send for,’ said I, ‘would be Miss Portman; for she’ll never be +well till that good young lady comes back again, in my humble opinion.’ + +“‘And what should prevent that good young lady from coming back again? +Not I, surely,’ rejoined my lord, ‘for I wish she were here with all my +heart.’ + +“‘It is not easy to suppose, my lord,’ said I, ‘after all that has +passed, that the young lady would choose to return, or that my lady +would ask her, whilst Mr. Champfort remains paramount in the house.’ +‘If that’s all,’ cried my lord, ‘tell your lady I’ll part with Champfort +upon the spot; for the rascal has just had the insolence to insist upon +it, that a pair of new boots are not too tight for me, when I said they +were. I’ll show him I can be master, and will, in my own house.’ Ma’am, +my heart leaped for joy within me at hearing these words, and I ran up +to my lady with them. I easily concluded in my own mind, that my lord +was glad of the pretence of the boots, to give up handsomely after his +standing out so long. To be sure, my lord’s mightily jealous of being +master, and mighty fond of his own way; but I forgive him every thing +for doing as I would have him at last, and dismissing that prince of +mischief-makers, Mr. Champfort. My lady called for her writing-desk +directly, and sat up in her bed, and with her trembling hand, as you see +by the writing, ma’am, wrote a letter to you as fast as ever she could, +and the postchaise was ordered. I don’t know what fancy seized her--but +if you remember, ma’am, the hammercloth to her new carriage had orange +and black fringe at first: she would not use it, till this had been +changed to blue and white. Well, ma’am, she recollected this on a +sudden, as I was getting ready to come for you; and she set the servants +at work directly to take off the blue and white, and put on the black +and orange fringe again, which she said must be done before your coming. +And my lady ordered her own footman to ride along with me; and I have +come post, and have travelled night and day, and will never rest till +I get back. But, ma’am, I won’t keep you any longer from reading your +letter, only to say, that I hope to Heaven you will not refuse to return +to my poor lady, if it be only to put her mind at ease before she dies. +She cannot have long to live.” + +As Marriott finished these words they reached the house, and Belinda +went to her own room to read Lady Delacour’s letter. It contained none +of her customary ‘_éloquence du billet_,’ no sprightly wit, no real, no +affected gaiety; her mind seemed to be exhausted by bodily suffering, +and her high spirit subdued. She expressed the most poignant anguish +for having indulged such unjust suspicions and intemperate passions. +She lamented having forfeited the esteem and affection of the only +real friend she had ever possessed--a friend of whose forbearance, +tenderness, and fidelity, she had received such indisputable proofs. +She concluded by saying, “I feel my end fast approaching, and perhaps, +Belinda, your humanity will induce you to grant my last request, and to +let me see you once more before I die.” + +Belinda immediately decided to return to Lady Delacour--though it was +with real regret that she thought of leaving Lady Anne Percival, and the +amiable and happy family to whom she had become so much attached. The +children crowded round her when they heard that she was going, and Mr. +Vincent stood in silent sorrow--but we spare our readers this parting +scene Miss Portman promised to return to Oakly-park as soon as she +possibly could. Mr. Vincent anxiously requested permission to follow her +to town: but this she positively refused; and he submitted with as good +a grace as a lover can submit to any thing that crosses his passion. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +RECONCILIATION. + + +Aware that her remaining in town at such an unusual season of the +year would appear unaccountable to her fashionable acquaintance, Lady +Delacour contrived for herself a characteristic excuse; she declared +that there was no possibility of finding pleasure in any thing but +novelty, and that the greatest novelty to her would be to remain a whole +summer in town. Most of her friends, amongst whom she had successfully +established a character for caprice, were satisfied that this was merely +some new whim, practised to signalize herself by singularity. The real +reason that detained her was her dependence upon the empiric, who +had repeatedly visited and constantly prescribed for her. Convinced, +however, by the dreadful situation to which his prescriptions had lately +reduced her that he was unworthy of her confidence, she determined to +dismiss him: but she could not do this, as she had a considerable sum to +pay him, till Marriott’s return, because she could not trust any one but +Marriott to let him up the private staircase into the boudoir. + +During Marriott’s absence, her ladyship suffered no one to attend her +but a maid who was remarkable for her stupidity. She thought that she +could have nothing to fear from this girl’s spirit of inquiry, for never +was any human being so destitute of curiosity. It was about noon when +Belinda and Marriott arrived. Lady Delacour, who had passed a restless +night, was asleep. When she awoke, she found Marriott standing beside +her bed. + +“Then it is all in vain, I see,” cried her ladyship: “Miss Portman is +not with you?--Give me my laudanum.” + +“Miss Portman is come, my lady,” said Marriott; “she is in the +dressing-room: she would not come in here with me, lest she should +startle you.” + +“Belinda is come, do you say? Admirable Belinda!” cried Lady Delacour, +and she clasped her hands with ecstasy. + +“Shall I tell her, my lady, that you are awake?” + +“Yes--no--stay--Lord Delacour is at home. I will get up immediately. +Let my lord be told that I wish to speak with him--that I beg he will +breakfast with me in my dressing-room half an hour hence. I will dress +immediately.” + +Marriott in vain represented that she ought not to hurry herself in +her present weak state. Intent upon her own thoughts, she listened to +nothing that was said, but frequently urged Marriott to be expeditious. +She put on an unusual quantity of rouge: then looking at herself in the +glass, she said, with a forced smile, “Marriott, I look so charmingly, +that Miss Portman, perhaps, will be of Lord Delacour’s opinion, and +think that nothing is the matter with me. Ah! no; she has been behind +the scenes--she knows the truth too well!--Marriott, pray did she +ask you many questions about me?--Was not she very sorry to leave +Oakly-park?--Were not they all extremely concerned to part with +her?--Did she ask after Helena?--Did you tell her that I insisted upon +my lord’s parting with Champfort?” + +At the word Champfort, Marriott’s mouth opened eagerly, and she began to +answer with her usual volubility. Lady Delacour waited not for any reply +to the various questions which, in the hurry of her mind, she had +asked; but, passing swiftly by Marriott, she threw open the door of her +dressing-room. At the sight of Belinda she stopped short; and, totally +overpowered, she would have sunk upon the floor, had not Miss Portman +caught her in her arms, and supported her to a sofa. When she came to +herself, and heard the soothing tone of Belinda’s voice, she looked up +timidly in her face for a few moments without being able to speak. + +“And are you really here once more, my dear Belinda?” cried she at last; +“and may I still call you my friend?--and do you forgive me?--Yes, +I _see_ you do--and from you I can endure the humiliation of being +forgiven. Enjoy the noble sense of your own superiority.” + +“My dear Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “you see all this in too strong a +light: you have done me no injury--I have nothing to forgive.” + +“I _cannot_ see it in too strong a light.--Nothing to forgive!--Yes, you +have; that which it is the most difficult to forgive--injustice. Oh, how +you must have despised me for the folly, the meanness of my suspicions! +Of all tempers that which appears to me, and I am sure to you, the most +despicable, the most intolerable, is a suspicious temper. Mine was once +open, generous as your own--you see how the best dispositions may be +depraved--what am I now? Fit only + + ‘To point a moral, or adorn a tale’-- + +a mismatched, misplaced, miserable, perverted being.” + +“And now you have abused yourself till you are breathless, I may have +some chance,” said Belinda, “of being heard in your defence. I perfectly +agree with you in thinking that a suspicious temper is despicable and +intolerable; but there is a vast difference between an acute fit of +jealousy, as our friend Dr. X---- would say, and a chronic habit +of suspicion. The noblest natures may be worked up to suspicion by +designing villany; and then a handkerchief, or a hammercloth, ‘trifles +as light as air’--” + +“Oh, my dear, you are too good. But my folly admits of no excuse, no +palliation,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “mine was jealousy without +love.” + +“That indeed would admit of no excuse,” said Belinda; “therefore you +will pardon me if I think it incredible--especially as I have detected +you in feeling something like affection for your little daughter, after +you had done your best, I mean your worst, to make me believe that you +were a monster of a mother.” + +“That was quite another affair, my dear. I did not know Helena was worth +loving. I did not imagine my little daughter could love me. When I found +my mistake, I changed my tone. But there is no hope of mistake with my +poor husband. Your own sense must show you, that Lord Delacour is not a +man to beloved.” + +“That could not _always_ have been your ladyship’s opinion,” said +Belinda, with an arch smile. + +“Lord! my dear,” said Lady Delacour, a little embarrassed, “in the +highest paroxysm of my madness, I never suspected that you could _love_ +Lord Delacour; I surely only hinted that you were in love with his +coronet. That was absurd enough in all conscience--don’t make me more +absurd than I am.” + +“Is it then the height of absurdity to love a husband?” + +“Love! Nonsense!--Impossible!--Hush! here he comes, with his odious +creaking shoes. What man can ever expect to be loved who wears creaking +shoes?” pursued her ladyship, as Lord Delacour entered the room, +his shoes creaking at every step; and assuming an air of levity, she +welcomed him as a stranger to her dressing-room. “No speeches, my lord! +no speeches, I beseech you,” cried she, as he was beginning to speak to +Miss Portman. “Believe me, that explanations always make bad worse. Miss +Portman is here, thank Heaven! and her; and Champfort is gone, thank +you--or your boots. And now let us sit down to breakfast, and forget as +soon as possible every thing that is disagreeable.” + +When Lady Delacour had a mind to banish painful recollections, it was +scarcely possible to resist the magical influence of her conversation +and manners; yet her lord’s features never relaxed to a smile during +this breakfast. He maintained an obstinate silence, and a profound +solemnity--till at last, rising from table, he turned to Miss Portman, +and said, “Of all the caprices of fine ladies, that which surprises me +the most is the whim of keeping their beds without being sick. Now, Miss +Portman, you would hardly suppose that my Lady Delacour, who has been so +lively this morning, has kept her bed, as I am informed, a fortnight--is +not this astonishing?” + +“Prodigiously astonishing, that my Lord Delacour, like all the rest of +the world, should be liable to be deceived by appearances,” cried her +ladyship. “Honour me with your attention for a few minutes, my lord, and +perhaps I may increase your astonishment.” + +His lordship, struck by the sudden change of her voice from gaiety +to gravity, fixed his eyes upon her and returned to his seat. She +paused--then addressing herself to Belinda, “My incomparable friend,” + said she, “I will now give you a convincing proof of the unlimited power +you have over my mind. My lord, Miss Portman has persuaded me to the +step which I am now going to take. She has prevailed upon me to make a +decisive trial of your prudence and kindness. She has determined me to +throw myself on your mercy.” + +“Mercy!” repeated Lord Delacour; and a confused idea, that she was +now about to make a confession of the justice of some of his former +suspicions, took possession of his mind: he looked aghast. + +“I am going, my lord, to confide to you a secret of the utmost +importance--a secret which is known to but three people in the +world--Miss Portman, Marriott, and a man whose name I cannot reveal to +you.” + +“Stop, Lady Delacour!” cried his lordship, with a degree of emotion and +energy which he had never shown till now: “stop, I conjure, I command +you, madam! I am not sufficiently master of myself--I once loved you +too well to hear such a stroke. Trust me with no such secret--say no +more--you have said enough--too much. I forgive you, that is all I can +do: but we must part, Lady Delacour!” said he, breaking from her with +agony expressed in his countenance. + +“The man has a heart, a soul, I protest! You knew him better than I did, +Miss Portman. Nay, you are not gone yet, my lord! You really love me, I +find.” + +“No, no, no,” cried he, vehemently: “weak as you take me to be, Lady +Delacour, I am incapable of loving a woman who has disgraced me, +disgraced herself, her family, her station, her high endowments, her--” + His utterance failed. + +“Oh, Lady Delacour!” cried Belinda, “how can you trifle in this manner?” + +“I meant not,” said her ladyship, “to trifle: I am satisfied. My lord, +it is time that you should be satisfied. I _can_ give you the most +irrefragable proof, that whatever may have been the apparent levity of +my conduct, you have had no serious cause for jealousy. But the proof +will shock--disgust you. Have you courage to know more?--Then follow +me.” + +He followed her.--Belinda heard the boudoir door unlocked.--In a few +minutes they returned.--Grief, and horror, and pity, were painted in +Lord Delacour’s countenance, as he passed hastily through the room. + +“My dearest friend, I have taken your advice: would to Heaven I had +taken it sooner!” said Lady Delacour to Miss Portman. “I have revealed +to Lord Delacour my real situation. Poor man! he was shocked beyond +expression. He behaved incomparably well. I am convinced that he would, +as he said, let his hand be cut off to save my life. The moment his +foolish jealousy was extinguished, his love for me revived in full +force. Would you believe it? he has promised me to break with odious +Mrs. Luttridge. Upon my charging him to keep my secret from her, he +instantly, in the handsomest manner in the world, declared he would +never see her more, rather than give me a moment’s uneasiness. How I +reproach myself for having been for years the torment of this man’s +life!” + +“You may do better than reproach yourself, my dear Lady Delacour,” said +Belinda; “you may yet live for years to be the blessing and pride of his +life. I am persuaded that nothing but your despair of obtaining domestic +happiness has so long enslaved you to dissipation; and now that you find +a friend in your husband, now that you know the affectionate temper of +your little Helena, you will have fresh views and fresh hopes; you will +have the courage to live for yourself, and not for what is called the +world.” + +“The world!” cried Lady Delacour, with a tone of disdain: “how long has +that word enslaved a soul formed for higher purposes!” She paused, and +looked up towards heaven with an expression of fervent devotion, which +Belinda had once, and but once, before seen in her countenance. Then, +as if forgetful even that Belinda was present, she threw herself upon +a sofa, and fell, or seemed to fall, into a profound reverie. She +was roused by the entrance of Marriott, who came into the room to ask +whether she would now take her laudanum. “I thought I had taken it,” + said she in a feeble voice; and as she raised her eyes and saw Belinda, +she added, with a faint smile, “Miss Portman, I believe, has been +laudanum to me this morning: but even that will not do long, you see; +nothing will do for me now but _this_,” and she stretched out her hand +for the laudanum. “Is not it shocking to think,” continued she, after +she had swallowed it, “that in laudanum alone I find the means of +supporting existence?” + +She put her hand to her head, as if partly conscious of the confusion of +her own ideas: and ashamed that Belinda should witness it, she desired +Marriott to assist her to rise, and to support her to her bedchamber. +She made a sign to Miss Portman not to follow her. “Do not take it +unkindly, but I am quite exhausted, and wish to be alone; for I am grown +fond of being alone some hours in the day, and perhaps I shall sleep.” + +Marriott came out of her lady’s room about a quarter of an hour +afterward, and said that her lady seemed disposed to sleep, but that she +desired to have her hook left by her bedside. Marriott searched among +several which lay upon the table, for one in which a mark was put. +Belinda looked over them along with Marriott, and she was surprised to +find that they had almost all methodistical titles. Lady Delacour’s mark +was in the middle of Wesley’s Admonitions. Several pages in other +books of the same description Miss Portman found marked in pencil, with +reiterated lines, which she knew to be her ladyship’s customary mode of +distinguishing passages that she particularly liked. Some were highly +oratorical, but most of them were of a mystical cast, and appeared +to Belinda scarcely intelligible. She had reason to be astonished +at meeting with such books in the dressing-room of a woman of Lady +Delacour’s character. During the solitude of her illness, her ladyship +had first begun to think seriously on religious subjects, and the +early impressions that had been made on her mind in her childhood, by a +methodistical mother, recurred. Her understanding, weakened perhaps by +disease, and never accustomed to reason, was incapable of distinguishing +between truth and error; and her temper, naturally enthusiastic, hurried +her from one extreme to the other--from thoughtless scepticism to +visionary credulity. Her devotion was by no means steady or permanent; +it came on by fits usually at the time when the effect of opium was +exhausted, or before a fresh dose began to operate. In these intervals +she was low-spirited--bitter reflections on the manner in which she had +thrown away her talents and her life obtruded themselves; the idea of +the untimely death of Colonel Lawless, of which she reproached herself +as the cause, returned; and her mind, from being a prey to remorse, +began to sink in these desponding moments under the most dreadful +superstitious terrors--terrors the more powerful as they were secret. +Whilst the stimulus of laudanum lasted, the train of her ideas always +changed, and she was amazed at the weak fears and strange notions by +which she had been disturbed; yet it was not in her power entirely +to chase away these visions of the night, and they gained gradually a +dominion over her, of which she was heartily ashamed. She resolved to +conceal this _weakness_, as in her gayer moments she thought it, from +Belinda, from whose superior strength of understanding she dreaded +ridicule or contempt. Her experience of Miss Portman’s gentleness +and friendship might reasonably have prevented or dispelled such +apprehensions; but Lady Delacour was governed by pride, by sentiment, by +whim, by enthusiasm, by passion--by any thing but reason. + +When she began to revive after her fit of languor, and had been +refreshed by opium and sleep, she rang for Marriott, and inquired for +Belinda. She was much provoked when Marriott, by way of proving to her +that Miss Portman could not have been tired of being left alone, told +her that she had been in the dressing-room _rummaging over the books_. + +“What books?” cried Lady Delacour. “I forgot that _they_ were left +there. Miss Portman is not reading them still, I suppose? Go for them, +and let them be locked up in my own bookcase, and bring me the key.” + +Her ladyship appeared in good spirits when she saw Belinda again. She +rallied her upon the serious studies she had chosen for her morning’s +amusements. “Those methodistical books, with their strange quaint +titles,” said she, “are, however, diverting enough to those who, like +myself, can find diversion in the height of human absurdity.” + +Deceived by the levity of her manner, Belinda concluded that the marks +of approbation in these books were ironical, and she thought no more +of the matter; for Lady Delacour suddenly gave a new turn to the +conversation by exclaiming, “Now we talk of the height of human +absurdity, what are we to think of Clarence Hervey?” + +“Why should we think of him at all?” said Belinda. + +“For two excellent reasons, my dear: because we cannot help it, and +because he deserves it. Yes, he deserves it, believe me, if it were only +for having written these charming letters,” said Lady Delacour, opening +a cabinet, and taking out a small packet of letters, which she put +into Belinda’s hands. “Pray, read them; you will find them amazingly +edifying, as well as entertaining. I protest I am only puzzled to +know whether I shall bind them up with Sterne’s Sentimental Journey +or Fordyce’s Sermons for Young Women. Here, my love, if you like +description,” continued her ladyship, opening one of the letters, +“here is a Radcliffean tour along the picturesque coasts of Dorset and +Devonshire. Why he went this tour, unless for the pleasure and glory of +describing it, Heaven knows! Clouds and darkness rest over the tourist’s +private history: but this, of course, renders his letters more _piquant_ +and interesting. All who have a just taste either for literature or for +gallantry, know how much we are indebted to the obscure for the sublime; +and orators and lovers feel what felicity there is in the use of the +fine figure of suspension.” + +“Very good description, indeed!” said Belinda, without raising her eyes +from the letter, or seeming to pay any attention to the latter part of +Lady Delacour’s speech; “very good description, certainly!” + +“Well, my dear; but here is something better than _pure +description_--here is sense for you: and pray mark the politeness of +addressing sense to a woman--to a woman of sense, I mean--and which +of us is not? Then here is sentiment for you,” continued her ladyship, +spreading another letter before Belinda; “a story of a Dorsetshire lady, +who had the misfortune to be married to a man as _unlike_ Mr. Percival, +and as like Lord Delacour, as possible; and yet, oh, wonderful! they +make as happy a couple as one’s heart could wish. Now, I am truly candid +and good-natured to admire this letter; for every word of it is a lesson +to me, and evidently was so intended. But I take it all in good part, +because, to do Clarence justice, he describes the joys of domestic +Paradise in such elegant language, that he does not make me sick. In +short, my dear Belinda, to finish my panegyric, as it has been said of +some other epistles, if ever there were letters calculated to make you +fall in love with the writer of them, these are they.” + +“Then,” said Miss Portman, folding up the letter which she was just +going to read, “I will not run the hazard of reading them.” + +“Why, my dear,” said Lady Delacour, with a look of mingled concern, +reproach, and raillery, “have you actually given up my poor Clarence, +merely on account of this mistress in the wood, this Virginia St. +Pierre? Nonsense! Begging your pardon, my dear, the man loves you. Some +entanglement, some punctilio, some doubt, some delicacy, some folly, +prevents him from being just at this moment, where, I confess, he ought +to be--at your feet; and you, out of patience, which a young lady ought +never to be if she can help it, will go and marry--I know you will--some +stick of a rival, purely to provoke him.” + +“If ever I marry,” said Belinda, with a look of proud humility, “I shall +certainly marry to please myself, and not to provoke any body else; and, +at all events, I hope I shall never marry _a stick_.” + +“Pardon me that word,” said Lady Delacour. “I am convinced you never +will--but one is apt to judge of others by one’s self. I am willing to +believe that Mr. Vincent----” + +“Mr. Vincent! How did you know----” exclaimed Belinda. + +“How did I know? Why, my dear, do you think I am so little interested +about you, that I have not found out some of your secrets? And do +you think that Marriott could refrain from telling me, in her most +triumphant tone, that ‘Miss Portman has not gone to Oakly-park for +nothing; that she has made a conquest of a Mr. Vincent, a West Indian, a +ward, or lately a ward, of Mr. Percival’s, the handsomest man that ever +was seen, and the richest, &c. &c. &c.?’ Now simple I rejoiced at the +news; for I took it for granted you would never seriously think of +marrying the man.” + +“Then why did your ladyship rejoice?” + +“Why? Oh, you novice at Cupid’s chess-board! do not you see the next +move? Check with your new knight, and the game is your own. Now, if your +aunt Stanhope saw your look at this instant, she would give you up for +ever--if she have not done that already. In plain, unmetaphorical prose, +then, cannot you comprehend, my straight-forward Belinda, that if you +make Clarence Hervey heartily jealous, let the impediments to your union +be what they may, he will acknowledge himself to be heartily in love +with you? I should make no scruple of frightening him within an inch of +his life, for his good. Sir Philip Baddely was not the man to frighten +him; but this Mr. Vincent, by all accounts, is just the thing.” + +“And do you imagine that I could use Mr. Vincent so ill?--And can you +think me capable of such double dealing?” + +“Oh! in love and war, you know, all stratagems are allowable. But +you take the matter so seriously, and you redden with such virtuous +indignation, that I dare not say a word more--only--may I ask--are you +absolutely engaged to Mr. Vincent?” + +“No. We have had the prudence to avoid all promises, all engagements.” + +“There’s my good girl!” cried Lady Delacour, kissing her: “all may yet +turn out well. Read those letters--take them to your room, read them, +read them; and depend upon it, my dearest Belinda! you are not the +sort of woman that will, that can be happy, if you make a mere match +of convenience. Forgive me--I love you too well not to speak the truth, +though it may offend for a moment.” + +“You do not offend, but you misunderstand me,” said Belinda. “Have +patience with me, and you shall find that I am incapable of making a +mere match of convenience.” + +Then Miss Portman gave Lady Delacour a simple but full account of all +that had passed at Oakly-park relative to Mr. Vincent. She repeated the +arguments by which Lady Anne Percival had first prevailed upon her to +admit of Mr. Vincent’s addresses. She said, that she had been convinced +by Mr. Percival, that the omnipotence of a _first love_ was an idea +founded in error, and realized only in romance; and that to believe that +none could be happy in marriage, except with the first object of their +fancy or their affections, would be an error pernicious to individuals +and to society. When she detailed the arguments used by Mr. Percival on +this subject, Lady Delacour sighed, and observed that Mr. Percival was +certainly right, judging from _his own experience_, to declaim against +the folly of _first loves_; “and for the same reason,” added she, +“perhaps I may be pardoned if I retain some prejudice in their favour.” + She turned aside her head to hide a starting tear, and here the +conversation dropped. Belinda, recollecting the circumstances of her +ladyship’s early history, reproached herself for having touched on this +tender subject, yet at the same time she felt with increased force, at +this moment, the justice of Mr. Percival’s observations; for, evidently, +the hold which this prejudice had kept in Lady Delacour’s mind had +materially injured her happiness, by making her neglect, after her +marriage, all the means of content that were in her reach. Her incessant +comparisons between her _first love_ and her husband excited perpetual +contempt and disgust in her mind for her wedded lord, and for many years +precluded all perception of his good qualities, all desire to live with +him upon good terms, and all idea of securing that share of domestic +happiness that was actually in her power. Belinda resolved at some +future moment, whenever she could, with propriety and with effect, to +suggest these reflections to Lady Delacour, and in the mean time she +was determined to turn them to her own advantage. She perceived that +she should have need of all her steadiness to preserve her judgment +unbiassed by her ladyship’s wit and persuasive eloquence on the one +hand, and on the other by her own high opinion of Lady Anne Percival’s +judgment, and the anxious desire she felt to secure her approbation. The +letters from Clarence Hervey she read at night, when she retired to her +own room; and they certainly raised not only Belinda’s opinion of his +talents, but her esteem for his character. She saw that he had, +with great address, made use of the influence he possessed over Lady +Delacour, to turn her mind to every thing that could make her amiable, +estimable, and happy--she saw that Clarence, so far from attempting, for +the sake of his own vanity, to retain his pre-eminence in her ladyship’s +imagination, used on the contrary “his utmost skill” to turn the tide +of her affections toward her husband and her daughter. In one of his +letters, and but in one, he mentioned Belinda. He expressed great regret +in hearing from Lady Delacour that her friend, Miss Portman, was +no longer with her. He expatiated on the inestimable advantages and +happiness of having such a friend--but this referred to Lady Delacour, +not to himself. There was an air of much respect and some embarrassment +in all he said of Belinda, but nothing like love. A few words at the end +of this paragraph were cautiously obliterated, however; and, without +any obvious link of connexion, the writer began a new sentence with a +general reflection upon the folly and imprudence of forming romantic +projects. Then he enumerated some of the various schemes he had formed +in his early youth, and humorously recounted how they had failed, or how +they had been abandoned. Afterward, changing his tone from playful wit +to serious philosophy, he observed the changes which these experiments +had made in his own character. + +“My friend, Dr. X----,” said he, “divides mankind into three classes: +those who learn from the experience of others--they are happy men; those +who learn from their own experience--they are wise men; and, lastly, +those who learn neither from their own nor from other people’s +experience--they are fools. This class is by far the largest. I am +content,” continued Clarence, “to be in the middle class--perhaps you +will say because I cannot be in the first: however, were it in my power +to choose my own character, I should, forgive me the seeming vanity of +the speech, still be content to remain in my present station upon +this principle--the characters of those who are taught by their own +experience must be progressive in knowledge and virtue. Those who learn +from the experience of others may become stationary, because they must +depend for their progress on the experiments that we brave volunteers, +at whose expense they are to live and learn, are pleased to try. There +may be much safety in thus snugly fighting, or rather seeing the battle +of life, behind the broad shield of a stouter warrior; yet it seems to +me to be rather an ignominious than an enviable situation. + +“Our friend, Dr. X----, would laugh at my insisting upon being amongst +the class of learners by their own experience. He would ask me, whether +it be the ultimate end of my philosophy to try experiments, or to be +happy. And what answer should I make? I have none ready. Common sense +stares me in the face, and my feelings, even at this instant, alas! +confute my system. I shall pay too dear yet for some of my experiments. +‘Sois grand homme, et sois malheureux,’ is, I am afraid, the law of +nature, or rather the decree of the world. Your ladyship will not read +this without a smile; for you will immediately infer, that I think +myself a great man; and as I detest hypocrisy yet more than vanity, +I shall not deny the charge. At all events, I feel that I am at +present--however gaily I talk of it--in as fair a way to be unhappy for +life, as if I were, in good earnest, the greatest man in Europe. + +“Your ladyship’s most respectful admirer, and sincere friend, + +“CLARENCE HERVEY.” + + +“P. S.--Is there any hope that your friend, Miss Portman, may spend the +winter in town?” + +Though Lady Delacour had been much fatigued by the exertion of her +spirits during the day, she sat up at night to write to Mr. Hervey. Her +love and gratitude to Miss Portman interested her most warmly for her +happiness, and she was persuaded that the most effectual way to secure +it would be to promote her union with her _first love_. Lady Delacour, +who had also the best opinion of Clarence Hervey, and the most sincere +friendship for him, thought she was likewise acting highly for his +interest; and she felt that she had some merit in at once parting with +him from the train of her admirers, and urging him to become a dull, +married man. Besides these generous motives, she was, perhaps, a little +influenced by jealousy of the superior power which Lady Anne Percival +had in so short a time acquired over Belinda’s mind. “Strange,” thought +she, “if love and I be not a match for Lady Anne Percival and reason!” + To do Lady Delacour justice, it must be observed, that she took the +utmost care in her letter not to _commit_ her friend; she wrote with all +the delicate address of which she was mistress. She began by rallying +her correspondent on his indulging himself so charmingly in _the +melancholy of genius_; and she prescribed as a cure to her _malheureux +imaginaire_, as she called him, those joys of domestic life which he so +well knew how to paint. + +“_Précepte commence, exemple achève_,” said her ladyship. “You will +never see me _la femme comme il y en a peu_, till I see you _le bon +mari_. Belinda Portman has this day returned to me from Oakly-park, +fresh, blooming, wise, and gay, as country air, flattery, philosophy, +and love can make her. It seems that she has had full employment for +her head and heart. Mr. Percival and Lady Anne, by right of science +and reason, have taken possession of the head, and a Mr. Vincent, their +ci-devant ward and declared favourite, has laid close siege to the +heart, of which he is in a fair way, I think, to take possession, by the +right of conquest. As far as I can understand--for I have not yet seen +_le futur_--he deserves my Belinda; for besides being as handsome as any +hero of romance, ancient or modern, he has a soul in which neither +spot nor blemish can be found, except the amiable weakness of being +desperately in love--a weakness which we ladies are apt to prefer to the +most philosophic stoicism: apropos of philosophy--we may presume, +that notwithstanding Mr. V---- is a creole, he has been bred up by his +guardian in the class of men who learn by the experience of others. As +such, according to your system, he has a right to expect to be a _happy +man_, has not he? According to Mrs. Stanhope’s system, I am sure that he +has: for his thousands and tens of thousands, as I am credibly informed, +pass the comprehension of the numeration table. + +“But these will weigh not a grain in the estimation of her truly +disinterested and noble-minded niece. Mrs. Stanhope knows nothing of +Mr. Vincent’s proposals; and it is well for him she does not, for her +worldly good word would mar the whole. Not so as to Lady Anne and Mr. +Percival’s approbation--their opinion is all in all with my friend. How +they have contrived it, I know not, but they have gained over Belinda’s +mind a degree of power almost equal to parental authority; so you may +guess that the doubtful beam will not much longer nod from side to +side: indeed it seems to me scarcely necessary to throw in the sword of +authority to turn the scale. + +“If you can persuade yourself to finish your picturesque tour before the +ides of the charming month of November, do, my dear Clarence! make haste +and come back to us in time for Belinda’s wedding--and do not forget my +commission about the Dorsetshire angel; bring me one in your right hand +with a gold ring upon her taper finger--so help you, Cupid! or never +more expect a smile + +“From your sincere friend and admirer, + +“T.C.H. DELACOUR.” + +“P.S. Observe, my good sir, that I am not in such a desperate hurry to +congratulate you on your marriage, that I should be satisfied with an +ordinary Mrs. Hervey: so do not, under pretence of obliging me, or for +any other consideration, yoke yourself to some damsel that you will be +ashamed to produce. For one woman worthy to be Clarence Hervey’s wife, I +have seen, at a moderate computation, a hundred fit to be his mistress. +If he should, on this subject, mistake the _fitness of things or of +persons_, he would indeed be _in a fair way to be unhappy for life_. + +“The substance of a lady’s letter, it has been said, always is comprised +in the postscript.” + + +After Lady Delacour had finished this letter, which she had no doubt +would bring Clarence immediately to town, she left it with Marriott, +with orders to have it sent by the next post. Much fatigued, she then +retired to rest, and was not visible the next day till near dinner-time. +When Miss Portman returned the packet of Mr. Hervey’s letters, +her ladyship was dissatisfied with the measured terms of Belinda’s +approbation, and she said, with a sarcastic smile, “So, they have made a +complete philosopher of you at Oakly-park! You are perfect in the first +lesson--not to admire. And is the torch of Cupid to be extinguished on +the altar of Reason?” + +“Rather to be lighted there, if possible,” said Belinda; and she +endeavoured to turn the conversation to what she thought must be more +immediately interesting to Lady Delacour--her own health. She assured +her, with perfect truth, that she was at present more intent upon her +situation than upon Cupid or his torch. + +“I believe you, my generous Belinda!” said Lady Delacour; “and for that +very reason I am interested in your affairs, I am afraid, even to the +verge of impertinence. May I ask why this _preux chevalier_ of yours did +not attend you, or follow you to town?” + +“Mr. Vincent?--He knew that I came to attend your ladyship. I told him +that you had been confined by a nervous fever, and that it would be +impossible for me to see him at present; but I promised, when you could +spare me, to return to Oakly-park.” + +Lady Delacour sighed, and opened Clarence Hervey’s letters one after +another, looking over them without seeming well to know what she was +about. Lord Delacour came into the room whilst these letters were still +in her hand. He had been absent since the preceding morning, and he now +seemed as if he were just come home, much fatigued. He began in a tone +of great anxiety to inquire after Lady Delacour’s health. She was piqued +at his having left home at such a time, and, merely bowing her head to +him, she went on reading. His eyes glanced upon the letters which she +held in her hand; and when he saw the well-known writing of Clarence +Hervey, his manner immediately altered, and, stammering out some +common-place phrases, he threw himself into an arm-chair by the +fireside, protesting that he was tired to death--that he was half +dead--that he had been in a post-chaise for three hours, which he +hated--had ridden fifty miles since yesterday; and he muttered that he +was a fool for his pains--an observation which, though it reached her +ladyship’s ears, she did not think proper to contradict. + +His lordship had then recourse to his watch, his never-failing friend +in need, which he always pulled out with a particular jerk when he was +vexed. + +“It is time for me to be gone--I shall be late at Studley’s.” + +“You dine with his lordship then?” said Lady Delacour, in a careless +tone. + +“Yes; and his good burgundy, I hope, will wind me up again,” said he, +stretching himself, “for I am quite down.” + +“Quite down? Then we may conclude that my friend Mrs. Luttridge is not +yet come to _Rantipole_. Rantipole, my dear,” continued Lady Delacour, +turning to Miss Portman, “is the name of Harriot Freke’s villa in Kent. +However strange it may sound to your ears and mine, I can assure you +the name has _made fortune_ amongst a certain description of wits. And +candour must allow that, if not elegant, it is appropriate; it gives a +just idea of the manners and way of life of the place, for every thing +at Rantipole is rantipole. But I am really concerned, my lord, you +should have ridden yourself down in this way for nothing. Why did not +you get better intelligence before you set out? I am afraid you feel +the loss of Champfort. Why did not you contrive to learn for certain, my +dear good lord, whether _the Luttridge_ was at Rantipole, before you set +out on this wild goose chase?” + +“My dear good lady,” replied Lord Delacour, assuming a degree of spirit +which startled her as much as it became him, “why do you not get better +intelligence before you suspect me of being a brute and a liar? Did not +I promise you yesterday, that I would break with _the Luttridge_, as you +call her? and how could you imagine that the instant afterwards, just +at the time I was wrung to the soul, as you know I was--how could you +imagine I would leave you to go to Rantipole, or to any woman upon +earth?” + +“Oh, my lord! I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon a thousand times,” + cried Lady Delacour, rising with much emotion; and, going towards him +with a sudden impulse, she kissed his forehead. + +“And so you ought to beg my pardon,” said Lord Delacour, in a faltering +voice, but without moving his posture. + +“You will acknowledge you left me, however, my lord? That is clear.” + +“Left you! Yes, so I did; to ride all over the country in search of a +house that would suit you. For what else did you think I _could_ leave +you at such a time as this?” + +Lady Delacour again stooped, and leaned her arm upon his shoulder. + +“I wish to Heaven, my dear,” said his lordship, shrinking as he put away +her hand, which still held Clarence Hervey’s letters, “I wish to Heaven, +my dear, you would not hold those abominable perfumed papers just under +my very nose. You know I cannot stand perfumes.” + +“Are they perfumed? Ay; so every thing is that I keep in that cabinet +of curiosities. Thank you, my dear Miss Portman,” said her ladyship, +as Belinda rose to take the letters from her hand. “Will you have the +goodness to put them back into their cabinet, if you can endure to touch +them, if the perfume has not overcome you as well as my lord? After all, +it is only ottar of roses, to which few people’s olfactory nerves have +an antipathy.” + +“I have the honour to be one of the few,” said his lordship, rising +from his seat with so sudden a motion as to displace Lady Delacour’s arm +which leaned upon him. “For my part,” continued he, taking down one +of the Argand lamps from the chimney-piece, and trimming it, “I would +rather a hundred to one snuff up the oil of this cursed lamp.” + +Whilst his lordship applied himself to trimming the lamp with great +earnestness, Lady Delacour negligently walked away to the farthest +end of the room, where stood the cabinet, which Belinda was trying to +unlock. + +“Stay, my love; it has a secret lock, which I alone can manage.” + +“Oh, my dear Lady Delacour!” whispered Belinda, holding her hand as +she gave her the key, “I never can love or esteem you if you use Lord +Delacour ill now.” + +“Ill now? ill now? This lock is spoilt, I do believe,” said she aloud. + +“Nay, you understand me, Lady Delacour! You see what is passing in his +mind.” + +“To be sure: I am not a fool, though he is. I see he is jealous, though +he has had such _damning proof_ that all’s right--the man’s a fool, +that’s all. Are you sure this is the key I gave you, my dear?” + +“And can you think him a fool,” pursued Belinda, in a still more earnest +whisper, “for being more jealous of your mind than of your person? Fools +have seldom so much penetration, or so much delicacy.” + +“But, Lord! what would you have me do? what would you have me say? That +Lord Delacour writes better letters than these?” + +“Oh, no! but show him these letters, and you will do justice to him, to +yourself, to Cla----, to every body.” + +“I am sure I should be happy to do justice to _every body_.” + +“Then pray do this very instant, my dearest Lady Delacour! and I shall +love you for it all my life.” + +“Done!--for who can withstand that offer?--Done!” said her ladyship. +Then turning to Lord Delacour, “My lord, will you come here and tell us +what can be the matter with this lock?” + +“If the lock be spoiled, Lady Delacour, you had better send for a +locksmith,” replied his lordship, who was still employed about the +wick of the Argand: “I am no locksmith--I do not pretend to understand +locks--especially secret locks.” + +“But you will not desert us at our utmost need, I am sure, my lord,” + said Belinda, approaching him with a conciliatory smile. + +“You want the light, I believe, more than I do,” said his lordship, +advancing with the lamp to meet her. “Well! what is the matter with this +confounded lock of yours, Lady Delacour? I know I should be at Studley’s +by this time--but how in the devil’s name can you expect me to open a +secret lock when I do not know the secret, Lady Delacour?” + +“Then I will tell you the secret, Lord Delacour--that there is no secret +at all in the lock, or in the letters. Here, if you can stand the odious +smell of ottar of roses, take these letters and read them, foolish man; +and keep them till the shocking perfume is gone off.” + +Lord Delacour could scarcely believe his senses; he looked in Lady +Delacour’s eyes to see whether he had understood her rightly. + +“But I am afraid,” said she, smiling, “that you will find the perfume +too overcoming.” + +“Not half so overcoming,” cried he, seizing her hand, and kissing it +often with eager tenderness, “not half so overcoming as this confidence, +this kindness, this condescension from you.” + +“Miss Portman will think us both a couple of old fools,” said her +ladyship, making a slight effort to withdraw her hand. “But she is +almost as great a simpleton herself, I think,” continued she, observing +that the tears stood in Belinda’s eyes. + +“My lord,” said a footman who came in at this instant, “do you dress? +The carriage is at the door, as you ordered, to go to Lord Studley’s.” + +“I’d see Lord Studley at the devil, sir, and his burgundy along with +him, before I’d go to him to-day; and you may tell him so, if you +please,” cried Lord Delacour. + +“Very well, my lord,” said the footman. + +“My lord dines at home--they may put up the carriage--that’s all,” said +Lady Delacour: “only let us have dinner directly,” added she, as the +servant shut the door. “Miss Portman will be famished amongst us: there +is no living upon sentiment.” + +“And there is no living with such belles without being something more of +a beau,” said Lord Delacour, looking at his splashed boots. “I will +be ready for dinner before dinner is ready for me.” With activity very +unusual to him, he hurried out of the room to change his dress. + +“O day of wonders!” exclaimed Lady Delacour. “And, O night of wonders! +if we can get him through the evening without the help of Lord Studley’s +wine. You must give us some music, my good Belinda, and make him +accompany you with his flute. I can tell you he has really a very pretty +taste for music, and knows fifty times more of the matter than half +the dilettanti, who squeeze the human face divine into all manner of +ridiculous shapes, by way of persuading you that they are in ecstasy! +And, my dear, do not forget to show us the charming little portfolio of +drawings that you have brought from Oakly-park. Lord Delacour was with +me at Harrowgate in the days of his courtship: he knows the charming +views that you have been taking about Knaresborough and Fountain’s +Abbey, and all those places. I will answer for it, he remembers them +a hundred times better than I do. And, my love, I assure you he is a +better judge of drawing than many whom we saw ogling Venus rising from +the sea, in the Orleans gallery. Lord Delacour has let his talents go to +sleep in a shameless manner; but really he has talents, if they could be +wakened. By-the-by, pray make him tell you the story of Lord Studley’s +original Titian: he tells that story with real humour. Perhaps you have +not found it out, but Lord Delacour has a vast deal of drollery in his +own way, and----” + +“Dinner’s ready, my lady!” + +“That is a pity!” whispered Lady Delacour; “for if they had let me go +on in my present humour, I should have found out that my lord has every +accomplishment under the sun, and every requisite under the moon, to +make the marriage state happy.” + +With the assistance of Belinda’s portfolio and her harp, and the +good-humour and sprightliness of Lady Delacour’s wit, his lordship +got through the evening much to his own satisfaction. He played on the +flute, he told the story of Studley’s original Titian, and he detected a +fault that had escaped Mr. Percival in the perspective of Miss Portman’s +sketch of Fountain’s Abbey. The perception that his talents were _called +out_, and that he appeared to unusual advantage, made him _excellent +company_: he found that the spirits can be raised by self-complacency +even more agreeably than by burgundy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +HELENA + + +Whilst they were at breakfast the next morning in Lady Delacour’s +dressing-room, Marriott knocked at the door, and immediately opening +it, exclaimed in a joyful tone, “Miss Portman, they’re eating it! Ma’am, +they’re eating it as fast as ever they can!” + +“Bring them in; your lady will give you leave, Marriott, I fancy,” said +Miss Portman. Marriott brought in her gold fishes; some green leaves +were floating on the top of the water in the glass globe. + +“See, my lady,” said she, “what Miss Portman has been so good as to +bring from Oakly-park for my poor gold fishes, who, I am sure, ought +to be much obliged to her, as well as myself.” Marriott set the globe +beside her lady, and retired. + +“From Oakly-park! And by what name impossible to pronounce must I call +these green leaves, to please botanic ears?” said Lady Delacour. + +“This,” replied Belinda, “is what + + ‘Th’unlearned, duckweed--learned, lemna, call; + +and it is to be found in any ditch or standing pool.” + +“And what possessed you, my dear, for the sake of Marriott and her gold +fishes, to trouble yourself to bring such stuff a hundred and seventy +miles?” + +“To oblige little Charles Percival,” said Miss Portman. “He was anxious +to keep his promise of sending it to your Helena. She found out in some +book that she was reading with him last summer, that gold fishes are +fond of this plant; and I wish,” added Belinda, in a timid voice, “that +she were here at this instant to see them eat it.” + +Lady Delacour was silent for some minutes, and kept her eye steadily +upon the gold fishes. At length she said, “I never shall forget how +well the poor little creature behaved about those gold fishes. I +grew amazingly fond of her whilst she was with me. But you know, +circumstanced as I was, after you left me, I could not have her at +home.” + +“But now I am here,” said Belinda, “will she he any trouble to you? And +will she not make your home more agreeable to you, and to Lord Delacour, +who was evidently very fond of her?” + +“Ah, my dear!” said Lady Delacour, “you forget, and so do I at times, +what I have to go through. It is in vain to talk, to think of making +home, or any place, or any thing, or any person, agreeable to me now. +What am I? The outside rind is left--the sap is gone. The tree lasts +from day to day by miracle--it cannot last long. You would not wonder to +hear me talk in this way, if you knew the terrible time I had last night +after we parted. But I have these nights constantly now. Let us talk of +something else. What have you there--a manuscript?” + +“Yes, a little journal of Edward Percival’s, which he sent for the +entertainment of Helena.” + +Lady Delacour stretched out her hand for it. “The boy will write as like +his father as possible,” said she, turning over the leaves. “I wish +to have this poor girl with me--but I have no spirits. And you know, +whenever Lord Delacour can find a house that will suit us, we shall +leave town, and I could not take Helena with me. But this may be the +last opportunity I may ever have of seeing her; and I _can_ refuse you +nothing, my dear. So will you go for her? She can stay with us a few +days. Lady Boucher, that most convenient dowager, who likes going about, +no matter where, all the morning, will go with you to Mrs. Dumont’s +academy in Sloane-street. I would as soon go to a bird-fancier’s as to a +boarding-school for young ladies: indeed, I am not well enough to go +any where. So I will throw myself upon a sofa, and read this child’s +journal. I wonder how that or any thing else can interest me now.” + +Belinda, who had been used to the variations of Lady Delacour’s spirits, +was not much alarmed by the despondent strain in which she now spoke, +especially when she considered that the thoughts of the dreadful trial +this unfortunate woman was soon to go through must naturally depress +her courage. Rejoiced at the permission that she had obtained to go for +Helena, Miss Portman sent immediately to Lady Boucher, who took her to +Sloane-street. + +“Now, my dear, considerate Miss Portman,” said Lady Boucher, “I must +beg, and request that you will hurry Miss Delacour into the carriage +as fast as possible. I have not a moment to spare; for I am to be at a +china auction at two, that I would not miss for the whole world. Well, +what’s the matter with the people? Why does not James knock at the door? +Can’t the man read? Can’t the man see?” cried the purblind dowager. “Is +not that Mrs. Dumont’s name on the door before his eyes?” + +“No, ma’am, I believe this name is Ellicot,” said Belinda. + +“Ellicot, is it? Ay, true. But what’s the man stopping for, then? Mrs. +Dumont’s is the next door, tell the blind dunce. Mercy on us! To waste +one’s time in this way! I shall, as sure as fate, be too late for the +china auction. What upon earth stops us?” + +“Nothing but a little covered cart, which stands at Mrs. Dumont’s door. +There, now it is going; an old man is drawing it out of the way as fast +as he can.” + +“Open the coach-door, James!” cried Lady Boucher the moment that they +had drawn up. “Now, my dear, considerate Miss Portman, remember the +auction, and don’t let Miss Delacour stay to change her dress or any +thing.” + +Belinda promised not to detain her ladyship a minute. The door at Mrs. +Dumont’s was open, and a servant was assisting an old man to carry in +some geraniums and balsams out of the covered cart which had stopped the +way. In the hall a crowd of children were gathered round a high stand, +on which they were eagerly arranging their flower-pots; and the busy hum +of voices was so loud, that when Miss Portman first went in, she could +neither hear the servant, nor make him hear her name. Nothing was to be +heard but “Oh, how beautiful! Oh, how sweet! That’s mine! That’s yours! +The great rose geranium for Miss Jefferson! The white Provence rose for +Miss Adderly! No, indeed, Miss Pococke, that’s for Miss Delacour; the +old man said so.” + +“_Silence, silence, mesdemoiselles!_” cried the voice of a French woman, +and all was silence. The little crowd looked towards the hall door; +and from the midst of her companions, Helena Delacour, who now caught +a glimpse of Belinda, sprang forward, throwing down her white Provence +rose as she passed. + +“Lady Boucher’s compliments, ma’am,” said the servant to Mrs. Dumont; +“she’s in indispensable haste, and she begs you won’t let Miss Delacour +think of changing her dress.” + +It was the last thing of which Miss Delacour was likely to think at this +instant. She was so much overjoyed, when she heard that Belinda was come +by her mamma’s desire to take her home, that she would scarcely stay +whilst Mrs. Dumont was tying on her straw hat, and exhorting her to let +Lady Delacour know how it happened that she was “so far from fit to be +seen.” + +“Yes, ma’am; yes, ma’am, I’ll remember; I’ll be sure to remember,” said +Helena, tripping down the steps. But just as she was getting into the +carriage she stopped at the sight of the old man, and exclaimed, “Oh, +good old man! I must not forget you.” + +“Yes, indeed, you must, though, my dear Miss Delacour,” said Lady +Boucher, pulling her into the carriage: “‘tis no time to think of good +old men now.” + +“But I must. Dear Miss Portman, will you speak for me? I must pay--I +must settle--and I have a great deal to say.” + +Miss Portman desired the old man to call in Berkley-square at Lady +Delacour’s; and this satisfying all parties, they drove away. + +When they arrived in Berkley-square, Marriott told them that her lady +was just gone to lie down. Edward Percival’s little journal, which she +had been reading, was left on the sofa, and Belinda gave it to Helena, +who eagerly began to look over it. + +“Thirteen pages! Oh, how good he has been to write so much for me!” said +she; and she had almost finished reading it before her mother came into +the room. + +Lady Delacour shrunk back as her daughter ran towards her; for she +recollected too well the agony she had once suffered from an embrace of +Helena’s. The little girl appeared more grieved than surprised at this; +and after kissing her mother’s hand, without speaking, she again looked +down at the manuscript. + +“Does that engross your attention so entirely, my dear,” said Lady +Delacour, “that you can neither spare one word nor one look for your +mother?” + +“Oh, mamma! I only tried to read, because I thought you were angry with +me.” + +“An odd reason for trying to read, my dear!” said Lady Delacour with a +smile: “have you any better reason for thinking I was angry with you?” + +“Ah, I know you are not angry now, for you smile,” said Helena; “but +I thought at first that you were, mamma, because you gave me only your +hand to kiss.” + +“Only my hand! The next time, simpleton, I’ll give you only my foot +to kiss,” said her ladyship, sitting down, and holding out her foot +playfully. + +Her daughter threw aside the book, and kneeling down kissed her foot, +saying, in a low voice, “Dear mamma, I never was so happy in my life; +for you never looked so very, _very_ kindly at me before.” + +“Do not judge always of the kindness people feel for you, child, by +their looks; and remember that it is _possible_ a person might have felt +more than you could guess by their looks. Pray now, Helena, you are such +a good judge of physiognomy, should you guess that I was dying, by my +looks?” + +The little girl laughed, and repeated “Dying? Oh, no, mamma.” + +“Oh, no! because I have such a fine colour in my cheeks, hey?” + +“Not for that reason, mamma,” said Helena, withdrawing her eyes from her +mother’s face. + +“What, then you know rouge already when you see it?--You perceive some +difference, for instance, between Miss Portman’s colour and mine? Upon +my word, you are a nice observer. Such nice observers are sometimes +dangerous to have near one.” + +“I hope, mother,” said Helena, “that you do not think I would try to +find out any thing that you wish, or that I imagined you wished, I +should not know.” + +“I do not understand you, child,” cried Lady Delacour, raising herself +suddenly upon the sofa, and looking full in her daughter’s face. + +Helena’s colour rose to her temples; but, with a firmness that surprised +even Belinda, she repeated what she had said nearly in the same words. + +“Do you understand her, Miss Portman?” said Lady Delacour. + +“She expresses, I think,” said Belinda, “a very honourable sentiment, +and one that is easily understood.” + +“Ay, in general, certainly,” said Lady Delacour, checking herself; “but +I thought that she meant to allude to something in particular--_that_ +was what I did not understand. Undoubtedly, my dear, you have just +expressed a very honourable sentiment, and one that I should scarcely +have expected from a child of your age. + +“Helena, my dear,” said her mother, after a silence of some minutes, +“did you ever read the Arabian Tales?--‘Yes, mamma,’ I know must be the +answer. But do you remember the story of Zobeide, who carried the porter +home with her on condition that, let him hear or see what he might, he +would ask no questions?” + +“Yes, mamma.” + +“On the same conditions should you like to stay with me for a few days?” + +“Yes. On any conditions, mamma, I should like to stay with you.” + +“Agreed, then, my dear!” said Lady Delacour. “Now let us go to the gold +fishes, and see them eat lemna, or whatever you please to call it.” + +While they were looking at the gold fishes, the old man, who had been +desired by Miss Portman to call, arrived. “Who is this fine, gray-haired +old man?” said Lady Delacour. Helena, who did not know the share which +Belinda’s aunt and her own mother had in the transaction, began with +great eagerness to tell the history of the poor gardener, who had been +cheated by some fine ladies out of his aloe, &c. She then related how +kind Lady Anne Percival and her Aunt Margaret had been to him; that +they had gotten him a place as a gardener at Twickenham; and that he +had pleased the family to whom he was recommended so much by his good +behaviour, that, as they were leaving their house, and obliged to part +with him, they had given him all the geraniums and balsams out of the +green-house of which he had the care, and these he had been this day +selling to the young ladies at Mrs. Dumont’s. “I received the money for +him, and I was just going to pay him,” said Helena, “when Miss Portman +came; and that put every thing else out of my head. May I go and give +him his money now, mamma?” + +“He can wait a few minutes,” said Lady Delacour, who had listened to +this story with much embarrassment and impatience. “Before you go, +Helena, favour us with the names of _the fine ladies who cheated_ this +old gardener out of his aloe.” + +“Indeed, mamma, I don’t know their names.” + +“No!--Did you never ask Lady Anne Percival, or your aunt Margaret?--Look +in my face, child! Did they never inform you?” + +“No, ma’am, never. I once asked Lady Anne, and she said that she did not +choose to tell me; that it would be of no use to me to know.” + +“I give Lady Anne Percival more credit and more thanks for this,” cried +Lady Delacour, “than for all the rest. I see she has not attempted to +lower me in my child’s opinion. I am the fine lady, Helena--I was +the cause of his being cheated--I was intent upon _the noble end_ of +outshining a certain Mrs. Luttridge--the _noble means_ I left to others, +and the means have proved worthy of the end. I deserve to be brought +to shame for my folly; yet my being ashamed will do nobody any good but +myself. Restitution is in these cases the best proof of repentance. Go, +Helena, my love! settle your little affairs with this old man, and bid +him call here again to-morrow. I will see what we can do for him.” + +Lord Delacour had this very morning sent home to her ladyship a handsome +diamond ring, which had been intended as a present for Mrs. Luttridge, +and which he imagined would therefore be peculiarly acceptable to his +lady. In the evening, when his lordship asked her how she liked the +ring, which he desired the jeweller to leave for her to look at it, she +answered, that it was a handsome ring, but that she hoped he had not +purchased it for her. + +“It is not actually bought, my dear,” said his lordship; “but if it +suits your fancy, I hope you will do me the honour to wear it for my +sake.” + +“I will wear it for your sake, my lord,” said Lady Delacour, “if you +desire it; and as a mark of your regard it is agreeable: but as to the +rest-- + + ‘My taste for diamonds now is o’er, + The sparkling baubles please no more.’ + +If you wish to do me a kindness, I will tell you what I should like much +better than diamonds, though I know it is rather ungracious to dictate +the form and fashion of a favour. But as my dictatorship in all human +probability cannot last much longer--” + +“Oh, my dear Lady Delacour! I must not hear you talk in this manner: +your dictatorship, as you call it, will I hope last many, many happy +years. But to the point--what should you like better, my dear, than this +foolish ring?” + +Her ladyship then expressed her wish that a small annuity might be +settled upon a poor old man, whom she said she had unwittingly injured. +She told the story of the rival galas and the aloe, and concluded by +observing, that her lord was in some measure called upon to remedy +part of the unnumbered ills which had sprung from her hatred of Mrs. +Luttridge, as he had originally been the cause of her unextinguishable +ire. Lord Delacour was flattered by this hint, and the annuity was +immediately promised to the old gardener. + +In talking to this old man afterward, Lady Delacour found, that the +family in whose service he lately lived had a house at Twickenham that +would just answer her purpose. Lord Delacour’s inquiries had hitherto +been unsuccessful; he was rejoiced to find what he wanted just as he +was giving up the search. The house was taken, and the old man hired +as gardener--a circumstance which seemed to give him almost as much +pleasure as the annuity; for there was a morello cherry-tree in the +garden which had succeeded the aloe in his affection: “it would have +grieved him sorely,” he said, “to leave his favourite tree to strangers, +after all the pains he had been at _in netting_ it to keep off the +birds.” + +As the period approached when her fate was to be decided, Lady +Delacour’s courage seemed to rise; and at the same time her anxiety, +that her secret should not be discovered, appeared to increase. + +“If I survive _this business_,” said she, “it is my firm intention to +appear in a new character, or rather to assert my real character. I will +break through the spell of dissipation--I will at once cast off all the +acquaintance that are unworthy of me--I will, in one word, go with you, +my dear Belinda, to Mr. Percival’s. I can bear to be mortified for my +good; and I am willing, since I find that Lady Anne Percival has behaved +generously to me, with regard to Helena’s affections, I am willing that +the recovery of my moral health should be attributed to the salubrious +air of Oakly-park. But it would be inexpressible, intolerable +mortification to me, to have it said or suspected in the world of +fashion, that I retreated from the ranks disabled instead of disgusted. +A voluntary retirement is graceful and dignified; a forced retreat is +awkward and humiliating. You must be sensible that I could not endure to +have it whispered--‘Lady Delacour now sets up for being a prude, because +she can no longer be a coquette.’ Lady Delacour would become the subject +of witticisms, epigrams, caricatures without end. It would just be the +very thing for Mrs. Luttridge; then she would revenge herself without +mercy for _the ass and her panniers_. We should have ‘Lord and Lady +D----, or the Domestic Tête-à-tête,’ or ‘The Reformed Amazon,’ stuck +up in a print-shop window! Oh, my dear, think of seeing such a thing! I +should die with vexation; and of all deaths, that is the death I should +like the least.” + +Though Belinda could not entirely enter into those feelings, which +thus made Lady Delacour invent wit against herself, and anticipate +caricatures; yet she did every thing in her power to calm her ladyship’s +apprehension of a discovery. + +“My dear,” said Lady Delacour, “I have perfect confidence in Lord +Delacour’s promise, and in his good-nature, of which he has within these +few days given me proofs that are not lost upon my heart; but he is not +the most discreet man in the world. Whenever he is anxious about any +thing, you may read it a mile off in his eyes, nose, mouth, and chin. +And to tell you all my fears in one word, Marriott informed me this +morning, that _the Luttridge_, who came from Harrowgate to Rantipole, +to meet Lord Delacour, finding that there was no drawing him to her, has +actually brought herself to town. + +“To town!--At this strange time of year! How will my lord resist this +unequivocal, unprecedented proof of passion? If she catch hold of him +again, I am undone. Or, even suppose him firm as a rock, her surprise, +her jealousy, her curiosity, will set all engines at work, to find out +by what witchcraft I have taken my husband from her. Every precaution +that prudence could devise against her malicious curiosity I have taken. +Marriott, you know, is above all temptation. That vile wretch (naming +the person whose quack medicines had nearly destroyed her), that vile +wretch will be silent from fear, for his own sake. He is yet to be paid +and dismissed. That should have been done long ago, but I had not money +both for him and Mrs. Franks the milliner. She is now paid: and Lord +Delacour--I am glad to tell his friend how well he deserves her good +opinion--Lord Delacour in the handsomest manner supplied me with the +means of satisfying this man. He is to be here at three o’clock to-day; +and this is the last interview he will ever have with Lady Delacour in +_the mysterious boudoir_.” + +The fears which her ladyship expressed of Mrs. Luttridge’s malicious +curiosity were not totally without foundation. Champfort was at work for +her and for himself. The memorable night of Lady Delacour’s overturn, +and the bustle that Marriott made about the key of the boudoir, were +still fresh in his memory; and he was in hopes that, if he could +discover the mystery, he should at once regain his power over Lord +Delacour, reinstate himself in his lucrative place, and obtain a +handsome reward, or, more properly speaking, bribe, from Mrs. Luttridge. +The means of obtaining information of all that passed in Lady Delacour’s +family were, he thought, still in his power, though he was no longer +an inmate of the house. The _stupid maid_ was not so stupid as to be +impenetrable to the voice of flattery, or, as Mr. Champfort called +it, the voice of love. He found it his interest to court, and she her +pleasure to be courted. On these “coquettes of the _second_ table,” + on these underplots in the drama, much of the comedy, and some of the +tragedy, of life depend. Under the unsuspected mask of stupidity this +worthy mistress of our intriguing valet-de-chambre concealed the quick +ears of a listener, and the demure eyes of a spy. Long, however, did she +listen, and long did she spy in vain, till at last Mr. Champfort gave +her notice in writing that his love would not last another week, unless +she could within that time contrive to satisfy his curiosity; and that, +in short, she _must_ find out the reason why the boudoir was always +locked, and why Mrs. Marriott alone was to be trusted with the key. Now +it happened that this billet-doux was received on the very day appointed +for Lady Delacour’s last interview with the quack surgeon in the +mysterious boudoir. Marriott, as it was her custom upon such occasions, +let the surgeon in, and showed him up the back stairs into the boudoir, +locked the door, and bade him wait there till her lady came. The man had +not been punctual to the hour appointed; and Lady Delacour, giving up +all expectation of his coming till the next day, had retired to her +bedchamber, where she of late usually at this hour secluded herself to +read methodistical books, or to sleep. Marriott, when she went up to +let her lady know that _the person_, as she always called him, was come, +found her so fast asleep that she thought it a pity to waken her, as she +had not slept at all the preceding night. She shut the door very softly, +and left her lady to repose. At the bottom of the stairs she was met by +_the stupid maid_, whom she immediately despatched with orders to wash +some lace: “Your lady’s asleep,” said she, “and pray let me have no +running up and down stairs.” The room into which the stupid maid went +was directly underneath the boudoir; and whilst she was there she +thought that she heard the steps of a man’s foot walking over head. She +listened more attentively--she heard them again. She armed herself +with a glass of jelly in her hand, _for my lady_, and hurried up stairs +instantly to _my lady’s_ room. She was much surprised to see my lady +fast asleep. Her astonishment at finding that Mrs. Marriott had told her +the truth was such, as for a moment to bereave her of all presence of +mind, and she stood with the door ajar in her hand. As thus she stood +she was roused by the sound of some one clearing his throat very softly +in the boudoir--_his_ throat; for she recollected the footsteps she +had heard before, and she was convinced it could be no other than a +masculine throat. She listened again, and stooped down to try whether +any feet could be seen under the door. As she was in this attitude, her +lady suddenly turned on her bed, and the book which she had been reading +fell from the pillow to the floor with a noise, that made the listener +start up instantaneously in great terror. The noise, however, did not +waken Lady Delacour, who was in that dead sleep which is sometimes the +effect of opium. The noise was louder than what could have been made by +the fall of a book alone, and the girl descried a key that had fallen +along with the book. It occurred to her that this might possibly be the +key of the boudoir. From one of those irresistible impulses which some +people make an excuse for doing whatever they please, she seized it, +resolved at all hazards to open the mysterious door. She was cautiously +putting the key into the key-hole, so as not to make the least noise, +when she was suddenly startled by a voice behind her, which said, “Who +gave you leave to open that door?” + +She turned, and saw Helena standing at the half open bedchamber door. + +“Mercy, Miss Delacour! who thought of seeing you? For God’s sake, don’t +make a noise to waken my lady!” + +“Did my mother desire you to go into that room?” repeated Helena. + +“Dear me! no, miss,” said the maid, putting on her stupid face; “but +I only thought to open the door, to let in a little air to freshen the +room, which my lady always likes, and bids me to do--and I thought--” + +Helena took the key gently from her hand without listening to any more +of her thoughts, and the woman left the room muttering something about +_jelly_ and _my lady_, Helena went to the side of her mother’s bed, +determined to wait there till she awakened, then to give her the key, +and tell her the circumstance. Notwithstanding the real simplicity of +this little girl’s character, she was, as her mother had discovered, _a +nice observer_, and she had remarked that her mother permitted no one +but Marriott to go into the boudoir. This remark did not excite her +to dive into the mystery: on the contrary, she carefully repressed all +curiosity, remembering the promise she had given to her mother when she +talked of Zobeide and the porter. She had not been without temptation to +break this promise; for the maid who usually attended her toilette had +employed every art in her power to stimulate her curiosity. As she was +dressing Helena this morning, she had said to her, “The reason I was so +late calling you, miss, this morning, was because I was so late +myself last night; for I went to the play, miss, last night, which was +Bluebeard. Lord bless us! I’m sure, if I had been Bluebeard’s wife, I +should have opened the door, if I’d died for it; for to have the notion +of living all day long, and all night too, in a house in which there +was a room that one was never to go into, is a thing I could not put up +with.” Then after a pause, and after waiting in vain for some reply +from Helena, she added, “Pray, Miss Delacour, did you ever go into that +little room within my lady’s bedchamber, that Mrs. Marriott keeps the +key of always?” + +“No,” said Helena. + +“I’ve often wondered what’s in it: but then that’s only because I’m a +simpleton. I thought to be sure, _you_ knew.” + +Observing that Helena looked much displeased, she broke off her speech, +hoping that what she had said would operate in due time, and that she +should thus excite the young lady to get the secret from Marriott, which +she had no doubt afterward of _worming_ from Miss Delacour. + +In all this she calculated ill; for what she had said only made Helena +distrust and dislike her. It was the recollection of this conversation +that made her follow the maid to her mother’s bedchamber, to see what +detained her there so long. Helena had heard Marriott say, that “she +ought not to run up and down stairs, because her lady was asleep,” and +it appeared extraordinary that but a few minutes after this information +she should have gone into the room with a glass of jelly in her hand. + +“Ah, mamma!” thought Helena, as she stood beside her mother’s bed, “you +did not understand, and perhaps you did not believe me, when I said that +I would not try to find out any thing that you wished me not to know. +Now I hope you will _understand_ me better.” + +Lady Delacour opened her eyes: “Helena,” cried she, starting up, “how +came you by that key?” + +“Oh, mother! don’t look as if you suspected me.” She then told her +mother how the key came into her hands. + +“My dear child, you have done me an essential service,” said Lady +Delacour: “you know not its importance, at least in my estimation. But +what gives me infinitely more satisfaction, you have proved yourself +worthy of my esteem--my love.” + +Marriott came into the room, and whispered a few words to her lady. + +“You may speak out, Marriott, before my Helena,” said Lady Delacour, +rising from the bed as she spoke: “child as she is, Helena has deserved +my confidence; and she shall be convinced that, where her mother has +once reason to confide, she is incapable of suspicion. Wait here for a +few minutes, my dear.” + +She went to her boudoir, paid and dismissed the surgeon expeditiously, +then returned, and taking her daughter by the hand, she said, “You +look all simplicity, my dear! I see you have no vulgar, school-girl +curiosity. You will have all your mother’s strength of mind; may you +never have any of her faults, or any of her misfortunes! I speak to you +not as to a child, Helena, for you have reason far above your years; and +you will remember what I now say to you as long as you live. You will +possess talents, beauty, fortune; you will be admired, followed, and +flattered, as I have been: but do not throw away your life as I have +thrown away mine--to win the praise of fools. Had I used but half the +talents I possess, as I hope you will use yours, I might have been an +ornament to my sex--I might have been a Lady Anne Percival.” + +Here Lady Delacour’s voice failed; but commanding her emotion, she in a +few moments went on speaking. + +“Choose your friends well, my dear daughter! It was my misfortune, my +folly, early in life to connect myself with a woman, who under the name +of frolic led me into every species of mischief. You are too young, too +innocent, to hear the particulars of my history now; but you will hear +them all at a proper time from my best friend, Miss Portman. I shall +leave you to her care, my dear, when I die.” + +“When you die!--Oh, mother!” said Helena, “but why do you talk of +dying?” and she threw her arms round her mother. + +“Gently, my love!” said Lady Delacour, shrinking back; and she seized +this moment to explain to her daughter why she shrunk in this manner +from her caresses, and why she talked of dying. + +Helena was excessively shocked. + +“I wished, my dear,” resumed her mother, calmly, “I wished to have +spared you the pain of knowing all this. I have given you but little +pleasure in my life; it is unjust to give you so much pain. We shall go +to Twickenham to-morrow, and I will leave you with your Aunt Margaret, +my dear, till all is over. If I die, Belinda will take you with her +immediately to Oakly-park--you shall have as little sorrow as possible. +If you had shown me less of your affectionate temper, you would have +spared yourself the anguish that you now feel, and you would have spared +me--” + +“My dear, kind mother,” interrupted Helena, throwing herself on her +knees at her mother’s feet, “do not send me away from you--I don’t wish +to go to my Aunt Margaret--I don’t wish to go to Oakly-park--I wish +to stay with you. Do not send me away from you; for I shall suffer ten +times more if I am not with you, though I know I can be of no use.” + +Overcome by her daughter’s entreaties, Lady Delacour at last consented +that she should remain with her, and that she should accompany her to +Twickenham. + +The remainder of this day was taken up in preparations for their +departure. The _stupid maid_ was immediately dismissed. No questions +were asked, and no reasons for her dismissal assigned, except that Lady +Delacour had no farther occasion for her services. Marriott alone was +to attend her lady to Twickenham. Lord Delacour, it was settled, should +stay in town, lest the unusual circumstance of his attending his lady +should excite public curiosity. His lordship, who was naturally a +good-natured man, and who had been touched by the kindness his wife had +lately shown him, was in extreme agitation during the whole of this day, +which he thought might possibly be the last of her existence. She, on +the contrary, was calm and collected; her courage seemed to rise with +the necessity for its exertion. + +In the morning, when the carriage came to the door, as she parted +with Lord Delacour, she put into his hand a paper that contained some +directions and requests with which, she said, she hoped that he would +comply, if they should prove to be her _last_. The paper contained only +some legacies to her servants, a provision for Marriott, and a bequest +to her excellent and beloved friend, Belinda Portman, of the cabinet in +which she kept Clarence Hervey’s letters. + +Interlined in this place, Lady Delacour had written these words: “My +daughter is nobly provided for; and lest any doubt or difficulty should +arise from the omission, I think it necessary to mention that the said +cabinet contains the valuable jewels left to me by my late uncle, +and that it is my intention that the said jewels should be part of +my bequest to the said Belinda Portman.--If she marry a man of good +fortune, she will wear them for my sake: if she do not marry an opulent +husband, I hope she will sell the jewels without scruple, as they are +intended for her convenience, and not as an ostentatious bequest. It is +fit that she should be as independent in her circumstances as she is in +her mind.” + +Lord Delacour with much emotion looked over this paper, and assured her +ladyship that she should be obeyed, if--he could say no more. + +“Farewell, then, my lord!” said she: “keep up your spirits, for I intend +to live many years yet to try them.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +A SPECTRE. + + +The surgeon who was to attend Lady Delacour was prevented from going +to her on the day appointed; he was one of the surgeons of the queen’s +household, and his attendance was required at the palace. This delay was +extremely irksome to Lady Delacour, who had worked up her courage to the +highest point, but who had not prepared herself to endure suspense. She +spent nearly a week at Twickenham in this anxious state, and Belinda +observed that she every day became more and more thoughtful and +reserved. She seemed as if she had some secret subject of meditation, +from which she could not bear to be distracted. When Helena was present, +she exerted herself to converse in her usual sprightly strain; but as +soon as she could escape, as she thought, unobserved, she would shut +herself up in her own apartment, and remain there for hours. + +“I wish to Heaven, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, coming one morning +into her room with a portentous face, “I wish to Heaven, ma’am, that you +could any way persuade my lady not to spend so many hours of the day and +night as she does in reading those methodistical books that she keeps to +herself!--I’m sure that they do her no good, but a great deal of harm, +especially now when her spirits should be kept up as much as possible. +I am sensible, ma’am, that ‘tis those books that have made my lady +melancholy of a sudden. Ma’am, my lady has let drop very odd +hints within these two or three days, and she speaks in a strange +_disconnected_ sort of style, and at times I do not think she is quite +right in her head.” + +When Belinda questioned Marriott more particularly about the strange +hints which her lady had let fall, she with looks of embarrassment +and horror declined repeating the words that had been said to her; yet +persisted in asserting that Lady Delacour had been very _strange_ for +these two or three days. “And I’m sure, ma’am, you’d be shocked if you +were to see my lady in a morning, when she wakens, or rather when I +first go into the room--for, as to wakening, that’s out of the question. +I am certain she does not sleep during the whole night. You’ll find, +ma’am, it is as I tell you, those books will quite turn her poor head, +and I wish they were burnt. I know the mischief that the same sort of +things did to a poor cousin of my own, who was driven melancholy mad +by a methodist preacher, and came to an untimely end. Oh, ma’am! if you +knew as much as I do, you’d be as much alarmed for my lady as I am.” + +It was impossible to prevail upon Marriott to explain herself more +distinctly. The only circumstances that could be drawn from her seemed +to Belinda so trifling as to be scarcely worth mentioning. For instance, +that Lady Delacour, contrary to Marriott’s advice, had insisted on +sleeping in a bedchamber upon the ground floor, and had refused to let +a curtain be put up before a glass door that was at the foot of her bed. +“When I offered to put up the curtain, ma’am,” said Marriott, “my lady +said she liked the moonlight, and that she would not have it put up till +the fine nights were over. Now, Miss Portman, to hear my lady talk of +the moon, and moonlights, and liking the moon, is rather extraordinary +and unaccountable; for I never heard her say any thing of the sort in +her life before; I question whether she ever knew there was a moon or +not from one year’s end to another. But they say the moon has a great +deal to do with mad people; and, from my own experience, I’m perfectly +sensible, ma’am, it had in my own cousin’s case; for, before he came to +the worst, he took a prodigious fancy to the moon, and was always for +walking by moonlight, and talking to one of the beauty of the moon, and +such melancholy nonsense, ma’am.” + +Belinda could not forbear smiling at this melancholy nonsense; though +she was inclined to be of Marriott’s opinion about the methodistical +books, and she determined to talk to Lady Delacour on the subject. +The moment that she made the attempt, her ladyship, commanding her +countenance, with her usual ability, replied only by cautious, cold +monosyllables, and changed the conversation as soon as she could. + +At night, when they were retiring to rest, Marriott, as she lighted them +to their rooms, observed that she was afraid her lady would suffer from +sleeping in so cold a bedchamber, and Belinda pressed her friend to +change her apartment. + +“No, my dear,” replied Lady Delacour, calmly. “I have chosen this for +my bedchamber, because it is at a distance from the servants’ rooms; and +when _the operation_, which I have to go through, shall be performed, my +cries, if I should utter any, will not be overheard. The surgeon will be +here in a few days, and it is not worth while to make any change.” + +The next day, towards evening, the surgeon and Dr. X---- arrived. +Belinda’s blood ran cold at the sight of them. + +“Will you be so kind, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, “as to let my lady +know that they are come? for I am not well able to go, and you can speak +more composed to her than I can.” + +Miss Portman went to Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. The door was bolted. +As Lady Delacour opened it, she fixed her eyes upon Belinda, and said +to her with a mild voice, “You are come to tell me that the surgeon is +arrived. I knew that by the manner in which you knocked at the door. +I will see him this moment,” continued she, in a firm tone; and she +deliberately put a mark in the book which she had been reading, +walked leisurely to the other end of the room, and locked it up in her +book-case. There was an air of determined dignity in all her motions. +“Shall we go? I am ready,” said she, holding out her hand to Belinda, +who had sunk upon a chair. + +“One would think that you were the person that was going to suffer. But +drink this water, my dear, and do not tremble for me; you see that I do +not tremble for myself. Listen to me, dearest Belinda! I owe it to +your friendship not to torment you with unnecessary apprehensions. Your +humanity shall be spared this dreadful scene.” + +“No,” said Belinda, “Marriott is incapable of attending you. I must--I +will--I am ready now. Forgive me one moment’s weakness. I admire, and +will imitate, your courage. I will keep my promise.” + +“Your promise was to be with me in my dying moments, and to let me +breathe my last in your arms.” + +“I hope that I shall never be called upon to perform that promise.” + +Lady Delacour made no answer, but walked on before her with steady steps +into the room where Dr. X---- and the surgeon were waiting. Without +adverting in the least to the object of their visit, she paid her +compliments to them, as if they came on a visit of mere civility. +Without seeming to notice the serious countenances of her companions, +she talked of indifferent subjects with the most perfect ease, occupying +herself all the time with cleaning a seal, which she unhooked from her +watch-chain. “This seal,” said she, turning to Dr. X----, “is a fine +onyx--it is a head of Esculapius. I have a great value for it. It was +given to me by your friend, Clarence Hervey; and I have left it in my +will, doctor,” continued she, smiling, “to you, as no slight token of my +regard. He is an excellent young man; and I request,” said she, drawing +Dr. X---- to a window, and lowering her voice, “I request, when you see +him again, and when I am out of the way, that you will tell him such +were my sentiments to the hour of my death. Here is a letter which you +will have the goodness to put into his hands, sealed with my favourite +seal. You need have no scruple to take charge of it; it relates not to +myself. It expresses only my opinion concerning a lady who stands almost +as high in your esteem, I believe, as she does in mine. My affection +and my gratitude have not biassed my judgment in the advice which I have +ventured to give to Mr. Hervey.” + +“But he will soon be here,” interrupted Dr. X----, “and then--” + +“And then I shall be gone,” said Lady Delacour, coolly, + + “‘To that undiscover’d country, + From whose bourn no traveller returns.’” + +Dr. X---- was going to interrupt her, but she continued rapidly, “And +now, my dear doctor, tell me candidly, have you seen any symptoms of +cowardice in my manner this evening?” + +“None,” replied he. “On the contrary, I have admired your calm +self-possession.” + +“Then do not suspect me of want of fortitude, when I request that this +operation may not be performed to-day. I have changed my mind within +these few hours. I have determined, for a reason which I am sure that +you would feel to be sufficient, to postpone this affair till to-morrow. +Believe me, I do not act from caprice.” + +She saw that Dr. X---- did not yield assent to her last assertion, and +that he looked displeased. + +“I will tell you my reason,” said she; “and then you will have no +right to be displeased if I persist, as I shall inflexibly, in my +determination. It is my belief that I shall die this night. To submit to +a painful operation to-day would be only to sacrifice the last moments +of my existence to no purpose. If I survive this night, manage me as +you please! But I am the best judge of my own feelings--I shall die +to-night.” + +Dr. X---- looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and compassion. +Her pulse was high, she was extremely feverish, and he thought that the +best thing which he could do was to stay with her till the next day, and +to endeavour to divert her mind from this fancy, which he considered as +an insane idea. He prevailed upon the surgeon to stay with her till the +next morning; and he communicated his intentions to Belinda, who joined +with him in doing all that was possible to entertain and interest her +by conversation during the remainder of the day. She had sufficient +penetration to perceive that they gave not the least faith to her +prognostic, and she never said one word more upon the subject; but +appeared willing to be amused by their attempts to divert her, and +resolute to support her courage to the last moment. She did not affect +trifling gaiety: on the contrary, there was in all she said more +strength and less point than usual. + +The evening passed away, and Lady Delacour seemed totally to have +forgotten her own prophecy respecting the event of the ensuing night; +so much so, that she spoke of several things that she intended to do the +next day. Helena knew nothing of what had passed, and Belinda imagined +that her friend put this constraint upon herself to avoid alarming her +daughter. Yet, after Helena retired, her mother’s manner continued to be +so much the same, that Dr. X---- began to believe that her ladyship +was actuated merely by caprice. In this opinion she confirmed him by +bursting out a laughing when he proposed that some one should sit up +with her during the night. + +“My sage sir,” said she, “have you lived to this time without ever +having been duped by a woman before? I wanted a day’s reprieve, and I +have gained it--gained a day, spent in most agreeable conversation, for +which I thank you. To-morrow,” said she, turning to the surgeon, “I must +invent some new excuse for my cowardice; and though I give you notice of +it beforehand, as Harrington did when he picked the man’s pocket, yet, +nevertheless, I shall succeed. Good night!” + +She hurried to her own apartment, leaving them all in astonishment and +perplexity. Belinda was persuaded that she only affected this gaiety to +prevent Dr. X---- from insisting upon sitting up in her room, as he had +proposed. Doctor X----, judging, as he said, from her ladyship’s general +character, attributed the whole to caprice; and the surgeon, judging, +as he said, from human nature in general, was decided in his belief that +she had been influenced, as she herself declared, by cowardice. After +having all expressed their opinions, without making any impression upon +one another, they retired to rest. + +Belinda’s bedchamber was next to Helena’s; and after she had been in bed +about an hour, she fancied that she heard some one walking softly in +the next room. She rose, and found Lady Delacour standing beside her +daughter’s bed. She started at the sight of Belinda, but only said in +a low voice, as she pointed to her child, “Don’t waken her.” She then +looked at her for some moments in silence. The moon shone full upon +her face. She stooped over Helena, parted the ringlets of hair upon her +forehead, and kissed her gently. + +“You will be good to this poor girl when I am gone, Belinda!” said she, +turning away from her as she spoke: “I only came to look at her for the +last time.” + +“Are you then serious, my dear Lady Delacour?” + +“Hush! Don’t waken her,” said Lady Delacour, putting her finger on her +lips; and walking slowly out of the room, she forbade Belinda to follow. + +“If my fears be vain,” said she, “why should I disturb you with them? If +they be just, you will hear my bell ring, and then come to me.” + +For some time afterward all was perfectly silent in the house. Belinda +did not go to bed, but sat waiting and listening anxiously. The clock +struck two; and as she heard no other sound, she began to hope that she +had suffered herself to be falsely alarmed by a foolish imagination, and +she lay down upon her bed, resolving to compose herself to rest. She was +just sinking to sleep, when she thought she heard the faint sound of a +bell. She was not sure whether she was dreaming or awake. She started up +and listened. All was silent. But in a few minutes Lady Delacour’s bell +rang violently. Belinda flew to her room. The surgeon was already there; +he had been sitting up in the next room to write letters, and he +had heard the first sound of the bell. Lady Delacour was senseless, +supported in the surgeon’s arms. Belinda, by his directions, ran +immediately for Doctor X----, who was at the other end of the house. +Before she returned, Lady Delacour had recovered her senses. She begged +that the surgeon would leave the room, and that neither Dr. X---- nor +Marriott might be yet admitted, as she had something of importance to +communicate to Miss Portman. The surgeon withdrew, and she beckoned to +Belinda, who sat down upon the side of her bed. Lady Delacour held out +her hand to her; it was covered with a cold dew. + +“My dear friend,” said she, “my prophecy is accomplishing--I know I must +die.” + +“The surgeon said that you were not in the least danger, my dear Lady +Delacour; that it was merely a fainting fit. Do not suffer a vain +imagination thus to overpower your reason.” + +“It is no vain imagination--I must die,” said Lady Delacour. + + ‘I hear a voice you cannot hear, + Which says I must not stay; + I see a hand you cannot see, + Which beckons me away.’ + +“You perceive that I am in my perfect senses, my dear, or I could not +quote poetry. I am not insane--I am not delirious.” + +She paused--“I am ashamed to tell you what I know will expose me to your +ridicule.” + +“Ridicule!” cried Belinda: “can you think me so cruel as to consider +your sufferings a subject for ridicule?” + +Lady Delacour was overcome by the tenderness with which Belinda spoke. + +“I will then speak to you,” said she, “without reserve. Inconsistent as +it is with the strength of mind which you might expect from me, I cannot +resist the impression which has been made on my mind by--a vision.” + +“A vision!” + +“Three times,” continued Lady Delacour, “it has appeared to me about +this hour. The first night after we came here I saw it; last night it +returned; and to-night I have beheld it for the third time. I consider +it as a warning to prepare for death. You are surprised--you are +incredulous. I know that this must appear to you extravagant; but depend +upon it that what I tell you is true. It is scarcely a quarter of an +hour since I beheld the figure of ----, that man for whose untimely +death I am answerable. Whenever I close my eyes the same form appears +before me.” + +“These visions,” said Belinda, “are certainly the effects of opium.” + +“The forms that flit before my eyes when I am between sleeping and +waking,” said Lady Delacour, “I am willing to believe, are the effects +of opium; but, Belinda, it is impossible I should be convinced that my +senses have deceived me with respect to what I have beheld when I have +been as broad awake, and in as perfect possession of my understanding as +I am at this instant. The habits of my life, and the natural gaiety, +not to say levity, of my temper, have always inclined me rather to +incredulity than to superstition. But there are things which no strength +of mind, no temerity can resist. I repeat it--this is a warning to me to +prepare for death. No human means, no human power can save me!” + +Here they were interrupted by Marriott, who could no longer be +restrained from bursting into the room. Dr. X---- followed, and going +calmly to the side of Lady Delacour’s bed, took her hand to feel her +pulse. + +“Mrs. Marriott, you need not alarm yourself in this manner,” said he: +“your lady is at this instant in as little danger as I am.” + +“_You_ think she’ll live! Oh, my lady! why did you terrify us in this +manner?” + +Lady Delacour smiled, and calmly said, as Doctor X---- still continued +to count her pulse, “The pulse may deceive you, doctor, but I do not. +Marriott, you may--” + +Belinda heard no more; for at this instant, as she was standing alone, +near the glass-door that was opposite to the bed, she saw at a distance +in the garden the figure which Lady Delacour had described. Lady +Delacour was now so intent upon speaking to Dr. X----, that she saw +nothing but him. Belinda had the presence of mind to be perfectly +silent. The figure stood still for some moments. She advanced a few +steps nearer to the window, and the figure vanished. She kept her eye +steadily fixed upon the spot where it had disappeared, and she saw it +rise again and glide quickly behind some bushes. Belinda beckoned to Dr. +X----, who perceived by the eagerness of her manner, that she wished +to speak to him immediately. He resigned his patient to Marriott, and +followed Miss Portman out of the room. She told him what she had just +seen, said it was of the utmost consequence to Lady Delacour to have the +truth ascertained, and requested that Dr. X----would go with some of +the men-servants and search the garden, to discover whether any one was +there concealed, or whether any footsteps could be traced. The doctor +did not search long before he perceived footsteps in the borders +opposite to the glass-door of Lady Delacour’s bedchamber; he was +carefully following their track, when he heard a loud cry, which seemed +to come from the other side of the garden wall. There was a breach +in the wall over which he scrambled with some difficulty. The screams +continued with redoubled violence. As he was making his way to the +spot from which they proceeded, he was met by the old gardener, who was +crossing one of the walks with a lantern in his hand. + +“Ho! ho!” cried the gardener, “I take it that we have the thief at last. +I fancy that the fellow whose footsteps I traced, and who has been at my +morello cherry-tree every night, has been caught in the trap. I hope his +leg is not broke, though!-This way, sir--this way!” + +The gardener led the doctor to the place, and there they found a man, +whose leg had actually been caught in the spring-trap which had been set +for the defence of the cherry-tree. The man had by this time fallen into +a swoon; they extricated him as fast as possible, and Doctor X---- +had him brought to Lady Delacour’s, in order that the surgeon, who was +there, might see his leg. + +As they were carrying him across the hall, Belinda met them. She poured +out a glass of water for the man, who was just recovering from his +swoon; but as she went nearer to give it him, she was struck with his +wonderful resemblance to Harriot Freke. + +“It must be Mrs. Freke herself!” whispered she to Marriott, whose wide +opening eyes, at this instant, fixed themselves upon her. + +“It must be Mrs. Freke herself, ma’am!” repeated Marriott. + +And so in fact it was. + +There is a certain class of people, who are incapable of generous +confidence in their equals, but who are disposed to yield implicit +credit to the underhand information of mean emissaries. Through the +medium of Champfort and the _stupid maid_, Mrs. Freke had learned a +confused story of a man’s footsteps having been heard in Lady Delacour’s +boudoir, of his being let in by Marriott secretly, of his having +remained locked up there for several hours, and of the maid’s having +been turned away, merely because she innocently went to open the door +whilst the gentleman was in concealment. Mrs. Freke was farther informed +by the same unquestionable authority, that Lady Delacour had taken a +house at Twickenham, for the express purpose of meeting her lover: that +Miss Portman and Marriott were the only persons who were to be of this +party of pleasure. + +Upon the faith of this intelligence, Mrs. Freke, who had accompanied +Mrs. Luttridge to town, immediately repaired to Twickenham, to pay a +visit to a third cousin, that she might have an opportunity of detecting +the intrigues, and afterwards of publishing the disgrace, of her former +friend. The desire of revenging herself upon Miss Portman, for having +declined her civilities at Harrowgate, had also a powerful influence in +stimulating her malicious activity. She knew that if it were proved that +Belinda was the confidante of Lady Delacour’s intrigues, her reputation +must be materially injured, and that the Percivals would then be as +desirous to break off as they now were anxious to promote the match with +Mr. Vincent. Charmed with this hope of a double triumph, the vindictive +lady commenced her operations, nor was she ashamed to descend to the +character of a spy. The general and convenient name of _frolic_, she +thought, would cover every species of meanness. She swore that “it was +charming fun to equip herself at night in men’s clothes, and to sally +forth to reconnoitre the motions of the enemy.” + +By an unfrequented path she used to gain the window that looked into +Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. This was the figure which appeared at night +at a certain hour, and which, to her ladyship’s disturbed imagination, +seemed to be the form of Colonel Lawless. There was, indeed, a +resemblance in their size and persons, which favoured the delusion. +For several nights Mrs. Freke paid these visits without obtaining +any satisfaction; but this night she thought herself overpaid for her +exertions, by the charming discovery which she fancied she had made. She +mistook the surgeon for a lover of Lady Delacour’s; and she was hurrying +home with the joyful intelligence, when she was caught in the gardener’s +trap. The agony that she suffered was at first intense, but in a few +hours the pain somewhat subsided; and in this interval of rest she +turned to Belinda, and with a malicious smile said,--“Miss Portman, ‘tis +fair I should pay for my peeping; but I shall not pay quite so dear for +it as some of my friends.” + +Miss Portman did not in the least comprehend her, till she added, “I’m +sure you’ll allow that ‘tis better for a lady to lose her leg than her +reputation--and for my part I’d rather be caught in a man trap, than +have a man caught in my bedchamber. My service to your friend, Lady +Delacour, and tell her so.” + +“And do you know who that gentleman was, that you saw in her ladyship’s +room?” + +“Not I, not yet; but I’ll make it my business to find out. I give you +fair notice; I’m a very devil when provoked. Why didn’t you make me your +friend when you could?--You’ll not baffle me. I have seen all I wanted, +and I am capable of painting all I saw. As to who the man might be, +that’s no matter; one Lothario is as good as another for my purpose.” + +Longer had Mrs. Freke spoken with malignant triumph, had she not been +interrupted by a burst of laughter from the surgeon. Her vexation was +indescribable when he informed her, that he was the man whom she had +seen in Lady Delacour’s bedchamber, and whom she had mistaken for a +favoured lover. + +Mrs. Freke’s leg was much cut and bruised; and now that she was no +longer supported by the hopes of revenge, she began to lament loudly and +incessantly the injury that she had sustained. She impatiently inquired +how long it was probable that she should be confined by this accident; +and she grew quite outrageous when it was hinted, that the beauty of her +legs would be spoiled, and that she would never more be able to appear +to advantage in man’s apparel. The dread of being seen by Lady Delacour +in the deplorable yet ludicrous situation to which she had reduced +herself operated next upon her mind, and every time the door of the +apartment opened, she looked with terror towards it, expecting to +see her ladyship appear. But though Lady Delacour heard from Marriott +immediately the news of Mrs. Freke’s disaster, she never disturbed her +by her presence. She was too generous to insult a fallen foe. + +Early in the morning Mrs. Freke was by her own desire conveyed to her +cousin’s house, where without regret we shall leave her to suffer the +consequences of her frolic. + +“A false prophetess! Nowithstanding all my visions, I have outlived the +night, you see,” said Lady Delacour, to Miss Portman when they met in +the morning. “I have heard, my dear Belinda, and I believe, that the +passion of love, which can endure caprice, vice, wrinkles, deformity, +poverty, nay, disease itself, is notwithstanding so squeamish as to +be instantaneously disgusted by the perception of folly in the object +beloved. I hope friendship, though akin to love, is of a more robust +constitution, else what would become of me? My folly, and my visions, +and my spectre--oh, that I had not exposed myself to you in this manner! +Harriot Freke herself is scarcely more contemptible. Spies and cowards +are upon an equal footing. Her malice and her _frolic_ are consistent +with her character, but my fears and my superstition are totally +inconsistent with mine. Forget the nonsense I talked to you last night, +my dear, or fancy that I was then under the dominion of laudanum. This +morning you shall see Lady Delacour _herself again_. Is Dr. X----, is +the surgeon ready? Where are they? I am prepared. My fortitude shall +redeem me in your opinion, Belinda, and in my own.” + +Doctor X---- and the surgeon immediately obeyed her summons. + +Helena heard them go into Lady Delacour’s room, and she saw by +Marriott’s countenance, who followed, that her mother was going to +submit to the operation. She sat down trembling on the steps which led +to her mother’s room, and waited there a long time, as she thought, in +the most painful suspense. At last she heard some one call Helena. She +looked up, and saw her father close to her. + +“Helena,” said he, “how is your mother?” + +“I don’t know. Oh, papa, you cannot go in there _now_,” said Helena, +stopping him as he was pressing forwards. + +“Why did not you or Miss Portman write to me yesterday, as you +promised?” said Lord Delacour, in a voice that showed he was scarcely +able to ask the question. + +“Because, papa, we had nothing to tell you: nothing was done yesterday. +But the surgeon is now there,” said Helena, pointing towards her +mother’s room. + +Lord Delacour stood motionless for an instant; then suddenly seizing his +daughter’s hand, “Let us go,” said he: “if we stay here, we shall +hear her screams;” and he was hurrying her away, when the door of Lady +Delacour’s apartment opened, and Belinda appeared, her countenance +radiant with joy. + +“Good news, dear Helena! Oh, my lord! you are come in a happy moment--I +give you joy.” + +“Joy! joy! joy!” cried Marriott, following. + +“Is it all over?” said Lord Delacour. + +“And without a single shriek!” said Helena. “What courage!” + +“There’s no need of shrieks, or courage either, thank God,” said +Marriott. “Dr. X---- says so, and he is the best man in the world, and +the cleverest. And I was right from the first; I said it was impossible +my lady should have such a shocking complaint as she thought she had. +There’s no such thing at all in the case, my lord! I said so always, +till I was persuaded out of my senses by that villainous quack, who +contradicted me for this own ‘molument. And Doctor X---- says, if my +lady will leave off the terrible quantities of laudanum she takes, he’ll +engage for her recovery.” + +The surgeon and Dr. X---- now explained to Lord Delacour that the +unprincipled wretch to whom her ladyship had applied for assistance had +persuaded her that she had a cancer, though in fact her complaint arose +merely from the bruise which she had received. He knew too well how to +make a wound hideous and painful, and so continue her delusion for his +own advantage. Dr. X---- observed, that if Lady Delacour would have +permitted either the surgeon or him to have _examined_ sooner into the +real state of the case, it would have saved herself infinite pain, and +them all anxiety. Belinda at this moment felt too much to speak. + +“I’m morally certain,” cried Marriott, “Mr. Champfort would die with +vexation, if he could see the joy that’s painted in my lord’s face this +minute. And we may thank Miss Portman for this, for ‘twas she made every +thing go right, and I never expected to live to see so happy a day.” + +Whilst Marriott ran on in this manner with all the volubility of joy, +Lord Delacour passed her with some difficulty, and Helena was in her +mother’s arms in an instant. + +Lady Delacour, struck to the heart by their affectionate looks and +words, burst into tears. “How little have I deserved this kindness from +you, my lord! or from you, my child! But my feelings,” added she, +wiping away her tears, “shall not waste themselves in tears, nor in vain +thanks. My actions, the whole course of my future life, shall show that +I am not quite a brute. Even brutes are won by kindness. Observe, my +lord,” continued she, smiling, “I said _won_, not _tamed!_--A tame Lady +Delacour would be a sorry animal, not worth looking at. Were she even to +become domesticated, she would fare the worse.” + +“How so?--How so, my dear?” said Lord Delacour and Belinda almost in the +same breath. + +“How so?--Why, if Lady Delacour were to wash off her rouge, and lay +aside her air, and be as gentle, good, and kind as Belinda Portman, for +instance, her lord would certainly say to her, + + ‘So alter’d are your face and mind, + ‘Twere perjury to love you now.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE CHAPLAIN. + + +In some minds, emotions of joy are always connected with feelings of +benevolence and generosity. Lady Delacour’s heart expanded with the +sensations of friendship and gratitude, now that she was relieved from +those fears by which she had so long been oppressed. + +“My dear daughter,” said she to Helena, “have you at this instant any +wish that I can gratify?--Ask any thing you please, the fairy Goodwill +shall contrive to get it for you in a trice. You have thought of a +wish at this moment, I know, by your eyes, by your blush. Nay, do not +hesitate. Do you doubt me because I do not appear before you in the +shape of a little ugly woman, like Cinderella’s godmother? or do you +despise me because you do not see a wand waving in my hand?--‘Ah, little +skilled of fairy lore!’ know that I am in possession of a talisman that +can command more than ever fairy granted. Behold my talisman,” continued +she, drawing out her purse, and showing the gold through the net-work. +“Speak boldly, then,” cried she to Helena, “and be obeyed.” + +“Ah, mamma,” said Helena, “I was not thinking of what fairies or gold +can give; but you can grant my wish, and if you will let me, I will +whisper it to you.” + +Lady Delacour stooped to hear her daughter’s whisper. + +“Your wish is granted, my own grateful, charming girl,” said her mother. + +Helena’s wish was, that her mother could be reconciled to her good aunt, +Margaret Delacour. + +Her ladyship sat down instantly, and wrote to Mrs. Delacour. Helena was +the bearer of this letter, and Lady Delacour promised to wait upon this +excellent old lady as soon as she should return to town. + +In the meantime her ladyship’s health rapidly improved under the skilful +care of Dr. X----: it had been terribly injured by the ignorance and +villany of the wretch to whom she had so long and so rashly trusted. The +nostrums which he persuaded her to take, and the immoderate use of opium +to which she accustomed herself, would have ruined her constitution, had +it not been uncommonly strong. Dr. X---- recommended it to her ladyship +to abstain gradually from opium, and this advice she had the resolution +to follow with uninterrupted perseverance. + +The change in Lady Delacour’s manner of life, in the hours and the +company that she kept, contributed much to her recovery.[9] She was no +longer in continual anxiety to conceal the state of her health from the +world. She had no secret to keep--no part to act; her reconciliation +with her husband and with his friends restored her mind to ease and +self-complacency. Her little Helena was a source of daily pleasure; and +no longer conscious of neglecting her daughter, she no longer feared +that the affections of her child should be alienated. Dr. X----, well +aware that the passions have a powerful influence over the body, thought +it full as necessary, in some cases, to attend to the mind as to the +pulse. By conversing with Lady Delacour, and by combining hints and +circumstances, he soon discovered what had lately been the course of +her reading, and what impression it had made on her imagination. +Mrs. Marriott, indeed, assisted him with her opinion concerning _the +methodistical books_; and when he recollected the forebodings of death +which her ladyship had felt, and the terror with which she had been +seized on the night of Mrs. Freke’s adventure, he was convinced that +superstitious horrors hung upon his patient’s spirits, and affected her +health. To argue on religious subjects was not his province, much less +his inclination; but he was acquainted with a person qualified by his +profession and his character ‘to minister to a mind diseased,’ and he +resolved on the first favourable opportunity to introduce this gentleman +to her ladyship. + +One morning Lady Delacour was complaining to Belinda, that the books in +the library were in dreadful confusion. “My lord has really a very fine +library,” said she; “but I wish he had half as many books twice as well +arranged: I never can find any thing I want. Dr. X----, I wish to heaven +you could recommend a librarian to my lord--not a chaplain, observe.” + +“Why not a chaplain, may I ask your ladyship?” said the doctor. + +“Oh, because we had once a chaplain, who gave me a surfeit of the whole +tribe. The meanest sycophant, yet the most impertinent busy-body--always +cringing, yet always intriguing--wanting to govern the whole family, and +at the same time every creature’s humble servant--fawning to my lord +the bishop, insolent to the poor curate--anathematizing all who differed +from him in opinion, yet without dignity to enforce the respect due +to his faith or his profession--greedy for preferment, yet without a +thought of the duties of his office. It was the common practice of +this man to leap from his horse at the church door on a holiday, after +following a pack of hounds, huddle on his surplice, and gabble over +the service with the most indecent mockery of religion. Do I speak with +acrimony? I have reason. It was this chaplain who first led my lord to +Newmarket; it was he who first taught my lord to drink. Then he was _a +wit_--an insufferable wit. His conversation after he had drank was +such as no woman but Harriot Freke could understand, and such as few +_gentlemen_ could hear. I have never, alas! been thought a prude, but in +the heyday of my youth and gaiety, this man always disgusted me. In one +word, he was a buck parson. I hope you have as great a horror for this +species of animal as I have?” + +“Full as great,” replied Dr. X----; “but I consider them as monsters, +which belonging to no species, can disgrace none.” + +“They ought to be hunted by common consent out of civilized society,” + said Lady Delacour. + +“They are by public opinion banished from all rational society; and your +ladyship’s just indignation proves, that they have no chance of being +tolerated by fashion. But would it not allow such beings too much +consequence, would it not extend their power to do mischief, if we +perceived that one such person could disgust Lady Delacour with the +whole race of chaplains?” + +“It is uncommon,” replied her ladyship, “to hear a physician _earnest_ +in the defence of the clergy--and a literary philosophic physician too! +Shall we have an eulogium upon bishops as well as chaplains?” + +“We have had that already,” replied Dr. X----. “All ranks, persuasions, +and descriptions of people, including, I hope, those stigmatized by the +name of philosophers, have joined in admiration of the bishop of St. +Pol de Leon. The conduct of the real martyrs to their faith amongst +the French clergy, not even the most witty or brutal sceptic could +ridicule.” + +“You surprise me, doctor!” said Lady Delacour; “for I assure you that +you have the character of being very liberal in your opinions.” + +“I hope I am liberal in my opinions,” replied the doctor, “and that I +give your ladyship a proof of it.” + +“You would not then persecute a man or woman with ridicule for believing +more than you do?” said Lady Delacour. + +“Those who persecute, to overturn religion, can scarcely pretend to more +philosophy, or more liberality, than those who persecute to support it,” + said Dr. X----. + +“Perhaps, doctor, you are only speaking popularly?” + +“I believe what I now say to be true,” said Dr. X----, “and I always +endeavour to make truth popular.” + +“But possibly these are only truths for ladies. Doctor X---- may be such +an ungallant philosopher, as to think that some truths are not fit for +ladies. He may hold a different language with gentlemen.” + +“I should not only be an ungallant but a weak philosopher,” said Dr. +X----, “if I thought that truth was not the same for all the world +who can understand it. And who can doubt Lady Delacour’s being of that +number?” + +Lady Delacour, who, at the beginning of this conversation, had spoken +guardedly, from the fear of lowering the doctor’s opinion of her +understanding, was put at her ease by the manner in which he now spoke; +and, half laying aside the tone of raillery, she said to him, “Well, +doctor! seriously, I am not so _illiberal_ as to condemn _all_ chaplains +for one, odious as he was. But where to find his contrast in these +degenerate days? Can you, who are a defender of the faith, and so forth, +assist me? Will you recommend a chaplain to my lord?” + +“Willingly,” said Dr. X----; “and that is what I would not say for a +world of fees, unless I were sure of my man.” + +“What sort of a man is he?” + +“Not a buck parson.” + +“And I hope not a pedant, not a dogmatist, for that would be almost +as bad. Before we domesticate another chaplain, I wish to know all his +qualities, and to have a full and true description of him.” + +“Shall I then give you a full and true description of him in the words +of Chaucer?” + +“In any words you please. But Chaucer’s chaplain must be a little +old-fashioned by this time, I should think.” + +“Pardon me. Some people, as well as some things, never grow +old-fashioned. I should not be ashamed to produce Chaucer’s parish +priest at this day to the best company in England--I am not ashamed to +produce him to your ladyship; and if I can remember twenty lines in his +favour, I hope you will give me credit for being a sincere friend to the +worthy part of the clergy. Observe, you must take them as I can patch +them together; I will not promise that I can recollect twenty lines _de +suite_, and without missing a word; that is what I would not swear to do +for His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.” + +“His Grace will probably excuse you from swearing; at least I will,” + said Lady Delacour, “on the present occasion: so now for your twenty +lines in whatever order you please.” + +Doctor X----, with sundry intervals of recollection, which may be spared +the reader, repeated the following lines: + + “Yet has his aspect nothing of severe, + But such a face as promised him sincere. + Nothing reserved or sullen was to see, + But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity, + Mild was his accent, and his action free. + With eloquence innate his tongue was arm’d, + Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm’d; + For, letting down the golden chain from high, + He drew his audience upwards to the sky. + He taught the Gospel rather than the law, + And forced himself to drive, but loved to draw. + The tithes his parish freely paid, he took; + But never sued, or curs’d with bell and book. + Wide was his parish, not contracted close + In streets--but here and there a straggling house. + Yet still he was at hand, without request, + To serve the sick, and succour the distressed. + The proud he tamed, the penitent he cheer’d, + Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear’d. + His preaching much, but more his practice wrought, + A living sermon of the truths he taught.” + +Lady Delacour wished that she could find a chaplain, who in any degree +resembled this charming parish priest, and Dr. X----promised that he +would the next day introduce to her his friend Mr. Moreton. + +“Mr. Moreton!” said Belinda, “the gentleman of whom Mr. Percival spoke, +Mrs. Freke’s Mr. Moreton?” + +“Yes,” said Dr. X----, “the clergyman whom Mrs. Freke hanged in effigy, +and to whom Clarence Hervey has given a small living.” + +These circumstances, even if he had not precisely resembled Chaucer’s +character of a benevolent clergyman, would have strongly interested +Lady Delacour in his favour. She found him, upon farther acquaintance, a +perfect contrast to her former chaplain; and he gradually acquired such +salutary influence over her mind, that he relieved her from the terrors +of methodism, and in their place substituted the consolations of mild +and rational piety. + +Her conscience was now at peace; her spirits were real and equable, and +never was her conversation so agreeable. Animated with the new feelings +of returning health, and the new hopes of domestic happiness, she +seemed desirous to impart her felicity to all around her, but chiefly +to Belinda, who had the strongest claims upon her gratitude, and the +warmest place in her affections. Belinda never made her friend feel the +weight of any obligation, and consequently Lady Delacour’s gratitude +was a voluntary pleasure--not an expected duty. Nothing could be more +delightful to Miss Portman than thus to feel herself the object at once +of esteem, affection, and respect; to see that she had not only been +the means of saving her friend’s life, but that the influence she had +obtained over her mind was likely to be so permanently beneficial both +to her and to her family. + +Belinda did not take all the merit of this reformation to herself: she +was most willing to share it, in her own imagination, not only with Dr. +X----and Mr. Moreton, but with poor Clarence Hervey. She was pleased to +observe that Lady Delacour never omitted any occasion of doing justice +to his merit, and she loved her for that generosity, which sometimes +passed the bounds of justice in her eulogiums. But Belinda was careful +to preserve her consistency, and to guard her heart from the dangerous +effect of these enthusiastic praises; and as Lady Delacour was now +sufficiently re-established in her health, she announced her intention +of returning immediately to Oakly-park, according to her promise to Lady +Anne Percival and to Mr. Vincent. + +“But, my dear,” said Lady Delacour, “one week more is all I ask from +you--may not friendship ask such a sacrifice from love?” + +“You expect, I know,” said Miss Portman, ingenuously, “that before the +end of that time Mr. Hervey will be here.” + +“True. And have you no friendship for him?” said Lady Delacour with +an arch smile, “or is friendship for every man in the creation, +one Augustus Vincent always excepted, prohibited by the statutes of +Oakly-park?” + +“By the statutes of Oakly-park nothing is forbidden,” said Belinda, “but +what reason--” + +“Reason! Oh, I have done if you go to reason! You are invulnerable to +the light shafts of wit, I know, when you are cased in this heavy armour +of reason; Cupid himself may strain his bow, and exhaust his quiver +upon you in vain. But have a care--you cannot live in armour all your +life--lay it aside but for a moment, and the little bold urchin will +make it his prize. Remember, in one of Raphael’s pictures, Cupid +creeping into the armour of the conqueror of the world.” + +“I am sufficiently aware,” said Belinda, smiling, “of the power of +Cupid, and of his wiles. I would not brave his malice, but I will fly +from it.” + +“It is so cowardly to fly!” + +“Surely prudence, not courage, is the virtue of our sex; and seriously, +my dear Lady Delacour, I entreat you not to use your influence over my +mind, lest you should lessen my happiness, though you cannot alter my +determination.” + +Moved by the earnest manner in which Belinda uttered these words, Lady +Delacour rallied her no more, nor did she longer oppose her resolution +of returning immediately to Oakly-park. + +“May I remind you,” said Miss Portman, “though it is seldom either +politic or polite, to remind people of their promises,--but may I +remind you of something like a promise you made, to accompany me to Mr. +Percival’s?” + +“And would you have me behave so brutally to poor Lord Delacour, as to +run away from him in this manner the moment I have strength to run?” + +“Lord Delacour is included in this invitation,” said Miss Portman, +putting the last letter that she had received from Lady Anne Percival +into her hands. + +“When I recollect,” said Lady Delacour, as she looked over the letter, +“how well this Lady Anne of yours has behaved to me about Helena, when +I recollect, that, though you have been with her so long, she has not +supplanted me in your affections, and that she did not attempt to detain +you when I sent Marriott to Oakly-park, and when I consider how much for +my own advantage it will be to accept this invitation, I really cannot +bring myself, from pride, or folly, or any other motive, to refuse it. +So, my dear Belinda, prevail upon Lord Delacour to spend his Christmas +at Oakly-park, instead of at Studley-manor (Rantipole, thank Heaven! is +out of the question), and prevail upon yourself to stay a few days for +me, and you shall take us all with you in triumph.” + +Belinda was convinced that, when Lady Delacour had once tasted the +pleasures of domestic life, she would not easily return to that +dissipation which she had followed from habit, and into which she had +first been driven by a mixture of vanity and despair. All the connexions +which she had imprudently formed with numbers of fashionable but +extravagant and thoughtless women would insensibly be broken off by +this measure; for Lady Delacour, who was already weary of their company, +would be so much struck with the difference between their insipid +conversation and the animated and interesting society in Lady Anne +Percival’s family, that she would afterwards think them not only +burdensome but intolerable. Lord Delacour’s intimacy with Lord Studley +was one of his chief inducements to that intemperance, which injured +almost equally his constitution and his understanding: for some weeks +past he had abstained from all excess, and Belinda was well aware, that, +when the immediate motive of humanity to Lady Delacour ceased to act +upon him, he would probably return to his former habits, if he continued +to visit his former associates. It was therefore of importance to break +at once his connexion with Lord Studley, and to place him in a situation +where he might form new habits, and where his dormant talents might be +roused to exertion. She was convinced that his understanding was not so +much _below par_ as she had once been taught to think it: she perceived, +also, that since their reconciliation, Lady Delacour was anxious to +make him appear to advantage: whenever he said any thing that was worth +hearing, she looked at Belinda with triumph; and whenever he happened to +make _a mistake_ in conversation, she either showed involuntary signs of +uneasiness, or passed it off with that easy wit, by which she generally +knew how “to make the worse appear the better reason.” Miss Portman +knew that Mr. Percival possessed the happy talent of drawing out all the +abilities of those with whom he conversed, and that he did not value men +merely for their erudition, science, or literature; he was capable of +estimating _the potential_ as well as _the actual range_ of the mind. Of +his generosity she could not doubt, and she was persuaded that he would +take every possible means which good nature, joined to good sense, could +suggest, to raise Lord Delacour in his lady’s esteem, and to make that +union happy which was indissoluble. All these reflections passed with +the utmost rapidity in Belinda’s mind, and the result of them was, that +she consented to wait Lady Delacour’s leisure for her journey. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +PEU À PEU. + + +Things were in this situation, when one day Marriott made her appearance +at her lady’s toilette with a face which at once proclaimed that +something had discomposed her, and that she was impatient to be asked +what it was. + +“What is the matter, Marriott?” said Lady Delacour; “for I know you want +me to ask.” + +“Want you to ask! Oh, dear, my lady, no!--for I’m sure, it’s a thing +that goes quite against me to tell; for I thought, indeed, my lady, +_superiorly_ of the person in question; so much so, indeed, that I +wished what I declare I should now be ashamed to mention, especially in +the presence of Miss Portman, who deserves the best that this world can +afford of every denomination. Well, ma’am, in one word,” continued she, +addressing herself to Belinda, “I am extremely rejoiced that things are +as they are, though I confess that was not always my wish or opinion, +for which I beg Mr. Vincent’s pardon and yours; but I hope to be +forgiven, since I’m now come entirely round to my Lady Anne Percival’s +way of thinking, which I learnt from good authority at Oakly-park; and +I am now convinced and confident, Miss Portman, that every thing is for +the best.” + +“Marriott will inform us, in due course of time, what has thus suddenly +and happily converted her,” said Lady Delacour to Belinda, who was +thrown into some surprise and confusion by Marriott’s address; but +Marriott went on with much warmth-- + +Dear me! I’m sure I thought we had got rid of all double-dealers, when +the house was cleared of Mr. Champfort; but, oh, mercy! there’s not +traps enough in the world for them all; I only wish they were all +caught as finely as some people were. “Tis what all double-dealers, and +Champfort at the head of the whole regiment, deserve--that’s certain.” + +“We must take patience, my dear Belinda,” said Lady Delacour, calmly, +“till Marriott has exhausted all the expletives in and out of the +English language; and presently, when she has fought all her battles +with Champfort over again, we may hope to get at the fact.” + +“Dear! my lady, it has nothing to do with Mr. Champfort, nor any such +style of personage, I can assure you; for, I’m positive, I’d rather +think contemptibly of a hundred million Mr. Champforts than of one such +gentleman as Mr. Clarence Hervey.” + +“Clarence Hervey!” exclaimed Lady Delacour: taking it for granted that +Belinda blushed, her ladyship, with superfluous address, instantly +turned, so as to hide her friend’s face from Mrs. Marriott. “Well, +Marriott, what of Mr. Hervey?” + +“Oh, my lady, something you’ll be surprised to hear, and Miss Portman, +too. It is not, by any means, that I am more of a prude than is +becoming, my lady: nor that I take upon me to be so innocent as not to +know that young gentlemen of fortune will, if it be only for fashion’s +sake, have such things as kept mistresses (begging pardon for mentioning +such trash); but no one that has lived in the world thinks any thing of +that, except,” added she, catching a glimpse of Belinda’s countenance, +“except, to be sure, ma’am, morally speaking, it’s very wicked and +shocking, and makes one blush before company, till one’s used to it, +and ought certainly to be put down by act of parliament, ma’am; but, my +lady, you know, in point of surprising any body, or being discreditable +in a young gentleman of Mr. Hervey’s fortune and pretensions, it would +be mere envy and scandal to deem it any thing--worth mentioning.” + +“Then, for mercy’s sake, or mine,” said Lady Delacour, “go on to +something that is worth mentioning.” + +“Well, my lady, you must know, then, that yesterday I wanted some +hempseed for my bullfinch--Miss Helena’s bullfinch, I mean; for it was +she found it by accident, you know, Miss Portman, the day after we came +here. Poor thing! it got itself so entangled in the net over the morello +cherry tree, in the garden, that it could neither get itself in nor out; +but very luckily Miss Helena saw it, and saved, and brought it in: it +was almost dead, my lady.” + +“Was it?--I mean I am very sorry for it: that is what you expect me to +say. Now, go on--get us once past the bullfinch, or tell us what it has +to do with Clarence Hervey.” + +“That is what I am aiming at, as fast as possible, my lady. So I sent +for some hempseed for the bullfinch, and along with the hempseed they +brought me wrapped round it, as it were, a printed handbill, as it might +be, or advertisement, which I threw off, disregardingly, taking for +granted it might have been some of those advertisements for lozenges or +razor-strops, that meet one wherever one goes; but Miss Delacour picked +it up, and found it was a kind of hue and cry after a stolen or strayed +bullfinch. Ma’am, I was so provoked, I could have cried, when I learnt +it was the exact description of our little Bobby to a feather--gray upon +the back, and red on----” + +“Oh! spare me the description to a feather. Well, you took the bird, +bullfinch, or Bobby, as you call it, home to its rightful owner, I +presume? Let me get you so far on your way.” + +“No, I beg your pardon, my lady, that is not the thing.” + +“Then you did not take the bird home to its owner--and you are a +bird-stealer? With all my heart: be a dog-stealer, if you will--only go +on.” + +“But, my lady, you hurry me so, it puts every thing topsy-turvy in my +head; I could tell it as fast as possible my own way.” + +“Do so, then.” + +“I was ready to cry, when I found our little Bobby was claimed from +us, to be sure; but Miss Delacour observed, that those with whom it +had lived till it was grey must be sorrier still to part with it: so I +resolved to do the honest and genteel thing by the lady who advertised +for it, and to take it back myself, and to refuse the five guineas +reward offered. The lady’s name, according to the advertisement, was +Ormond.” + +“Ormond!” repeated Lady Delacour, looking eagerly at Belinda: “was not +that the name Sir Philip Baddely mentioned to us--you remember?” + +“Yes, Ormond was the name, as well as I recollect,” said Belinda, with +a degree of steady composure that provoked her ladyship. “Go on, +Marriott.” + +“And the words were, to leave the bird at a perfumer’s in Twickenham, +opposite to ----; but that’s no matter. Well, my lady, to the perfumer’s +I went with the bird, this morning. Now, I had my reasons for wishing +to see this Mrs. Ormond myself, because, my lady, there was one thing +rather remarkable about this bullfinch, that it sings a very particular +tune, which I never heard any bullfinch, or any human creature, sing +anything like before: so I determined, in my own cogitations, to ask +this Mrs. Ormond to name the tunes her bullfinch could sing, before I +produced it; and if she made no mention of its knowing any one out of +the common way, I resolved to keep my bird to myself, as I might very +conscientiously and genteelly too. So, my lady, when I got to the +perfumer’s, I inquired where Mrs. Ormond was to be found? I was told +that she received no visits from any, at least from the female sex; and +that I must leave the bird there till called for. I was considering what +to do, and the strangeness of the information made about the female sex, +when in there came, into the shop, a gentleman, who saved me all the +indelicacy of asking particulars. The bullfinch was at this time piping +away at a fine rate, and, as luck would have it, that very remarkable +strange tune that I mentioned to you. Says the gentleman, as he came +into the shop, fixing his eyes on the bullfinch as if they would have +come fairly out of his head, ‘How did that bird come here?’--‘I brought +it here, sir,’ said I. Then he began to offer me mountains of gold in a +very strange way, if I could tell him any tidings of the lady to whom +it belonged. The shopman from behind the counter now bent forward, and +whispered the gentleman that he could give him some information, if he +would make it worth his while; and they both went together to a little +parlour behind the shop, and I saw no more of them. But, my lady, very +opportunely for me, that was dying with curiosity, out of the parlour +they turned a young woman in, to attend the shop, who proved to be an +acquaintance of mine, whom I had done some little favours to when in +service in London. And this young woman, when I told her my distress +about the advertisement and the bullfinch, let me into the whole of the +affair. ‘Ma’am,’ said she, ‘all that is known about Mrs. Ormond, in +this house, or any where else, is from me; so there was no occasion for +turning me out of the parlour. I lived with Mrs. Ormond, ma’am,” + says she, “‘for half a year, in the very house she now occupies, and +consequently nobody can be better informed than I am:’--to which I +agreed. Then she told me that the reason that Mrs. Ormond never saw any +company of any sort was, because she is not fit to see company--proper +company--for she’s not a proper woman. She has a most beautiful young +creature there, shut up, who has been seduced, and is now deserted in a +most cruel manner by a Mr. Hervey. Oh, my lady! how the name struck +upon my ear! I hoped, however, it was not our Mr. Hervey; but it was the +identical Mr. Clarence Hervey. I made the young woman describe him, +for she had often and often seen him, when he visited the unfortunate +creature; and the description could suit none but our Mr. Hervey, and +besides it put it beyond a doubt, she told me his linen was all marked +C. H. So our Mr. Hervey, ma’am,” added Marriott, turning to Belinda, “it +certainly proved to be, to my utter dismay and confusion.” + +“Oh, Marriott! my poor head!” exclaimed Lady Delacour, starting from +under her hands: “that cruel comb went at least half an inch into my +head--heads have feeling as well as hearts, believe me.” And, as she +spoke, she snatched out the comb with which Marriott had just fastened +up her hair, and flung it on a sofa at some yards’ distance. While +Marriott went to fetch it, Lady Delacour thought that Belinda would +have time to recover from that utter dismay and confusion into which she +hoped that she must now be thrown. “Come, Marriott, make haste. I +have done _you_ at least a great favour, for you have all this hair to +perform upon again, and you will have leisure to finish this story +of yours--which, at all events, if it is not in any other respect +wonderful, we must allow is wonderfully long.” + +“Well, my lady, to be short, then--I was more curious than ever, when +I heard all this, to hear more; and asked my friend how she could ever +think of staying in a house with ladies of such a description! Upon +which she justified herself by assuring me, upon her honour, that at +first she believed the young lady was married privately to Mr. Hervey, +for that a clergyman came in secret, and read prayers, and she verily +believes that the unfortunate young creature was deceived barbarously, +and made to fancy herself married to all intents and purposes, till +all at once Mr. Hervey threw off the mask, and left off visiting her, +pretending a necessity to take a journey, and handing her over to that +vile woman, that Mrs. Ormond, who bid her to be comforted, and all the +things that are said by such women, on such occasions, by all accounts. +But the poor deluded young thing saw how it was now too plain, and she +was ready to break her heart; but not in a violent, common sort of way, +ma’am, but in silent grief, pining and drooping. My friend could not +stand the sight, nor endure to look upon Mrs. Ormond now she knew +what she was; and so she left the house, without giving any reason, +immediately. I forgot to mention, that the unfortunate girl’s maiden +name was St. Pierre, my lady: but her Christian name, which was rather +an out o’ the way name, I quite forget.” + +“No matter,” said Lady Delacour; “we can live without it; or we can +imagine it.” + +“To be sure--I beg pardon; such sort of people’s names can’t be of any +consequence, and, I’m sure, I blame myself now for going to the house, +after all I had heard.” + +“You did go to the house, then?” + +“To my shame be it spoken; my curiosity got the better of me, and I +went---but only on account of the bullfinch in the eyes of the world. It +was a great while before I could get in: but I was so firm, that I would +not give up the bird to no one but the lady herself, that I got in at +last. Oh, never did my eyes light upon so beautiful a creature, nor so +graceful, nor so innocent to look at!”--Belinda sighed--Marriott echoed +the sigh, and continued “She was by herself, and in tears, when I was +shown in, ma’am, and she started as if she had never seen any body +before in her life. But when she saw the bullfinch, ma’am, she clapped +her hands, and, smiling through her tears like a child, she ran up to +me, and thanked me again and again, kissing the bird between times, and +putting it into her bosom. Well, I declare, if she had talked to all +eternity, she could never have made me pity her half so much as all this +did, for it looked so much like innocence. I’m sure, nobody that was +not--or, at least, that did not think themselves innocent, could have +such ways, and such an innocent affection for a little bird. Not but +what I know ladies of a certain description often have birds, but then +their fondness is all affectation and fashion; but this poor thing was +all nature. Ah! poor unfortunate girl, thought I--but it’s no matter +what I thought now,” said Marriott, shutting her eyes, to hide the tears +that came into them at this instant; “I was ashamed of myself, when I +saw Mrs. Ormond just then come into the room, which made me recollect +what sort of company I was in. La! my lady, how I detested the sight +of her! She looked at me, too, more like a dragon than any thing else; +though in a civil way, and as if she was frightened out of her wits, +she asked Miss St. Pierre, as she called her, how I had got in (in a +whisper), and she made all sorts of signs afterward to her, to go out +of the room. Never having been in such a situation before, I was quite +robbed of all fluency, and could not--what with the anger I felt for the +one, and sorrow for the other--get out a word of common sense, or even +recollect what pretence brought me into the room, till the bird very +luckily put it into my head by beginning to sing; so then I asked, +whether they could certify it to be theirs by any particular tune of its +own? ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss St. Pierre; and she sung the very same tune. I +never heard so sweet a voice; but, poor thing, something came across her +mind in the middle of it, and she stopped; but she thanked me again for +bringing back the bird, which, she said, had been hers for a great +many years, and that she loved it dearly. I stood, I believe, like one +stupified, till I was roused by _the woman’s_ offering to put the five +guineas reward, mentioned in the advertisement, into my hand. The touch +of her gold made me start, as if it had been a snake, and I pushed it +from me; and when she pressed it again, I threw it on the table, scarce +knowing what I did; and just then, in her iniquitous hand, I saw a +letter, directed to Clarence Hervey, Esq. Oh, how I hated the sight of +his name, and every thing belonging to him, ma’am, at that minute! +I’m sure, I could not have kept myself from saying something quite +outrageous, if I had not taken myself out of the house, as I did, that +instant. + +“When there are women enough born and bred good for nothing, and ladies +enough to flirt with, that would desire no better, that a gentleman like +Mr. Clarence Hervey, ma’am, should set his wits, as one may say, to +be the ruin of such a sweet, innocent-looking young creature, and then +desert her in that barbarous way, after bringing a clergyman to deceive +her with a mock ceremony, and all--oh! there is no fashion, nor nothing +can countenance such wickedness! ‘tis the worst of wickedness and +cruelty--and I shall think and say so to the latest hour of my life.” + +“Well said, Marriott,” cried Lady Delacour. + +“And now you know the reason, ma’am,” added Marriott, “that I said, +I was glad _things are as they are_. To be sure I and every body once +thought--but that’s all over now--and I am glad _things are as they +are_.” + +Lady Delacour once more turned her quick eyes upon Belinda, and was +much pleased to see that she seemed to sympathize with Marriott’s +indignation. + +In the evening, when they were alone, Lady Delacour touched upon +the subject again, and observed, that as they should now, in all +probability, see Mr. Hervey in a few days, they might be able to form +a better judgment of this affair, which she doubted not had been +exaggerated. “You should judge from the whole of Clarence’s conduct and +character, and not from any particular part,” said her ladyship. “Do not +his letters breathe a spirit of generosity?” + +“But,” interrupted Miss Portman, “I am not called upon to judge of Mr. +Hervey’s whole conduct and character, nor of any part of it; his letters +and his generosity are nothing--” + +“To you?” said Lady Delacour with a smile. + +“This is no time, and no subject for raillery, my dear friend,” said +Belinda; “you assured me, and I believed you, that the idea of Mr. +Hervey’s return was entirely out of the question, when you prevailed +upon me to delay my journey to Oakly-park. As I now understand that your +ladyship has changed your mind, I must request your ladyship will permit +me--” + +“I will permit you to do what you please, dearest Belinda, except +to call me _your ladyship_ twice in one sentence. You shall go to +Oakly-park the day after to-morrow: will that content you, my dear? I +admire your strength of mind--you are much fitter to conduct yourself +than I am to conduct you. I have done with raillery: my first, my only +object, is your happiness. I respect and esteem as much as I love you, +and I love you better than any thing upon earth--power excepted, you +will say--power not excepted, believe me; and if you are one of those +strange people that cannot believe without proof, you shall have proof +positive upon the spot,” added she, ringing the bell as she spoke. “I +will no longer contend for power over your mind with your friends +at Oakly-park. I will give orders, in your presence, to Marriott, to +prepare for our march--I did not call it retreat; but there is nothing +shows so much generalship as a good retreat, unless it be a great +victory. I am, I confess, rather prejudiced in favour of victory.” + +“So am I,” said Belinda, with a smile; “I am so strongly prejudiced in +favour of victory, that rather than obtain no other, I would even be +content with a victory over myself.” + +Scarcely had Belinda pronounced these words, when Lord Delacour, who had +dined in town, entered the room, accompanied by Mr. Vincent. + +“Give me leave, Lady Delacour, to introduce to you,” said his +lordship, “a young gentleman, who has a great, and, I am sure, a most +disinterested desire to cultivate your ladyship’s further acquaintance.” + +Lady Delacour received him with all the politeness imaginable; and even +her prepossessions in favour of Clarence Hervey could not prevent her +from being struck with his appearance. Il a infiniment l’air d’un héros +de roman, thought she, and Belinda is not quite so great a philosopher +as I imagined. In due time her ladyship recollected that she had orders +to give to Marriott about her journey, that made it absolutely necessary +she should leave Miss Portman to entertain Mr. Vincent, if possible, +without her, for a few minutes; and Lord Delacour departed, contenting +himself with the usual excuse of--_letters to write_. + +“I ought to be delighted with your gallantry, Mr. Vincent,” said +Belinda, “in travelling so many miles, to remind me of my promise about +Oakly-park; but on the contrary, I am sorry you have taken so much +unnecessary trouble: Lady Delacour is, at this instant, preparing +for our journey to Mr. Percival’s. We intend to set out the day after +to-morrow.” + +“I am heartily glad of it--I shall be infinitely overpaid for my +journey, by having the pleasure of going back with you.” + +After some conversation upon different subjects, Mr. Vincent, with an +air of frankness which was peculiarly pleasing to Belinda, put into her +hands an anonymous letter, which he had received the preceding day. + +“It is not worth your reading,” said he; “but I know you too well to +fear that it should give you any pain; and I hope you know me too well, +to apprehend that it could make any impression on my mind.” + +Belinda read with some surprise:-- + +“Rash young man! beware of connecting yourself with the lady to whom you +have lately been drawn in to pay your addresses: she is the most artful +of women. She has been educated, as you may find upon inquiry, by one, +whose successful trade it has been to draw in young men of fortune for +her nieces, whence she has obtained the appellation of _the match-maker +general_. The only niece whom she could not get rid of any other way, +she sent to the most dissipated and unprincipled viscountess in town. +The viscountess fell sick, and, as it was universally reported last +winter, the young lady was immediately, upon her friend’s death, to have +been married to the viscount widower. But the viscountess detected the +connexion, and the young lady, to escape from her friend’s rage, and +from public shame, was obliged to retreat to certain shades in the +neighbourhood of Harrowgate; where she passed herself for a saint upon +those who were too honourable themselves to be suspicious of others. + +“At length the quarrel between her and the viscountess was made up, by +her address and boldness in declaring, that if she was not recalled, she +would divulge some secrets respecting a certain mysterious boudoir in +her ladyship’s house: this threat terrified the viscountess, who sent +off express for her late discarded humble companion. The quarrel +was hushed up, and the young lady is now with her noble friend at +Twickenham. The person who used to be let up the private stairs into +the boudoir, by Mrs. Marriott, is now more conveniently received at +Twickenham.” + +Much more was said by the letter-writer in the same strain. The name +of Clarence Hervey, in the last page, caught Belinda’s eye; and with a +trepidation which she did not feel at the beginning of this epistle, she +read the conclusion. + +“The viscount is not supposed to have been unrivalled in the young +lady’s favour. A young gentleman, of large fortune, great talents, +and uncommon powers of pleasing, has, for some months, been her secret +object; but he has been prudent enough to escape her matrimonial snares, +though he carries on a correspondence with her, through the means of her +friend the viscountess, to whom he privately writes. The noble lady has +bargained to make over to her confidante all her interest in Hervey’s +heart. He is expected every day to return from his tour; and, if the +schemes upon him can be brought to bear, the promised return to the +neighbourhood of Harrowgate will never be thought of. Mr. Vincent will +be left in the lurch; he will not even have the lady’s fair hand--her +_fair_ heart is Clarence Hervey’s, at all events. Further particulars +shall be communicated to Mr. Vincent, if he pays due attention to this +warning from + +“A SINCERE FRIEND.” + +As soon as Belinda had finished this curious production, she thanked Mr. +Vincent, with more kindness than she had ever before shown him, for the +confidence he placed in her, and for the openness with which he treated +her. She begged his permission to show this letter to Lady Delacour, +though he had previously dreaded the effect which it might have upon her +ladyship’s feelings. + +Her first exclamation was, “This is one of Harriot Freke’s frolics;” but +as her ladyship’s indignation against Mrs. Freke had long since subsided +into utter contempt, she did not waste another thought upon the writer +of this horrible letter; but instantly the whole energy of her mind +and fire of her eloquence burst forth in an eulogium upon her friend. +Careless of all that concerned herself, she explained, without a +moment’s hesitation, every thing that could exalt Belinda: she described +all the difficult circumstances in which her friend had been placed; she +mentioned the secret with which she had been intrusted; the honour +with which, even at the hazard of her own reputation, she had kept +her promise of secrecy inviolable, when Lord Delacour, in a fit of +intoxication and jealousy, had endeavoured to wrest from Marriott the +key of _the mysterious boudoir_. She confessed her own absurd jealousy, +explained how it had been excited by the artifices of Champfort and Sir +Philip Baddely, how slight circumstances had worked her mind up almost +to frenzy. “The temper, the dignity, the gentleness, the humanity, with +which Belinda bore with me, during this paroxysm of madness,” said Lady +Delacour, “I never can forget; nor the spirit with which she left my +house, when she saw me unworthy of her esteem, and ungrateful for her +kindness; nor the magnanimity with which she returned to me, when I +thought myself upon my death-bed: all this has made an impression upon +my soul, which never, whilst I have life and reason, can be effaced. She +has saved my life. She has made my life worth saving. She has made +me feel my own value. She has made me know my own happiness. She has +reconciled me to my husband. She has united me with my child. She has +been my guardian angel.--_She_, the confidante of my intrigues!--_she_ +leagued with me in vice!--No, I am bound to her by ties stronger +than vice ever felt; than vice, even in the utmost ingenuity of its +depravity, can devise.” + +Exhausted by the vehemence with which she had spoken, Lady Delacour +paused; but Vincent, who sympathized in her enthusiasm, kept his eyes +fixed upon her, in hopes that she had yet more to say. + +“I might, perhaps, you will think,” continued she, smiling, “have spared +you this history of myself, and of my own affairs, Mr. Vincent; but +I thought it necessary to tell you the plain facts, which malice has +distorted into the most odious form. This is the quarrel, this is +the reconciliation, of which your anonymous friend has been so well +informed. Now, as to Clarence Hervey.” + +“I have explained to Mr. Vincent,” interrupted Belinda, “every thing +that he could wish to know on that subject, and I now wish you to tell +him that I faithfully remembered my promise to return to Oakly-park, and +that we were actually preparing for the journey.” + +“Look here, sir,” cried Lady Delacour, opening the door of her +dressing-room, in which Marriott was upon her knees, locking a trunk, +“here’s dreadful note of preparation.” + +“You are a happier man than you yet know, Mr. Vincent,” continued Lady +Delacour; “for I can tell you, that some persuasion, some raillery, and +some wit, I flatter myself, have been used, to detain Miss Portman from +you.” + +“From Oakly-park,” interrupted Belinda. + +“From Oakly-park, &c. a few days longer. Shall I be frank with you, Mr. +Vincent?--Yes, for I cannot help it--I am not of the nature of anonymous +letter-writers; I cannot, either secretly or publicly, sign or say +myself a _sincere friend_, without being one to the utmost extent of +my influence. I never give my vote without my interest, nor my interest +without my vote. Now Clarence Hervey is my friend. Start not at all, +sir,--you have no reason; for if he is my friend, Miss Portman is yours: +which has the better bargain? But, as I was going to tell you, Mr. +Clarence Hervey is my friend, and I am his. My vote, interest, and +influence, have consequently been all in his favour. I had reason to +believe that he has long admired _the dignity_ of Miss Portman’s _mind, +and the simplicity of her character_,” continued her ladyship, with an +arch look at Belinda; “and though he was too much a man of genius to +begin with the present tense of the indicative mood, ‘I love,’ yet I +was, and am, convinced, that he does love her.” + +“Can you, dear Lady Delacour,” cried Belinda, “speak in this manner, and +recollect all we heard from Marriott this morning? And to what purpose +all this?” + +“To what purpose, my dear? To convince your friend, Mr. Vincent, that I +am neither fool nor knave; but that I deal fairly by you, by him, and +by all the world. Mr. Hervey’s conduct towards Miss Portman has, I +acknowledge, sir, been undecided. Some circumstances have lately come +to my knowledge which throw doubts upon his honour and integrity--doubts +which, I firmly believe, he will clear up to _my_ satisfaction at +least, as soon as I see him, or as soon as it is in his power; with this +conviction, and believing, as I do, that no man upon earth is so well +suited to my friend,--pardon me, Mr. Vincent, if my wishes differ from +yours: though my sincerity may give you present, it may save you from +future, pain.” + +“Your ladyship’s sincerity, whatever pain it may give me, I admire,” + said Mr. Vincent, with some pride in his manner; “but I see that I must +despair of the honour of your ladyship’s congratulations.” + +“Pardon me,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “there you are quite mistaken: +the man of Belinda’s choice _must_ receive my congratulations; he must +do more--he must become my friend I would never rest till I had won his +regard, nor should I in the least be apprehensive that he would not have +sufficient greatness of mind to forgive my having treated him with a +degree of sincerity which the common forms of politeness cannot justify, +and at which common souls would be scandalized past recovery.” + +Mr. Vincent’s pride was entirely vanquished by this speech; and with +that frankness by which his manners were usually characterized, he +thanked her for having distinguished him from _common souls_; and +assured her that such sincerity as hers was infinitely more to his +taste than that refined politeness of which he was aware no one was more +perfect mistress than Lady Delacour. + +Here their conversation ended, and Mr. Vincent, as it was now late, took +his leave. + +“Really, my dear Belinda,” said Lady Delacour, when he was gone, “I am +not surprised at your impatience to return to Oakly-park; I am not so +partial to my knight, as to compare him, in personal accomplishments, +with your hero. I acknowledge, also, that there is something vastly +prepossessing in the frankness of his manners; he has behaved admirably +well about this abominable letter; but, what is better than all in a +lady’s eyes he is _éperdument amoureux_.” + +“Not _éperdument_, I hope,” said Belinda. + +“Then, as you do not think it necessary for your hero to be _éperdument +amoureux_, I presume,” said Lady Delacour, “you do not think it +necessary that a heroine should be in love at all. So love and marriage +are to be separated by philosophy, as well as by fashion. This is Lady +Anne Percival’s doctrine! I give Mr. Percival joy. I remember the time, +when he fancied love essential to happiness.” + +“I believe he not only fancies, but is sure of it now, from experience,” + said Belinda. + +“Then he interdicts love only to his friends? He does not think it +essential that you should know any thing about the matter. You may marry +his ward, and welcome, without being in love with him.” + +“But not without loving him,” said Belinda. + +“I am not casuist enough in these matters to understand the subtle +distinction you make, with the true Percival emphasis, between loving +and falling in love. But I suppose I am to understand by loving, loving +as half the world do when they marry.” + +“As it would be happy for half the world if they did,” replied Belinda, +mildly, but with a firmness of tone that her ladyship felt. “I should +despise myself and deserve no pity from any human being, if, after all I +have seen, I could think of marrying for convenience or interest.” + +“Oh! pardon me; I meant not to insinuate such an idea: even your worst +enemy, Sir Philip Baddely, would acquit you there. I meant but to hint, +my dear Belinda, that a heart such as yours is formed for love in its +highest, purest, happiest state.” + +A pause ensued. + +“Such happiness can be secured only,” resumed Belinda, “by a union with +a man of sense and virtue.” + +“A man of sense and virtue, I suppose, means Mr. Vincent,” said Lady +Delacour: “no doubt you have lately learned in the same sober style that +a little love will suffice with a great deal of esteem.” + +“I hope I have learned lately that a great deal of esteem is the best +foundation for a great deal of love.” + +“Possibly,” said Lady Delacour; “but we often see people working at the +foundation all their lives without getting any farther.” + +“And those who build their castles of happiness in the air,” said +Belinda, “are they more secure, wiser, or happier?” + +“Wiser! I know nothing about that,” said Lady Delacour; “but happier +I do believe they are; for the castle-building is always a _labour of +love_, but the foundation of drudgery is generally _love’s labour lost_. +Poor Vincent will find it so.” + +“Perhaps not,” said Belinda; “for already his solid good qualities--” + +“Solid good qualities!” interrupted Lady Delacour: “I beg your pardon +for interrupting you, but, my dear, you know we never fall in love with +good qualities, except, indeed, when they are joined to an aquiline +nose--oh! that aquiline nose of Mr. Vincent’s! I am more afraid of it +than of all his solid good qualities. He has again, I acknowledge it, +much the advantage of Clarence Hervey in personal accomplishments. But +you are not a woman to be decided by personal accomplishments.” + +“And you will not allow me to be decided by solid good qualities,” said +Belinda. “So by what must I be determined?” + +“By your heart, my dear; by your heart: trust your heart only.” + +“Alas!” said Belinda, “how many, many women have deplored their having +trusted to their hearts only.” + +“_Their_ hearts! but I said _your_ heart: mind your pronouns, my dear; +that makes all the difference. But, to be serious, tell me, do you +really and _bona fide_, as my old uncle the lawyer used to say, love Mr. +Vincent?” + +“No,” said Belinda, “I do not love him yet.” + +“But for that emphatic _yet_, how I should have worshipped you! I wish I +could once clearly understand the state of your mind about Mr. Vincent, +and then I should be able to judge how far I might indulge myself in +raillery without being absolutely impertinent. So without intruding upon +your confidence, tell me whatever you please.” + +“I will tell you all I know of my own mind,” replied Belinda, looking up +with an ingenuous countenance. “I esteem Mr. Vincent; I am grateful +to him for the proofs he has given me of steady attachment, and of +confidence in my integrity. I like his manners and the frankness of +his temper; but I do not yet love him, and till I do, no earthly +consideration could prevail upon me to marry him.” + +“Perfectly satisfactory, my dear Belinda; and yet I cannot be quite +at ease whilst Mr. Vincent is present, and my poor Clarence absent: +proximity is such a dangerous advantage even with the wisest of us. The +absent lose favour so quickly in Cupid’s court, as in all other courts; +and they are such victims to false reports and vile slanderers!” + +Belinda sighed. + +“Thank you for that sigh, my dear,” said Lady Delacour. “May I ask, +would you, if you discovered that Mr. Vincent had a Virginia, discard +him for ever from your thoughts?” + +“If I discovered that he had deceived and behaved dishonourably to any +woman, I certainly should banish him for ever from my regard.” + +“With as much ease as you banished Clarence Hervey?” + +“With more, perhaps.” + +“Then you acknowledge--that’s all I want--that you liked Clarence better +than you do Vincent?” + +“I acknowledge it,” said Belinda, colouring up to her temples; “but that +time is entirely past, and I never look back to it.” + +“But if you were forced to look back to it, my dear,--if Clarence Hervey +proposed for you,--would not you cast a lingering look behind?” + +“Let me beg of you, my dear Lady Delacour, as my friend,” cried Belinda, +speaking and looking with great earnestness; “let me beg of you to +forbear. Do not use your powerful influence over my heart to make me +think of what I ought not to think, or do what I ought not to do. I have +permitted Mr. Vincent to address me. You cannot imagine that I am so +base as to treat him with duplicity, or that I consider him only as a +_pis-aller_; no--I have treated, I will treat him honourably. He knows +exactly the state of my mind. He shall have a fair trial whether he can +win my love; the moment I am convinced that he cannot succeed, I will +tell him so decidedly: but if ever I should feel for him that affection +which is necessary for my happiness and his, I hope I shall without +fear, even of Lady Delacour’s ridicule or displeasure, avow my +sentiments, and abide by my choice.” + +“My dear, I admire you,” said Lady Delacour; “but I am incorrigible; +I am not fit to hear myself convinced. After all, I am impelled by the +genius of imprudence to tell you, that, in spite of Mr. Percival’s cure +for _first loves_, I consider love as a distemper that can be had but +once.” + +“As you acknowledge that you are not fit to hear yourself convinced,” + said Belinda, “I will not argue this point with you.” + +“But you will allow,” said Lady Delacour, “as it is said or sung in +Cupid’s calendar, that-- + + ‘Un peu d’amour, un peu de soin, + Menent souvent un coeur bien loin;’” + +and she broke off the conversation by singing that beautiful French air. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG. + + +The only interest that honest people can take in the fate of rogues +is in their detection and punishment; the reader, then, will be so far +interested in the fate of Mr. Champfort, as to feel some satisfaction at +his being safely lodged in Newgate. The circumstance which led to this +desirable catastrophe was the anonymous letter to Mr. Vincent. From +the first moment that Marriott saw or heard of the letter, she was +convinced, she said, that “Mr. Champfort _was at the bottom of it_.” + Lady Delacour was equally convinced that Harriot Freke was the author of +the epistle; and she supported her opinion by observing, that Champfort +could neither write nor spell English. Marriott and her lady were both +right. It was a joint, or rather a triplicate performance. Champfort, in +conjunction with the stupid maid, furnished the intelligence, which Mrs. +Freke manufactured; and when she had put the whole into proper style and +form, Mr. Champfort got her rough draught fairly copied at his leisure, +and transmitted his copy to Mr. Vincent. Now all this was discovered by +a very slight circumstance. The letter was copied by Mr. Champfort upon +a sheet of mourning paper, off which he thought that he had carefully +cut the edges; but one bit of the black edge remained, which did not +escape Marriott’s scrutinizing eye. “Lord bless my stars! my lady,” she +exclaimed, “this must be the paper--I mean may be the paper--that Mr. +Champfort was cutting a quire of, the very day before Miss Portman left +town. It’s a great while ago, but I remember it as well as if it was +yesterday. I saw a parcel of black jags of paper littering the place, +and asked what had been going on? and was told, that it was only +Mr. Champfort who had been cutting some paper; which, to be sure, I +concluded my lord had given to him, having no further occasion for,--as +my lord and you, my lady, were just going out of mourning at that time, +as you may remember.” + +Lord Delacour, when the paper was shown to him, recognized it +immediately by a private mark which he had put on the outside sheet of +a division of letter paper, which, indeed, he had never given to +Champfort, but which he had missed about the time Marriott mentioned. +Between the leaves of this paper his lordship had put, as it was often +his practice, some bank notes: they were notes but of small value, and +when he missed them he was easily persuaded by Champfort that, as he had +been much intoxicated the preceding night, he had thrown them away with +some useless papers. He rummaged through his writing-desk in vain, and +then gave up the search. It was true that on this very occasion he +gave Champfort the remainder of some mourning paper, which he made no +scruple, therefore, of producing openly. Certain that he could swear +to his own private mark, and that he could identify his notes by their +numbers, &c., of which he had luckily a memorandum, Lord Delacour, +enraged to find himself both robbed and duped by a favourite servant, in +whom he had placed implicit confidence, was effectually roused from his +natural indolence: he took such active and successful measures, that Mr. +Champfort was committed to gaol, to take his trial for the robbery. To +make peace for himself, he confessed that he had been instigated by Mrs. +Freke to get the anonymous letter written. This lady was now suffering +just punishment for her _frolics_, and Lady Delacour thought her fallen +so much below indignation, that she advised Belinda to take no manner +of notice of her conduct, except by simply returning the letter to +her, with “Miss Portman’s, Mr. Vincent’s, and Lord and Lady Delacour’s, +compliments and thanks to _a sincere friend_, who had been the means of +bringing villany to justice.” + +So much for Mrs. Freke and Mr. Champfort, who, both together, scarcely +deserve an episode of ten lines. + +Now to return to Mr. Vincent. Animated by fresh hope, he pressed his +suit with Belinda with all the ardour of his sanguine temper. Though +little disposed to fear any future evil, especially in the midst of +present felicity, yet he was aware of the danger that might ensue to +him from Clarence Hervey’s arrival; he was therefore impatient for the +intermediate day to pass, and it was with heartfelt joy that he saw the +carriages at last at the door, which were actually to convey them +to Oakly-park. Mr. Vincent, who had all the West Indian love for +magnificence, had upon this occasion an extremely handsome equipage. +Lady Delacour, though she was disappointed by Clarence Hervey’s not +appearing, did not attempt to delay their departure. She contented +herself with leaving a note, to be delivered to him on his arrival, +which, she still flattered herself, would induce him immediately to go +to Harrowgate. The trunks were fastened upon the carriages, the imperial +was carrying out, Marriott was full of a world of business, Lord +Delacour was looking at his horses as usual, Helena was patting Mr. +Vincent’s great dog, and Belinda was rallying her lover upon his taste +for “the pomp, pride, and circumstance” of glorious travelling--when an +express arrived from Oakly-park. It was to delay their journey for a +few weeks. Mr. Percival and Lady Anne wrote word, that they were +unexpectedly called from home by--. Lady Delacour did not stay to read +by what, or by whom, she was so much delighted by this reprieve. +Mr. Vincent bore the disappointment as well as could be expected; +particularly when Belinda observed, to comfort him, that “the mind +is its own place;” and that hers, she believed, would be the same at +Twickenham as at Oakly-park. Nor did _she_ give him any reason to regret +that she was not immediately under the influence of his own friends. The +dread of being unduly biassed by Lady Delacour, and the strong desire +Belinda felt to act honourably by Mr. Vincent, to show him that she +was not trifling with his happiness, and that she was incapable of the +meanness of retaining a lover as a _pis-aller_, were motives which acted +more powerfully in his favour than all that even Lady Anne Percival +could have looked or said. The contrast between the openness and +decision of his conduct towards her, and Clarence Hervey’s vacillation +and mystery; the belief that Mr. Hervey was or ought to be attached to +another woman; the conviction that Mr. Vincent was strongly attached to +her, and that he possessed many of the good qualities essential to her +happiness, operated every day more and more strongly upon Belinda’s +mind. + +Where was Clarence Hervey all this time? Lady Delacour, alas! could not +divine. She every morning was certain that he would appear that day, and +every night she was forced to acknowledge her mistake. No inquiries--and +she had made all that could be made, by address and perseverance--no +inquiries could clear up the mystery of Virginia and Mrs. Ormond; and +her impatience to see her friend Clarence every hour increased. She was +divided between her confidence in him and her affection for Belinda; +unwilling to give him up, yet afraid to injure her happiness, or to +offend her, by injudicious advice, and improper interference. One thing +kept Lady Delacour for some time in spirits--Miss Portman’s assurance +that she would not bind herself by any promise or engagement to Mr. +Vincent, even when decided in his favour; and that she should hold both +him and herself perfectly free till they were actually married. This was +according to Lady Anne and Mr. Percival’s principles; and Lady Delacour +was never tired of expressing directly or indirectly her admiration of +the prudence and propriety of their doctrine. + +Lady Delacour recollected her own promise, to give her _sincere +congratulations to the victorious knight_; and she endeavoured to treat +Mr. Vincent with impartiality. She was, however, now still less inclined +to like him, from a discovery, which she accidentally made, of his being +still upon good terms with _odious Mrs. Luttridge_. Helena, one morning, +was playing with Mr. Vincent’s large dog, of which he was excessively +fond. It was called Juba, after his faithful servant. + +“Helena, my dear,” said Lady Delacour, “take care! don’t trust your hand +in that creature’s monstrous mouth.” + +“I can assure your ladyship,” cried Mr. Vincent, “that he is the very +quietest and best creature in the world.” + +“No doubt,” said Belinda, smiling, “since he belongs to you; for you +know, as Mr. Percival tells you, every thing animate or inanimate that +is under your protection, you think must be the best of its kind in the +universe.” + +“But, really, Juba is the best creature in the world,” repeated Mr. +Vincent, with great eagerness. “Juba is, without exception, the best +creature in the universe.” + +“Juba, the dog, or Juba, the man?” said Belinda: “you know, they cannot +be both the best creatures in the universe.” + +“Well! Juba, the man, is the best man--and Juba, the dog, is the best +dog, in the universe,” said Mr. Vincent, laughing, with his usual +candour, at his own foible, when it was pointed out to him. “But, +seriously, Lady Delacour, you need not be in the least afraid to trust +Miss Delacour with this poor fellow; for, do you know, during a whole +month that I lent him to Mrs. Luttridge, at Harrowgate, she used +constantly to let him sleep in the room with her; and now, whenever he +sees her, he licks her hand as gently as if he were a lapdog; and it +was but yesterday, when I had him there, she declared he was more gentle +than any lapdog in London.” + +At the name of Luttridge, Lady Delacour changed countenance, and she +continued silent for some time. Mr. Vincent, attributing her sudden +seriousness to dislike or fear of his dog, took him out of the room. + +“My dear Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, observing that she still retained +an air of displeasure, “I hope your antipathy to _odious Mrs. Luttridge_ +does not extend to every body who visits her.” + +“Tout au contraire,” cried Lady Delacour, starting from her reverie, and +assuming a playful manner: “I have made a general gaol-delivery of +all my old hatreds; and even odious Mrs. Luttridge, though a hardened +offender, must be included in this act of grace: so you need not fear +that Mr. Vincent should fall under my royal displeasure for consorting +with this state criminal. Though I can’t sympathize with him, I forgive +him, both for liking that great dog, and that little woman; especially, +as I shrewdly suspect, that he likes the lady’s E O table better than +the lady.” + +“E O table! Good Heavens! you do not imagine Mr. Vincent----” + +“Nay, my dear, don’t look so terribly alarmed! I assure you, I did not +mean to hint that there was any serious, _improper_ attachment to the E +O table; only a little flirtation, perhaps, to which his passion for you +has, doubtless, put a stop.” + +“I’ll ask him the moment I see him,” cried Belinda, “if he is fond of +play: I know he used to play at billiards at Oakly-park, but merely as +an amusement. Games of address are not to be put upon a footing with +games of hazard.’ + +“A man may, however, contrive to lose a good deal of money at billiards, +as poor Lord Delacour can tell you. But I beseech you, my dear, do not +betray me to Mr. Vincent; ten to one I am mistaken, for his great dog +put me out of humour----” + +“But with such a doubt upon my mind, unsatisfied----” + +“It shall be satisfied; Lord Delacour shall make inquiries for me. Lord +Delacour _shall_ make inquiries, did I say?--_will_, I should have +said. If Champfort had heard me, to what excellent account he might have +turned that unlucky _shall_. What a nice grammarian a woman had need to +be, who would live well with a husband inferior to her in understanding! +With a superior or an equal, she might use _shall_ and _will_ as +inaccurately as she pleases. Glorious privilege! How I shall envy it +you, my dear Belinda! But how can you ever hope to enjoy it? Where is +your superior? Where is your equal?” + +Mr. Vincent, who had by this time seen his dog fed, which was one of his +daily pleasures, returned, and politely assured Lady Delacour that Juba +should not again intrude. To make her peace with Mr. Vincent, and to +drive the E O table from Belinda’s thoughts, her ladyship now turned the +conversation from Juba the dog, to Juba the man. She talked of Harriot +Freke’s phosphoric Obeah woman, of whom, she said, she had heard an +account from Miss Portman. From thence she went on to the African +slave trade, by way of contrast, and she finished precisely where she +intended, and where Mr. Vincent could have wished, by praising a poem +called ‘The dying Negro,’ which he had the preceding evening brought to +read to Belinda. This praise was peculiarly agreeable, because he was +not perfectly sure of his own critical judgment, and his knowledge +of English literature was not as extensive as Clarence Hervey’s; a +circumstance which Lady Delacour had discovered one morning, when they +went to see Pope’s famous villa at Twickenham. Flattered by her present +confirmation of his taste, Mr. Vincent readily complied with a request +to read the poem to Belinda. They were all deeply engaged by the +charms of poetry, when they were suddenly interrupted by the entrance +of--Clarence Hervey! + +The book dropped from Vincent’s hand the instant that he heard his name. +Lady Delacour’s eyes sparkled with joy. Belinda’s colour rose, but her +countenance maintained an expression of calm dignity. Mr. Hervey, upon +his first entrance, appeared prepared to support an air of philosophic +composure, which forsook him before he had walked across the room. He +seemed overpowered by the kindness with which Lady Delacour received +his congratulations on her recovery--struck by the reserve of Belinda’s +manner--but not surprised, or displeased, at the sight of Mr. Vincent. +On the contrary, he desired immediately to be introduced to him, with +the air of a man resolute to cultivate his friendship. Provoked +and perplexed, Lady Delacour, in a tone of mingled reproach and +astonishment, exclaimed, “Though you have not done me the honour, Mr. +Hervey, to take any other notice of my last letter, I am to understand, +I presume, by the manner in which you desire me to introduce you to our +friend Mr. Vincent, that it has been received.” + +“Received! Good Heavens! have not you had my answer?” cried Clarence +Hervey, with a voice and look of extreme surprise and emotion: “Has not +your ladyship received a packet?” + +“I have had no packet--I have had no letter. Mr. Vincent, do me the +favour to ring the bell,” cried Lady Delacour, eagerly: “I’ll know, this +instant, what’s become of it.” + +“Your ladyship must have thought me--,” and, as he spoke, his eye +involuntarily glanced towards Belinda. + +“No matter what I thought you,” cried Lady Delacour, who forgave him +every thing for this single glance; “if I did you a little injustice, +Clarence, when I was angry, you must forgive me; for, I assure you, I do +you a great deal of justice at other times.” + +“Did any letter, any packet, come here for me? Inquire, inquire,” said +she, impatiently, to the servant who came in. No letter or packet was +to be heard of. It had been directed, Mr. Hervey now remembered, to her +ladyship’s house in town. She gave orders to have it immediately sent +for; but scarcely had she given them, when, turning to Mr. Hervey, she +laughed and said, “A very foolish compliment to you and your letter, +for you certainly can speak as well as you can write; nay, better, I +think--though you don’t write ill, neither--but you can tell me, in two +words, what in writing would take half a volume. Leave this gentleman +and lady to ‘the dying Negro,’ and let me hear your two words in Lord +Delacour’s dressing-room, if you please,” said she, opening the door of +an adjoining apartment. “Lord Delacour will not be jealous if he find +you tête-à-tête with me, I promise you. But you shall not be compelled. +You look--” + +“I look,” said Mr. Hervey, affecting to laugh, “as if I felt the +impossibility of putting half a volume into two words. It is a long +story, and--” + +“And I must wait for the packet, whether I will or no--well, be it so,” + said Lady Delacour. Struck with the extreme perturbation into which +he was thrown, she pressed him with no farther raillery, but instantly +attempted to change the conversation to general subjects. + +Again she had recourse to ‘the dying Negro.’ Mr. Vincent, to whom she +now addressed herself, said, “For my part, I neither have, nor pretend +to have, much critical taste; but I admire in this poem the manly, +energetic spirit of virtue which it breathes.” From the poem, an easy +transition was made to the author; and Clarence Hervey, exerting himself +to join in the conversation, observed, “that this writer (Mr. Day) was +an instance that genuine eloquence must spring from the heart. Cicero +was certainly right,” continued he, addressing himself to Mr. Vincent, +“in his definition of a great orator, to make it one of the first +requisites, that he should be a good man.” + +Mr. Vincent coldly replied, “This definition would exclude too many men +of superior talents, to be easily admitted.” + +“Perhaps the appearance of virtue,” said Belinda, “might, on many +occasions, succeed as well as the reality.” + +“Yes, if the man be as good an actor as Mr. Hervey,” said, Lady +Delacour, “and if he suit ‘the action to the word’--‘the word to the +action.’” + +Belinda never raised her eyes whilst her ladyship uttered these words; +Mr. Vincent was, or seemed to be, so deeply engaged in looking for +something in the book, which he held in his hand, that he could take no +farther part in the conversation; and a dead silence ensued. + +Lady Delacour, who was naturally impatient in the extreme, especially +in the vindication of her friends, could not bear to see, as she did by +Belinda’s countenance, that she had not forgotten Marriott’s story of +Virginia St. Pierre; and though her ladyship was convinced that the +_packet_ would clear up all mysteries, yet she could not endure that +even in the interim ‘poor Clarence’ should he unjustly suspected; nor +could she refrain from trying an expedient, which just occurred to her, +to satisfy herself and every body present. She was the first to break +silence. + +“To do ye justice, my friends, you are all good company this morning. +Mr. Vincent is excusable, because he is in love; and Belinda is +excusable, because--because--Mr. Hervey, pray help me to an excuse for +Miss Portman’s stupidity, for I am dreadfully afraid of blundering out +the truth. But why do I ask _you_ to help me? In your present condition, +you seem totally unable to help yourself.--Not a word!--Run over the +common-places of conversation--weather--fashion--scandal--dress--deaths-- +marriages.--Will none of these do? Suppose, then, you were to entertain +me with other people’s thoughts, since you have none of your own +unpacked--Forfeit to arbitrary power,” continued her ladyship, playfully +seizing Mr. Vincent’s book. “I have always observed that none submit +with so good a grace to arbitrary power from our sex as your true men of +spirit, who would shed the last drop of their blood to resist it from +one of their own. Inconsistent creatures, the best of you! So read this +charming little poem to us, Mr. Hervey, will you?” + +He was going to begin immediately, but Lady Delacour put her hand upon +the book, and stopped him. + +“Stay; though I am tyrannical, I will not be treacherous. I warn you, +then, that I have imposed upon you a difficult, a dangerous task. If you +have any ‘sins unwhipt of justice,’ there are lines which I defy you to +read without faltering--listen to the preface.” + +Her ladyship began as follows: + +“Mr. Day, indeed, retained during all the period of his life, as +might be expected from his character, a strong detestation of female +seduction----Happening to see some verses, written by a young lady, on +a recent event of this nature, which was succeeded by a fatal +catastrophe--the unhappy young woman, who had been a victim to the +perfidy of a lover, overpowered by her sensibility of shame, having died +of a broken heart--he expresses his sympathy with the fair poetess in +the following manner.” + +Lady Delacour paused, and fixed her eyes upon Clarence Hervey. He, with +all the appearance of conscious innocence, received the book, without +hesitation, from her hands, and read aloud the lines, to which she +pointed. + + “Swear by the dread avengers of the tomb, + By all thy hopes, by death’s tremendous gloom, + That ne’er by thee deceived, the tender maid + Shall mourn her easy confidence betray’d, + Nor weep in secret the triumphant art, + With bitter anguish rankling in her heart; + So may each blessing, which impartial fate + Throws on the good, but snatches from the great, + Adorn thy favour’d course with rays divine, + And Heaven’s best gift, a virtuous love, be thine!” + +Mr. Hervey read these lines with so much unaffected, unembarrassed +energy, that Lady Delacour could not help casting a triumphant look at +Belinda, which said or seemed to say--you see I was right in my opinion +of Clarence! + +Had Mr. Vincent been left to his own observations, he would have seen +the simple truth; but he was alarmed and deceived by Lady Delacour’s +imprudent expressions of joy, and by the significant looks that she +gave her friend Miss Portman, which seemed to be _looks of mutual +intelligence_. He scarcely dared to turn his eyes toward his mistress, +or upon him whom he thought his rival: but he kept them anxiously fixed +upon her ladyship, in whose face, as in a glass, he seemed to study +every thing that was passing. + +“Pray, have you ever played at chess, since we saw you last?” said +Lady Delacour to Clarence. “I hope you do not forget that you are _my +knight_. I do not forget it, I assure you--I own you as my knight to all +the world, in public and private--do not I, Belinda?” + +A dark cloud overspread Mr. Vincent’s brow--he listened not to Belinda’s +answer. Seized with a transport of jealousy, he darted at Mr. Hervey a +glance of mingled scorn and rage; and, after saying a few unintelligible +words to Miss Portman and Lady Delacour, he left the room. + +Clarence Hervey, who seemed afraid to trust himself longer with Belinda, +withdrew a few minutes afterward. + +“My dear Belinda,” exclaimed Lady Delacour, the moment that he was out +of the room, “how glad I am he is gone, that I may say all the good I +think of him! In the first place, Clarence Hervey loves you. Never was I +so fully convinced of it as this day. Why had we not that letter of his +sooner? that will explain all to us: but I ask for no explanation, I +ask for no letter, to confirm my opinion, my conviction--that he _loves_ +you: on this point I _cannot_ be mistaken--he fondly loves you.” + +“He fondly loves her!--Yes, to be sure, I could have told you that news +long ago,” cried the dowager Lady Boucher, who was in the room before +they were aware of her entrance; they had both been so eager, the one +listening, and the other speaking. + +“Fondly loves her!” repeated the dowager: “yes; and no secret, I +promise you, Lady Delacour:” and then, turning to Belinda, she began a +congratulatory speech, upon the report of her approaching marriage with +Mr. Vincent. Belinda absolutely denied the truth of this report: but the +dowager continued, “I distress you, I see, and it’s quite out of rule, +I am sensible, to speak in this sort of way, Miss Portman; but as I’m an +old acquaintance, and an old friend, and an old woman, you’ll excuse me. +I can’t help saying, I feel quite rejoiced at your meeting with such a +match.” Belinda again attempted to declare that she was not going to be +married; but the invincible dowager went on: “Every way eligible, and +every way agreeable. A charming young man, I hear, Lady Delacour: I +see I must only speak to you, or I shall make Miss Portman sink to the +centre of the earth, which I would not wish to do, especially at such a +critical moment as this. A charming young man, I hear, with a noble West +Indian fortune, and a noble spirit, and well connected, and passionately +in love--no wonder. But I have done now, I promise you; I’ll ask no +questions: so don’t run away, Miss Portman; I’ll ask no questions, I +promise you.” + +To ensure the performance of the promise, Lady Delacour asked what news +there was in the world? This question, she knew, would keep the dowager +in delightful employment. “I live quite out of the world here; but since +Lady Boucher has the charity to come to see me, we shall hear all the +‘secrets worth knowing,’ from the best authority.” + +“Then, the first piece of news I have for you is, that my Lord and my +Lady Delacour are absolutely reconciled; and that they are the happiest +couple that ever lived.” + +“All very true,” replied Lady Delacour. + +“True!” repeated Lady Boucher: “why, my dear Lady Delacour, you amaze +me!--Are you in earnest?--Was there ever any thing so provoking?--There +have I been contradicting the report, wherever I went; for I was +convinced that the whole story was a mistake, and a fabrication.” + +“The history of the reformation might not be exact, but the reformation +itself your ladyship may depend upon, since you hear it from my own +lips.” + +“Well, how amazing! how incredible!--Lord bless me! But your ladyship +certainly is not in earnest? for you look just the same, and speak just +in the same sort of way: I see no alteration, I confess.” + +“And what alteration, my good Lady Boucher, did you expect to see? Did +you think that, by way of being exemplarily virtuous, I should, like +Lady Q----, let my sentences come out of my mouth only at the rate of a +word a minute? + + ‘Like--minute--drops--from--off--the--eaves.’ + +Or did you expect that, in hopes of being a pattern for the rising +generation, I should hold my features in penance, immoveably, thus--like +some of the poor ladies of Antigua, who, after they have blistered their +faces all over, to get a fine complexion, are forced, whilst the new +skin is coming, to sit without speaking, smiling, or moving muscle or +feature, lest an indelible wrinkle should be the consequence?” + +Lady Boucher was impatient to have this speech finished, for she had a +piece of news to tell. “Well!” cried she, “there’s no knowing what to +believe or disbelieve, one hears so many strange reports; but I have a +piece of news for you, that you may all depend upon. I have one secret +worth knowing, I can tell your ladyship--and one, your ladyship and +Miss Portman, I’m sure, will be rejoiced to hear. Your friend, Clarence +Hervey, is going to be married.” + +“Married! married!” cried Lady Delacour. + +“Ay, ay, your ladyship may look as much astonished as you please, you +cannot be more so than I was when I heard it. Clarence Hervey, Miss +Portman, that was looked upon so completely, you know, as not a marrying +man; and now the last man upon earth that your ladyship would suspect of +marrying in this sort of way!” + +“In what sort of way?--My dear Belinda, how can you stand this fire?” + said Lady Delacour, placing a skreen, dexterously, to hide her face from +the dowager’s observation. + +“Now only guess whom he is going to marry,” continued Lady Boucher: +“whom do _you_ guess, Miss Portman?” + +“An amiable woman, I should guess, from Mr. Hervey’s general character,” + cried Lady Delacour. + +“Oh, an amiable woman, I take for granted; every woman is amiable of +course, as the newspapers tell us, when she is going to be married,” + said the dowager: “an amiable woman, to be sure; but that means nothing. +I have not had a guess from Miss Portman.” + +“From general character,” Belinda began, in a constrained voice. + +“Do not guess from general character, my dear Belinda,” interrupted +Lady Delacour; “for there is no judging, in these cases, from general +character, of what people will like or dislike.” + +“Then I will leave it to your ladyship to guess this time, if you +please,” said Belinda. + +“You will neither of you guess till doomsday!” cried the dowager; “I +must tell you. Mr. Hervey’s going to marry--in the strangest sort of +way!--a girl that nobody knows--a daughter of a Mr. Hartley. The +father can give her a good fortune, it is true; but one should not have +supposed that fortune was an object with Mr. Hervey, who has such a +noble one of his own. It’s really difficult to believe it.” + +“So difficult, that I find it quite impossible,” said Lady Delacour, +with an incredulous smile. + +“Depend upon it, my dear Lady Delacour,” said the dowager, laying the +convincing weight of her arm upon her ladyship’s, “depend upon it, my +dear Lady Delacour, that my information is correct. Guess whom I had it +from.” + +“Willingly. But first let me tell you, that I have seen Mr. Hervey +within this half hour, and I never saw a man look less like a +bridegroom.” + +“Indeed! well, I’ve heard, too, that he didn’t like the match: but what +a pity, when you saw him yourself this morning, that you didn’t get all +the particulars out of him. But let him look like what he will, you’ll +find that my information is perfectly correct. Guess whom I had it +from--from Mrs. Margaret Delacour: it was at her house that Clarence +Hervey first met Mr. Hartley, who, as I mentioned, is the father of the +young lady. There was a charming scene, and some romantic story, about +his finding the girl in a cottage, and calling her Virginia something or +other, but I didn’t clearly understand about that. However, this much is +certain, that the girl, as her father told Mrs. Delacour, is desperately +in love with Mr. Hervey, and they are to be married immediately. Depend +upon it, you’ll find my information correct. Good morning to you. Lord +bless me! now I recollect, I once heard that Mr. Hervey was a great +admirer of Miss Portman,” said the dowager. + +The inquisitive dowager, whose curiosity was put upon a new scent, +immediately fastened her eyes upon Belinda’s face; but from that she +could make out nothing. Was it because she had not the best eyes, or +because there was nothing to be seen? To determine this question, she +looked through her glass, to take a clearer view; but Lady Delacour drew +off her attention, by suddenly exclaiming--“My dear Lady Boucher, +when you go back to town, do send me a bottle of concentrated anima of +quassia.” + +“Ah! ah! have I made a convert of you at last?” said the dowager; and, +satisfied with the glory of this conversion, she departed. + +“Admire my knowledge of human nature, my dear Belinda,” said Lady +Delacour. “Now she will talk, at the next place she goes to, of nothing +but of my faith in anima of quassia; and she will forget to make a +gossiping story out of that most imprudent hint I gave her, about +Clarence Hervey’s having been an admirer of yours.” + +“Do not leave the room, Belinda; I have a thousand things to say to you, +my dear.” + +“Excuse me, at present, my dear Lady Delacour; I am impatient to write a +few lines to Mr. Vincent. He went away--” + +“In a fit of jealousy, and I am glad of it.” + +“And I am sorry for it,” said Belinda; “sorry that he should have so +little confidence in me as to feel jealousy without cause--without +sufficient cause, I should say; for certainly your ladyship gave pain, +by the manner in which you received Mr. Hervey.” + +“Lord, my dear, you would spoil any man upon earth. You could not act +more foolishly if the man were your husband. Are you privately married +to him?--If you be not--for my sake--for your own--for Mr. Vincent’s--do +not write till we see the contents of Clarence Hervey’s packet.” + +“It _can_ make no alteration in what I write,” said Belinda. + +“Well, my dear, write what you please; but I only hope you will not send +your letter till the packet arrives.” + +“Pardon me, I shall send it as soon as I possibly can: the ‘dear delight +of giving pain’ does not suit my taste.” + +Lady Delacour, as soon as she was left alone, began to reconsider the +dowager’s story; notwithstanding her unbelieving smile, it alarmed her, +for she could not refuse to give it some degree of credit, when she +learnt that Mrs. Margaret Delacour was the authority from whom it came. +Mrs. Delacour was a woman of scrupulous veracity, and rigid in her +dislike to gossiping; so that it was scarcely probable a report +originating with her, however it might be altered by the way, should +prove to be totally void of foundation. The name of Virginia coincided +with Sir Philip Baddely’s hints, and with Marriott’s discoveries: these +circumstances considered, Lady Delacour knew not what opinion to form; +and her eagerness to receive Mr. Hervey’s packet every moment increased. +She walked up and down the room--looked at her watch--fancied that it +had stopped--held it to her ear--ran the bell every quarter of an hour, +to inquire whether the messenger was not _yet_ come back. At last, +the long-expected packet arrived. She seized it, and hurried with it +immediately to Belinda’s room. + +“Clarence Hervey’s packet, my love!--Now, woe be to the person who +interrupts us!” She bolted the door as she spoke--. rolled an arm-chair +to the fire--“Now for it!” said she, seating herself. “The devil upon +two sticks, if he were looking down upon me from the house-top, or +Champfort, who is the worse devil of the two, would, if he were peeping +through the keyhole, swear I was going to open a love-letter--and so I +hope I am. Now for it!” cried she, breaking the seal. + +“My dear friend,” said Belinda, laying her hand upon Lady Delacour’s, +“before we open this packet, let me speak to you, whilst our minds are +calm.” + +“Calm! It is the strangest time for your mind to be calm. But I must not +affront you by my incredulity. Speak, then, but be quick, for I do not +pretend to be calm; it not being, thank my stars, _‘mon métier d’être +philosophe.’_ Crack goes the last seal--speak now, or for ever after +hold your tongue, my _calm philosopher _of Oakly-park: but do you wish +me to attend to what you are going to say?” + +“Yes,” replied Belinda, smiling; “that is the usual wish of those who +speak.” + +“Very true: and I can listen tolerably well, when I don’t know what +people are going to say; but when I know it all beforehand, I have an +unfortunate habit of not being able to attend to one word. Now, my dear, +let me anticipate your speech, and if my anticipation be wrong, then you +shall rise to explain; and I will,” said she, (putting her finger on her +lips,) “listen to you, like Harpocrates, without moving an eyelash.” + +Belinda, as the most certain way of being heard, consented to hear +before she spoke. + +“I will tell you,” pursued Lady Delacour, “if not what you are going to +say to me, at least what you say to yourself, which is fully as much to +the purpose. You say to yourself, ‘Let this packet of Clarence Hervey +contain what it may, it comes too late. Let him say, or let him do, ‘tis +all the same to me--because--(now for the reasoning)--because things +have gone so far with Mr. Vincent, that Lady Anne Percival and all the +world (at Oakly-park) will blame me, if I retract. In short, _things +have gone so far_ that I cannot recede; because--_things have gone so +far_.’ This is the rondeau of your argument. Nay, hear me out, then you +shall have your turn, my dear, for an hour, if you please. Let things +have gone ever so far, they can stop, and turn about again, cannot they? +Lady Anne Percival is your friend, of course can wish only for +your happiness. You think she is ‘the thing that’s most uncommon, a +reasonable woman:’ then she cannot be angry with you for being happy +your own way. So I need not, as the orators say, _labour this point any +more_. Now, as to your aunt. The fear of displeasing Mrs. Stanhope a +little more or less is not to be put in competition with the hope of +your happiness for life, especially as you have contrived to exist some +months in a state of utter excommunication from her favour. After all, +you know she will not grieve for any thing but the loss of Mr. Vincent’s +fortune; and Mr. Hervey’s fortune might do as well, or almost as +well: at least, she may compound with her pride for the difference, by +considering that an English member of parliament is, in the eyes of the +world (the only eyes with which she sees), a better connexion than the +son of a West India planter, even though he may be a protégé of Lady +Anne Percival. + +“Spare me your indignation, my dear!--What a look was there!--Reasoning +for Mrs. Stanhope, must not I reason as Mrs. Stanhope does?--Now I will +put this stronger still. Suppose that you had actually acknowledged that +Mr. Vincent had got beyond esteem with you; suppose that you had in +due form consented to marry him; suppose that preparations were at this +moment making for the wedding; even in that desperate case I should say +to you, you are not a girl to marry because your wedding-gown is made +up. Some few guineas are thrown away, perhaps; do not throw away your +whole happiness after them--that would be sorry economy. Trust me, my +dear, I should say, as I have to you, in time of need. Or, if you fear +to be obliged to one who never was afraid of being obliged to you, ten +to one the preparations for _a_ wedding, though not _the_ wedding, may +be necessary immediately. No matter to Mrs. Franks who the bridegroom +may be; so that her bill be paid, she would not care the turning of a +feather whether it be paid by Mrs. Vincent or Mrs. Hervey. I hope I have +convinced, I am sure I have made you blush, my dear, and that is some +satisfaction. A blush at this moment is an earnest of victory. Lo, +triumphe! Now I will open my packet; my hand shall not be held an +instant longer.” + +“I absolve you from the penance of hearing me for an hour, but I claim +your promise to attend to me for a few minutes, my dear friend,” said +Belinda: “I thank you most sincerely for your kindness; and let me +assure you that I should not hesitate to accept from you any species of +obligation.” + +“Thanks! thanks!--there’s a dear good girl!--my own Belinda!” + +“But indeed you totally misunderstand me; your reasoning--” + +“Show me the fault of it: I challenge all the logic of all the +Percivals.” + +“Your reasoning is excellent, if your facts were not taken for granted. +You have taken it for granted, that Mr. Hervey is in love with me.” + +“No,” said Lady Delacour; “I take nothing for granted, as you will find +when I open this packet.” + +“You have taken it for granted,” continued Belinda, “that I am still +secretly attached to him; and you take it for granted that I am +restrained only by fear of Lady Anne Percival, my aunt, and the world, +from breaking off with Mr. Vincent: if you will read the letter, which +I was writing to him when you came into the room, perhaps you will be +convinced of your mistake.” + +“Read a letter to Mr. Vincent at such a time as this! then I will go +and read my packet in my own room,” cried Lady Delacour, rising hastily, +with evident displeasure. + +“Not even your displeasure, my dear friend,” said Belinda, “can alter +my determination to behave with consistency and openness towards Mr. +Vincent; and I can bear your anger, for I know it arises from your +regard for me.” + +“I never loved you so little as at this instant, Belinda.” + +“You will do me justice when you are cool.” + +“Cool!” repeated Lady Delacour, as she was about to leave the room, “I +never wish to be as cool as you are, Belinda! So, after all, you love +Mr. Vincent--you’ll marry Mr. Vincent!” + +“I never said so,” replied Belinda: “you have not read my letter. Oh, +Lady Delacour, at this instant--you should not reproach me.” + +“I did you injustice,” cried Lady Delacour, as she now looked at +Belinda’s letter. “Send it--send it--you have said the very thing you +ought; and now sit down with me to this packet of Clarence Hervey’s--be +just to him, as you are to Mr. Vincent, that’s all I ask--give him a +fair hearing:--now for it.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +VIRGINIA + + +Clarence Hervey’s packet contained a history of his connexion with +Virginia St. Pierre. + +To save our hero from the charge of egotism, we shall relate the +principal circumstances in the third person. + +It was about a year before he had seen Belinda that Clarence Hervey +returned from his travels; he had been in France just before the +Revolution, when luxury and dissipation were at their height in Paris, +and when a universal spirit of licentious gallantry prevailed. Some +circumstances in which he was personally interested disgusted him +strongly with the Parisian belles; he felt that women who were full +of vanity, affectation, and artifice, whose tastes were perverted, and +whose feelings were depraved, were equally incapable of conferring or +enjoying real happiness. Whilst this conviction was full in his mind, he +read the works of Rousseau: this eloquent writer’s sense made its full +impression upon Clarence’s understanding, and his declamations produced +more than their just effect upon an imagination naturally ardent. He was +charmed with the picture of Sophia, when contrasted with the characters +of the women of the world with whom he had been disgusted; and he formed +the romantic project of educating a wife for himself. Full of this idea, +he returned to England, determined to carry his scheme immediately into +execution, but was some time delayed by the difficulty of finding +a proper object for his purpose: it was easy to meet with beauty +in distress, and ignorance in poverty; but it was difficult to find +simplicity without vulgarity, ingenuity without cunning, or even +ignorance without prejudice; it was difficult to meet with an +understanding totally uncultivated, yet likely to reward the labour of +late instruction; a heart wholly unpractised, yet full of sensibility, +capable of all the enthusiasm of passion, the delicacy of sentiment, and +the firmness of rational constancy. It is not wonderful that Mr. Hervey, +with such high expectations, should not immediately find them gratified. +Disappointed in his first search, he did not, however, relinquish his +design; and at length, by accident, he discovered, or thought that he +discovered, an object formed expressly for his purpose. + +One fine evening in autumn, as he was riding through the New Forest, +charmed with the picturesque beauties of the place, he turned out of +the beaten road, and struck into a fresh track, which he pursued with +increasing delight, till the setting sun reminded him that it was +necessary to postpone his farther reflections on forest scenery, and +that it was time to think of finding his way out of the wood. He was +now in the most retired part of the forest, and he saw no path to direct +him; but, as he stopped to consider which way he should turn, a dog +sprang from a thicket, barking furiously at his horse: his horse was +high-spirited, but he was master of him, and he obliged the animal to +stand quietly till the dog, having barked himself hoarse, retreated +of his own accord. Clarence watched to see which way he would go, and +followed him, in hopes of meeting with the person to whom he belonged: +he kept his guide in sight, till he came into a beautiful glade, in the +midst of which was a neat but very small cottage, with numerous beehives +in the garden, surrounded by a profusion of rose-trees which were in +full blow. This cultivated spot was strikingly contrasted with the +wildness of the surrounding scenery. As he came nearer, Mr. Hervey saw a +young girl watering the rose-trees, which grew round the cottage, and +an old woman beside her filling a basket with the flowers. The old +woman was like most other old women, except that she had a remarkably +benevolent countenance, and an air that had been acquired in better +days; but the young girl did not appear to Clarence like any other young +girl that he had ever seen. The setting sun shone upon her countenance, +the wind blew aside the ringlets of her light hair, and the blush of +modesty overspread her cheeks when she looked up at the stranger. In +her large blue eyes there was an expression of artless sensibility with +which Mr. Hervey was so powerfully struck that he remained for some +moments silent, totally forgetting that he came to ask his way out of +the forest. His horse had made so little noise upon the soft grass, that +he was within a few yards of them before he was perceived by the old +woman. As soon as she saw him, she turned abruptly to the young girl, +put the basket of roses into her hand, and bid her carry them into the +house. As she passed him, the girl, with a sweet innocent smile, held up +the basket to Clarence, and offered him one of the roses. + +“Go in, Rachel!--go in, child,” said the old woman, in so loud and +severe a tone, that both Rachel and Mr. Hervey started; the basket was +overturned, and the roses all scattered upon the grass. Clarence, though +he attempted some apology, was by no means concerned for the accident, +as it detained Rachel some instants longer to collect her flowers, and +gave him an opportunity of admiring her finely shaped hands and arms, +and the ease and natural grace of her motions. + +“Go in, Rachel,” repeated the old woman, in a still more severe tone; +“leave the roses there--I can pick them up as well as you, child--go +in.” + +The girl looked at the old woman with astonishment, her eyes filled with +tears, and throwing down the roses that she held in her hand, she said, +“I _am_ going, grandmother.” The door closed after her before Clarence +recollected himself sufficiently to tell the old lady how he had lost +his way, &c. Her severity vanished, as soon as her grand-daughter was +safe in the house, and with much readiness she showed him the road for +which he inquired. + +As soon, however, as it was in his power, he returned thither; for he +had taken such good note of the place, that he easily found his way to +the spot, which appeared to him a terrestrial paradise. As he descended +into the valley, he heard the humming of bees, but he saw no smoke +rising from the cottage chimney--no dog barked--no living creature was +to be seen--the house door was shut--the window-shutters closed--all +was still. The place looked as if it had been deserted by all its +inhabitants: the roses had not been watered, many of them had shed their +leaves; and a basket half full of dead flowers was left in the middle of +the garden. Clarence alighted, and tried the latch of the door, but it +was fastened; he listened, but heard no sound; he walked round to the +back of the house: a small lattice window was half open, and, as he went +toward it, he thought he heard a low moaning voice; he gently pulled +aside the curtain, and peeped in at the window. The room was darkened, +his eyes had been dazzled by the sun, so that he could not, at first, +see any object distinctly; but he heard the moaning repeated at +intervals, and a soft voice at last said-- + +“Oh, speak to me!--speak to me once again--only once--only once again, +speak to me!” + +The voice came from a corner of the room, to which he had not yet turned +his eyes: and as he drew aside more of the curtain, to let in more +light, a figure started up from the side of a bed, at which she had +been kneeling, and he saw the beautiful young girl, with her hair all +dishevelled, and the strongest expression of grief in her countenance. +He asked if he could do her any service. She beckoned to him to come +in, and then, pointing to the bed, on which the old woman was stretched, +said-- + +“She cannot speak to me--she cannot move one side--she has been so these +three days--but she is not dead--she is not dead!” + +The poor creature had been struck with the palsy. As Clarence went close +to the bed, she opened her eyes, and fixing them upon him, she stretched +out her withered hand, caught fast hold of her grand-daughter, and +then raising herself, with a violent effort, she pronounced the word +“Begone!” Her face grew black, her features convulsed, and she sunk down +again in her bed, without power of utterance. Clarence left the house +instantly, mounted his horse, and galloped to the next town for medical +assistance. The poor woman was so far recovered by a skilful apothecary, +that she could, in a few days, articulate so as to be understood. She +knew that her end was approaching fast, and seemed piously resigned to +her fate. Mr. Hervey went constantly to see her; but, though grateful +to him for his humanity, and for the assistance he had procured for her, +yet she appeared agitated when he was in the room, and frequently looked +at him and at her grand-daughter with uncommon anxiety. At last, she +whispered something to the girl, who immediately left the room; and she +then beckoned to him to come closer to the arm-chair, in which she was +seated. + +“May be, sir,” said she, “you thought me out of my right mind the day +when I was lying on that bed, and said to you in such a peremptory tone, +‘Begone!’--It was all I could say then; and, in truth, I cannot speak +quite plain yet; nor ever shall again. But God’s will be done. I had +only one thing to say to you, sir, about that poor girl of mine--” + +Clarence listened to her with eagerness. She paused, and then laying her +cold hand upon his, she looked up earnestly in his face, and continued, +“You are a fine young gentleman, and you look like a good gentleman; but +so did the man who broke the heart of her poor mother. Her mother was +carried off from a boarding-school, when she was scarcely sixteen, by a +wretch, who, after privately marrying her, would not own his marriage, +stayed with her but two years, then went abroad, left his wife and his +infant, and has never been heard of since. My daughter died of a broken +heart. Rachel was then between three and four years old; a beautiful +child. God forgive her father!--God’s will be done!”--She paused to +subdue her emotion, and then, with some difficulty, proceeded. + +“My only comfort is, I have bred Rachel up in innocence; I never sent +her to a boarding-school. No, no; from the moment of her birth till now, +I have kept her under my own eye. In this cottage she has lived with me, +away from all the world. You are the first man she ever spoke to; the +first man who ever was within these doors. She is innocence itself!--Oh, +sir, as you hope for mercy when you are as I am now, spare the innocence +of that poor child!--Never, never come here after her, when I am dead +and gone! Consider, she is but a child, sir. God never made a better +creature. Oh, promise me you will not be the ruin of my sweet innocent +girl, and I shall die in peace!” + +Clarence Hervey was touched. He instantly made the promise required of +him; and, as nothing less would satisfy the poor dying woman, confirmed +it by a solemn oath. + +“Now I am easy,” said she, “quite easy; and may God bless you for it! In +the village here, there is a Mrs. Smith, a good farmer’s wife, who knows +us well; she will see to have me decently buried, and then has promised +to sell all the little I have for my girl, and to take care of her. And +you’ll never come near her more?” + +“I did not promise that,” said Hervey. + +The old woman again looked much disturbed. + +“Ah, good young gentleman!” said she, “take my advice; it will be best +for you both. If you see her again, you will love her, sir--you can’t +help it; and if she sees you--poor thing, how innocently she smiled when +she gave you the rose!--oh, sir, never come near her when I am gone! It +is too late for me now to get her out of your way. This night, I’m sure, +will be my last in this world--oh, promise me you will never come here +again!” + +“After the oath I have taken,” replied Clarence, “that promise would be +unnecessary. Trust to my honour.” + +“Honour! Oh, that was the word the gentleman said that betrayed her poor +mother, and left her afterwards to die.’--Oh, sir, sir----” + +The violent emotion that she felt was too much for her--she fell back +exhausted--never spoke more--and an hour afterwards she expired in the +arms of her grand-daughter. The poor girl could not believe that she +had breathed her last. She made a sign to the surgeon, and to Clarence +Hervey, who stood beside her, to be silent; and listened, fancying that +the corpse would breathe again. Then she kissed her cold lips, and the +shrivelled cheeks, and the eyelids that were closed for ever. She warmed +the dead fingers with her breath--she raised the heavy arm, and when +it fell she perceived there was no hope: she threw herself upon her +knees:--“She is dead!” she exclaimed; “and she has died without giving +me her blessing! She can never bless me again.” + +They took her into the air, and Clarence Hervey sprinkled water upon +her face. It was a fine night, and the fresh air soon brought her to her +senses. He then said that he would leave her to the care of the surgeon, +and ride to the village in search of that Mrs. Smith who had promised to +be her friend. + +“And so _you_ are going away from me, too?” said she; and she burst into +tears. At the sight of these tears Clarence turned away, and hurried +from her. He sent the woman from the village, but returned no more that +night. + +Her simplicity, sensibility, and, perhaps more than he was aware, her +beauty, had pleased and touched him extremely. The idea of attaching a +perfectly pure, disinterested, unpractised heart, was delightful to his +imagination: the cultivation of her understanding, he thought, would +be an easy and a pleasing task: all difficulties vanished before his +sanguine hopes. + +“Sensibility,” said he to himself, “is the parent of great talents +and great virtues; and evidently she possesses natural feeling in +an uncommon degree: it shall be developed with skill, patience, and +delicacy; and I will deserve before I claim my reward.” + +The next day he returned to the cottage, accompanied by an elderly lady, +a Mrs. Ormond; the same lady who afterward, to Marriott’s prejudiced +eyes, had appeared _more like a dragon than any thing else_, but who, to +this simple, unsuspicious girl, seemed like what she really was, a truly +good-natured, benevolent woman. She consented, most readily, to put +herself under the protection of Mrs. Ormond, “provided Mrs. Smith would +give her leave.” There was no difficulty in persuading Mrs. Smith that +it was for her advantage. Mrs. Smith, who was a plain farmer’s wife, +told all that she knew of Rachel’s history; but all that she knew was +little. She had heard only hints at odd times from the old woman: these +agreed perfectly with what Mr. Hervey had already heard. + +“The _old gentlewoman_,” said Mrs. Smith, “as I believe I should call +her by rights, has lived in the forest there, where you found her, +these many a year--she earned her subsistence by tending bees and making +rose-water--she was a good soul, but very particular, especially about +her grand-daughter, which, considering all things, one cannot blame her +for. She often told me she would never put Rachel to a boarding-school, +which I approved, seeing she had no fortune; and it is the ruin of +girls, to my mind, to be bred above their means--as it was of her +mother, sir. Then she would never teach Rachel to write, for fear she +should take to scrawling nonsense of love-letters, as her mother did +before her. Now, sir, this I approved too, for I don’t much mind about +book-learning myself; and I even thought it would have been as well if +the girl had not learnt to read; but that she did learn, and was +always fond of, and I’m sure it was more plague than use too to her +grandmother, for she was as particular about the books that the girl was +to read as about all the rest. She went farther than all that, sir, for +she never would let the girl speak to a man--not a man ever entered the +doors of the house.” + +“So she told me.” + +“And she told you true enough. But there, I thought, she was quite +wrong; for seeing the girl must, some time or other, speak to men, +where was the use of her not learning to do it properly?--Lord, ma’am,” + continued Mrs. Smith, addressing herself to Mrs. Ormond, “Lord, ma’am, +though it is a sin to be remembering so much of the particularities +of the dead, I must say there never was an old lady who had more +scrupulosities than the deceased. I verily thought, one day, she would +have gone into fits about a picture of a man, that Rachel lit upon by +accident, as if a picture had any sense to hurt a body! Now if it had +been one of your naked pictures, there might have been some delicacy in +her dislike to it; but it was no such thing, but a very proper picture. + +“A picture, ma’am, of a young sea-officer, in his full uniform--quite +proper, ma’am. It was his mother that left it with me, and I had it +always in my own room, and the girl saw it, and was mightily taken with +it, being the first thing of the kind she had ever lit upon, and the +old lady comes in, _and took on_, till I verily thought she was crazed. +Lord! I really could not but laugh; but I checked myself, when the poor +old soul’s eyes filled with tears, which made me know she was thinking +of her daughter that was dead. When I thought on the cause of +her particularity about Rachel, I could not laugh any more at her +strangeness. + +“I promised the good lady that day, in case of her death, to take care +of her grand-daughter; and I thought in my own mind that, in time to +come, if one of my boys should take a fancy to her, I should make no +objections, because she was always a good, modest-behaved girl; and, I’m +sure, would make a good wife, though too delicate for hard country work; +but, as it pleases God to send you, madam, and the good gentleman, to +take the charge of her off my hands, I am content it should be so, and I +will sell every thing here for her honestly, and bring it to you, madam, +for poor Rachel.” + +There was nothing that Rachel was anxious to carry away with her but +a little bullfinch, of which she was very fond. One, and but one, +circumstance about Rachel stopped the current of Clarence Hervey’s +imagination, and this, consequently, was excessively disagreeable to +him--her name: the name of Rachel he could not endure, and he thought it +so unsuited to her, that he could scarcely believe it belonged to her. +He consequently resolved to change it as soon as possible. The first +time that he beheld her, he was struck with the idea that she resembled +the description of Virginia in M. de St. Pierre’s celebrated romance; +and by this name he always called her, from the hour that she quitted +her cottage. + +Mrs. Ormond, the lady whom he had engaged to take care of his Virginia, +was a widow, the mother of a gentleman who had been his tutor at +college. Her son died, and left her in such narrow circumstances, that +she was obliged to apply to her friends for pecuniary assistance. + +Mr. Hervey had been liberal in his contributions; from his childhood he +had known her worth, and her attachment to him was blended with the most +profound respect. She was not a woman of superior abilities, or of +much information; but her excellent temper and gentle disposition won +affection, though she had not any talents to excite admiration. Mr. +Hervey had perfect confidence in her integrity; he believed that she +would exactly comply with his directions, and he thought that her want +of literature and ingenuity could easily be supplied by his own care and +instructions. He took a house for her and his fair pupil at Windsor, and +he exacted a solemn promise that she would neither receive nor pay any +visits. Virginia was thus secluded from all intercourse with the world: +she saw no one but Mrs. Ormond, Clarence Hervey, and Mr. Moreton, an +elderly clergyman, whom Mr. Hervey engaged to attend every Sunday to +read prayers for them at home. Virginia never expressed the slightest +curiosity to see any other persons, or any thing beyond the walls of +the garden that belonged to the house in which she lived; her present +retirement was not greater than that to which she had long been +accustomed, and consequently she did not feel her seclusion from the +world as any restraint: with the circumstances that were altered in her +situation she seemed neither to be dazzled nor charmed; the objects +of convenience or luxury that were new to her she looked upon with +indifference; but with any thing that reminded her of her former way of +life, and of her grandmother’s cottage, she was delighted. + +One day Mr. Hervey asked her, whether she should like better to return +to that cottage, or to remain where she was? He trembled for her answer. +She innocently replied, “I should like best to go back to the cottage, +if you would go with me--but I would rather stay here with you than live +there without you.” + +Clarence was touched and flattered by this artless answer, and for some +time he discovered every day fresh indications, as he thought, of virtue +and abilities in his charming pupil. Her indifference to objects of show +and ornament appeared to him an indisputable proof of her magnanimity, +and of the superiority of her unprejudiced mind. What a difference, +thought he, between this child of nature and the frivolous, +sophisticated slaves of art! + +To try and prove the simplicity of her taste, and the purity of her +mind, he once presented to her a pair of diamond earrings and a moss +rosebud, and asked her to take whichever she liked best. She eagerly +snatched the rose, crying, “Oh! it puts me in mind of the cottage:--how +sweet it smells!” + +She placed it in her bosom, and then, looking at the diamonds, said, +“They are pretty, sparkling things--what are they? of what use are +they?” and she looked with more curiosity and admiration at the manner +in which the earring shut and opened than at the diamonds. Clarence was +charmed with her. When Mrs. Ormond told her that these things were to +hang in her ears, she laughed and said, “How! how can I make them hang?” + +“Have you never observed that I wear earrings?” said Mrs. Ormond. + +“Ay! but yours are not like these, and--let me look--I never saw how you +fastened them--let me look--oh! you have holes in your ears; but I have +none in mine.” + +Mrs. Ormond told her that holes could easily be made in her ears, by +running a steel pin through them. She shrunk back, defending her +ear with one hand, and pushing the diamonds from her with the other, +exclaiming, “Oh, no, no!--unless,” added she, changing her tone, and +turning to Clarence, “unless you wish it:--if you bid me, I will.” + +Clarence was scarcely master of himself at this instant; and it was with +the utmost difficulty that he could reply to her with that dispassionate +calmness which became his situation and hers. And yet there was more of +ignorance and timidity, perhaps, than of sound sense or philosophy +in Virginia’s indifference to diamonds; she did not consider them as +ornaments that would confer distinction upon their possessor, because +she was ignorant of the value affixed to them by society. Isolated in +the world, she had no excitements to the love of finery, no competition, +no means of comparison, or opportunities of display; diamonds were +consequently as useless to her as guineas were to Robinson Crusoe on +his desert island. It could not justly be said that he was free from +avarice, because he set no value on the gold; or that she was free from +vanity, because she rejected the diamonds. These reflections could not +possibly have escaped a man of Clarence Hervey’s abilities, had he not +been engaged in defence of a favourite system of education, or if his +pupil had not been quite so handsome. Virginia’s absolute ignorance +of the world frequently gave an air of originality to her most +trivial observations, which made her appear at once interesting and +entertaining. All her ideas of happiness were confined to the life she +had led during her childhood; and as she had accidentally lived in +a beautiful situation in the New Forest, she appeared to have an +instinctive taste for the beauties of nature, and for what we call the +picturesque. This taste Mr. Hervey perceived, whenever he showed +her prints and drawings, and it was a fresh source of delight and +self-complacency to him. All that was amiable or estimable in Virginia +had a double charm, from the secret sense of his penetration, in having +discovered and appreciated the treasure. The affections of this innocent +girl had no object but himself and Mrs. Ormond, and they were +strong, perhaps, in proportion as they were concentrated. The artless +familiarity of her manner, and her unsuspicious confidence, amounting +almost to credulity, had irresistible power over Mr. Hervey’s mind; he +felt them as appeals at once to his tenderness and his generosity. He +treated her with the utmost delicacy, and his oath was never absent from +his mind: but he felt proudly convinced, that if he had not been bound +by any such solemn engagement, no temptation could have made him deceive +and betray confiding innocence. + +Conscious that his views were honourable, anticipating the generous +pleasure he should have in showing his superiority to all mercenary +considerations and worldly prejudices, in the choice of a wife, +he indulged, with a species of pride, his increasing attachment to +Virginia; but he was not sensible of the rapid progress of the passion, +till he was suddenly awakened by a few simple observations of Mrs. +Ormond. + +“This is Virginia’s birthday--she tells me she is seventeen to-day.” + +“Seventeen!--is she only seventeen?” cried Clarence, with a mixture of +surprise and disappointment in his countenance--“Only seventeen! Why she +is but a child still.” + +“Quite a child,” said Mrs. Ormond; “and so much the better.” + +“So much the worse, I think,” said Clarence. “But are you sure she’s +only seventeen?--she must be mistaken--she must be eighteen, at least.” + +“God forbid!” + +“God forbid!--Why, Mrs. Ormond?” + +“Because, you know, we have a year more before us.” + +“That may be a very satisfactory prospect to you,” said Mr. Hervey, +smiling. + +“And to you, surely,” said Mrs. Ormond; “for, I suppose, you would be +glad that your wife should, at least, know the common things that every +body knows.” + +“As to that,” said Clarence, “I should be glad that my wife were +ignorant of what _every body knows_. Nothing is so tiresome to a man of +any taste or abilities as _what every body knows_. I am rather desirous +to have a wife who has an uncommon than a common understanding.” + +“But you would choose, would not you,” said Mrs. Ormond, hesitating with +an air of great deference, “that your wife should know how to write?” + +“To be sure,” replied Clarence, colouring. “Does not Virginia know how +to write?” + +“How should she?” said Mrs. Ormond: “it is no fault of hers, poor +girl--she was never taught. You know it was her grandmother’s notion +that she should not learn to write, lest she should write love-letters.” + +“But _you_ promised that she should be taught to write, and I trusted to +you, Mrs. Ormond.” + +“She has been here only two months, and all that time, I am sure, I have +done every thing in my power; but when a person comes to be sixteen or +seventeen, it is up-hill work.” + +“I will teach her myself,” cried Clarence: “I am sure she may be taught +any thing.” + +“By you,” said Mrs. Ormond, smiling; “but not by me.” + +“You have no doubts of her capacity, surely?” + +“I am no judge of capacity, especially of the capacity of those I love; +and I am grown very fond of Virginia; she is a charming, open-hearted, +simple, affectionate creature. I rather think it is from indolence that +she does not learn, and not from want of abilities.” + +“All indolence arises from want of excitement,” said Clarence: “if she +had proper motives, she would conquer her indolence.” + +“Why, I dare say, if I were to tell her that she would never have a +letter from Mr. Hervey till she is able to write an answer, she would +learn to write very expeditiously; but I thought that would not be a +proper motive, because you forbade me to tell her your future views. And +indeed it would be highly imprudent, on your account, as well as hers, +to give her any hint of that kind: because you might change your mind, +before she’s old enough for you to think of her seriously, and then +you would not know what to do with her; and after entertaining hopes +of becoming your wife, she would be miserable, I am sure, with that +affectionate tender heart of hers, if you were to leave her. Now that +she knows nothing of the matter, we are all safe, and as we should be.” + +Though Clarence Hervey did not at this time foresee any great +probability of his changing his mind, yet he felt the good sense and +justice of Mrs. Ormond’s suggestions; and he was alarmed to perceive +that his mind had been so intoxicated as to suffer such obvious +reflections to escape his attention. Mrs. Ormond, a woman whom he had +been accustomed to consider as far his inferior in capacity, he now felt +was superior to him in prudence, merely because she was undisturbed by +passion. He resolved to master his own mind: to consider that it was +not a mistress, but a wife he wanted in Virginia; that a wife without +capacity or without literature could never be a companion suited to him, +let her beauty or sensibility be ever so exquisite and captivating. The +happiness of his life and of hers were at stake, and every motive of +prudence and delicacy called upon him to command his affections. He +was, however, still sanguine in his expectations from Virginia’s +understanding, and from his own power of developing her capacity. He +made several attempts, with the greatest skill and patience; and his +fair pupil, though she did not by any means equal his hopes, astonished +Mrs. Ormond by her comparatively rapid progress. + +“I always believed that you could make her any thing you pleased,” said +she. “You are a tutor who can work miracles with Virginia.” + +“I see no miracles,” replied Clarence; “I am conscious of no such power. +I should be sorry to possess any such influence, until I am sure that it +would be for our mutual happiness.” + +Mr. Hervey then conjured Mrs. Ormond, by all her attachment to him and +to her pupil, never to give Virginia the most distant idea that he had +any intentions of making her his wife. She promised to do all that was +in her power to keep this secret, but she could not help observing that +it had already been betrayed, as plainly as looks could speak, by Mr. +Hervey himself. Clarence in vain endeavoured to exculpate himself from +this charge: Mrs. Ormond brought to his recollection so many instances +of his indiscretion, that it was substantiated even in his own +judgment, and he was amazed to find that all the time he had put so much +constraint upon his inclinations, he had, nevertheless, so obviously +betrayed them. His surprise, however, was at this time unmixed with any +painful regret; he did not foresee the probability that he should change +his mind; and notwithstanding Mrs. Ormond assured him that Virginia’s +sensibility had increased, he was persuaded that she was mistaken, and +that his pupil’s heart and imagination were yet untouched. The innocent +openness with which she expressed her affection for him confirmed him, +he said, in his opinion. To do him justice, Clarence had none of the +presumption which too often characterizes men who have been successful, +as it is called, with the fair sex. His acquaintance with women had +increased his persuasion that it is difficult to excite genuine love +in the heart; and with respect to himself, he was upon this subject +astonishingly incredulous. It was scarcely possible to convince him that +he was beloved. + +Mrs. Ormond, piqued upon this subject, determined to ascertain more +decisively her pupil’s sentiments. + +“My dear,” said she, one day to Virginia, who was feeding her bullfinch, +“I do believe you are fonder of that bird than of any thing in the +world--fonder of it, I am sure, than of me.” + +“Oh! you cannot think so,” said Virginia, with an affectionate smile. + +“Well! fonder than you are of Mr. Hervey, you will allow, at least?” + +“No, indeed!” cried she, eagerly: “how can you think me so foolish, so +childish, so ungrateful, as to prefer a little worthless bird to +him--” (the bullfinch began to sing so loud at this instant, that her +enthusiastic speech was stopped). “My pretty bird,” said she, as it +perched upon her hand, “I love you very much, but if Mr. Hervey were to +ask it, to wish it, I would open that window, and let you fly; yes, and +bid you fly away far from me for ever. Perhaps he does wish it?--Does +he?--Did he tell you so?” cried she, looking earnestly in Mrs. Ormond’s +face, as she moved towards the window. + +Mrs. Ormond put her hand upon the sash, as Virginia was going to throw +it up-- + +“Gently, gently, my love--whither is your imagination carrying you?” + +“I thought _something_ by your look,” said Virginia, blushing. + +“And I thought _something_, my dear Virginia,” said Mrs. Ormond, +smiling. + +“What did you think?--What _could_ you think?” + +“I cannot--I mean, I would rather not at present tell you. But do not +look so grave; I will tell you some time or other, if you cannot guess.” + +Virginia was silent, and stood abashed. + +“I am sure, my sweet girl,” said Mrs. Ormond, “I do not mean, by any +thing I said, to confuse or blame you. It is very natural that you +should be grateful to Mr. Hervey, and that you should admire, and, _to a +certain degree, love_ him.” + +Virginia looked up delighted, yet with some hesitation in her manner. + +“He is, indeed,” said Mrs. Ormond, “one of the first of human beings: +such even _I_ have always thought him; and I am sure I like you the +better, my dear, for your sensibility,” said she, kissing Virginia as +she spoke; “only we must take care of it, or this tenderness might go +too far.” + +“How so?” said Virginia, returning her caresses with fondness: “can I +love you and Mr. Hervey too much?” + +“Not me.” + +“Nor him, I’m sure--he is so good, so very good! I am afraid that I do +not love him _enough_,” said she, sighing. “I love him enough when he +is absent, but not when he is present. When he is near I feel a sort of +fear mixed with my love. I wish to please him very much, but I should +not quite like that he should show his love for me as you do--as you did +just now.” + +“My dear, it would not be proper that he should; you are quite right not +to wish it.” + +“Am I? I was afraid that it was a sign of my not liking him as much as I +ought.” + +“Ah, my poor child! you love him full as much as you ought.” + +“Do you think so? I am glad of it,” said Virginia, with a look of such +confiding simplicity, that her friend was touched to the heart. + +“I do think so, my love,” said Mrs. Ormond; “and I hope I shall never +be sorry for it, nor you either. But it is not proper that we should say +any more upon this subject now. Where are your drawings? Where is your +writing? My dear, we must get forward with these things as fast as we +can. That is the way to please Mr. Hervey, I can tell you.” + +Confirmed by this conversation in her own opinion, Mrs. Ormond was +satisfied. From delicacy to her pupil, she did not repeat all that had +passed to Mr. Hervey, resolving to wait till the _proper_ moment. “She +is too young and too childish for him to think of marrying her yet, +for a year or two,” thought she; “and it is better to repress her +sensibility till her education is more finished; by that time Mr. Hervey +will find out his mistake.” + +In the mean time she could not help thinking that he was blind, for he +continued steady in his belief of Virginia’s indifference. + +To dissipate his own mind, and to give time for the development of hers, +he now, according to his resolution, left his pupil to the care of Mrs. +Ormond, and mixed as much as possible in gay and fashionable company. It +was at this period that he renewed his acquaintance with Lady Delacour, +whom he had seen and admired before he went abroad. He found that his +gallantry, on the famous day of the battle between the turkeys and pigs, +was still remembered with gratitude by her ladyship; she received him +with marked courtesy, and he soon became a constant visitor at her +house. Her wit entertained, her eloquence charmed him, and he followed, +admired, and _gallanted_ her, without scruple, for he considered +her merely as a coquette, who preferred the glory of conquest to the +security of reputation. With such a woman he thought he could amuse +himself without danger, and he every where appeared the foremost in the +public train of her ladyship’s admirers. He soon discovered, however, +that her talents were far superior to what are necessary for playing the +part of a fine lady; his visits became more and more agreeable to him, +and he was glad to feel, that, by dividing his attention, his passion +for Virginia insensibly diminished, or, as he said to himself, became +more reasonable. In conversing with Lady Delacour, his faculties were +always called into full play; in talking to Virginia, his understanding +was passive: he perceived that a large proportion of his intellectual +powers, and of his knowledge, was absolutely useless to him in her +company; and this did not raise her either in his love or esteem. Her +simplicity and naïvete, however, sometimes relieved him, after he had +been fatigued by the extravagant gaiety and _glare_ of her ladyship’s +manners; and he reflected that the coquetry which amused him in an +acquaintance would be odious in a wife: the perfect innocence of +Virginia promised security to his domestic happiness, and he did not +change his views, though he was less eager for the period of their +accomplishment. “I cannot expect every thing that is desirable,” said he +to himself: “a more brilliant character than Virginia’s would excite my +admiration, but could not command my confidence.” + +It was whilst his mind was in this situation that he became acquainted +with Belinda. At first, the idea of her having been educated by the +match-making Mrs. Stanhope prejudiced him against her; but as he +had opportunities of observing her conduct, this prepossession was +conquered, and when she had secured his esteem, he could no longer +resist her power over his heart. In comparison with Belinda, Virginia +appeared to him but an insipid, though innocent child: the one he +found was his equal, the other his inferior; the one he saw could be +a companion, a friend to him for life, the other would merely be +his pupil, or his plaything. Belinda had cultivated taste, an active +understanding, a knowledge of literature, the power and the habit of +conducting herself; Virginia was ignorant and indolent, she had +few ideas, and no wish to extend her knowledge; she was so entirely +unacquainted with the world, that it was absolutely impossible she could +conduct herself with that discretion, which must be the combined result +of reasoning and experience. Mr. Hervey had felt gratuitous confidence +in Virginia’s innocence; but on Belinda’s prudence, which he had +opportunities of seeing tried, he gradually learned to feel a different +and a higher species of reliance, which it is neither in our power to +bestow nor to refuse. The virtues of Virginia sprang from sentiment; +those of Belinda from reason. + +Clarence, whilst he made all these comparisons, became every day more +wisely and more fondly attached to Belinda; and at length he became +desirous to change the nature of his connexion with Virginia, and to +appear to her only in the light of a friend or a benefactor. He thought +of giving her a suitable fortune and of leaving her under the care of +Mrs. Ormond, till some method of establishing her in the world should +occur. Unfortunately, just at the time when Mr. Hervey formed this plan, +and before it was communicated to Mrs. Ormond, difficulties arose which +prevented him from putting it into execution. + +Whilst he had been engaged in the gay world at Lady Delacour’s, his +pupil had necessarily been left much to the management of Mrs. Ormond. +This lady, with the best possible intentions, had not that reach of mind +and variety of resource necessary to direct the exquisite sensibility +and ardent imagination of Virginia: the solitude in which she lived +added to the difficulty of the task. Without companions to interest +her social affections, without real objects to occupy her senses +and understanding, Virginia’s mind was either perfectly indolent, or +_exalted_ by romantic views, and visionary ideas of happiness. As she +had never seen any thing of society, all her notions were drawn from +books; the severe restrictions which her grandmother had early laid upon +the choice of these seemed to have awakened her curiosity, and to have +increased her appetite for books--it was insatiable. Reading, indeed, +was now almost her only pleasure; for Mrs. Ormond’s conversation was +seldom entertaining, and Virginia had no longer those occupations which +filled a portion of her day at the cottage. + +Mr. Hervey had cautioned Mrs. Ormond against putting _common_ novels +into her hands, but he made no objection to romances: these, he thought, +breathed a spirit favourable to female virtue, exalted the respect for +chastity, and inspired enthusiastic admiration of honour, generosity, +truth, and all the noble qualities which dignify human nature. Virginia +devoured these romances with the greatest eagerness; and Mrs. Ormond, +who found her a prey to ennui when her fancy was not amused, indulged +her taste; yet she strongly suspected that they contributed to increase +her passion for the only man who could, in her imagination, represent a +hero. + +One night Virginia found, in Mrs. Ormond’s room, a volume of St. +Pierre’s Paul and Virginia. She knew that her own name had been taken +from this romance; Mr. Hervey had her picture painted in this character; +and these circumstances strongly excited her curiosity to read the book. +Mrs. Ormond could not refuse to let her have it; for, though it was not +an ancient romance, it did not exactly come under the description of +a common novel, and Mr. Hervey was not at hand to give his advice. +Virginia sat down instantly to her volume, and never stirred from the +spot till she had nearly finished it. + +“What is it that strikes your fancy so much? What are you considering so +deeply, my love?” said Mrs. Ormond, observing, that she seemed lost +in thought. “Let us see, my dear,” continued she, offering to take the +hook, which hung from her hand. Virginia started from her reverie, but +held the volume fast.--“Will not you let me read along with you?” said +Mrs. Ormond. “Won’t you let me share your pleasure?” + +“It was not pleasure that I felt, I believe,” said Virginia. “I would +rather you should not see just that particular part that I was reading; +and yet, if you desire it,” added she, resigning the book reluctantly. + +“What can make you so much afraid of me, my sweet girl?” + +“I am not afraid of you--but--of myself,” said Virginia, sighing. + +Mrs. Ormond read the following passage: + + “She thought of Paul’s friendship, more pure than the waters + of the fountain, stronger than the united palms, and sweeter than + the perfume of flowers; and these images, in night and in + solitude, gave double force to the passion which she nourished + in her heart. She suddenly left the dangerous shades, and + went to her mother, to seek protection against herself. She + wished to reveal her distress to her; she pressed her hands, and + the name of Paul was on her lips; but the oppression of her + heart took away all utterance, and, laying her head upon her + mother’s bosom, she only wept.” + +“And am I not a mother to you, my beloved Virginia?” said Mrs. Ormond. +“Though I cannot express my affection in such charming language as this, +yet, believe me, no mother was ever fonder of a child.” + +Virginia threw her arms round Mrs. Ormond, and laid her head upon her +friend’s bosom, as if she wished to realize the illusion, and to be the +Virginia of whom she had been reading. + +“I know all you think, and all you feel: I know,” whispered Mrs. Ormond, +“the name that is on _your_ lips.” + +“No, indeed, you do not; you cannot,” cried Virginia, suddenly raising +her head, and looking up in Mrs. Ormond’s face, with surprise and +timidity: “how could you possibly know _all_ my thoughts and feelings? I +never told them to you; for, indeed, I have only confused ideas +floating in my imagination from the books I have been reading. I do not +distinctly know my own feelings.” + +“This is all very natural, and a proof of your perfect innocence and +simplicity, my child. But why did the passage you were reading just now +strike you so much?” + +“I was only considering,” said Virginia, “whether it was the description +of--love.” + +“And your heart told you that it was?” + +“I don’t know,” said she, sighing. “But of this I am certain, that I had +not the name, which you were thinking of, upon my lips.” + +Ah! thought Mrs. Ormond, she has not forgotten how I checked her +sensibility some time ago. Poor girl! she is become afraid of me, and I +have taught her to dissemble; but she betrays herself every moment. + +“My dear,” said Mrs. Ormond, “you need not fear me--I cannot blame +you: in your situation, it is impossible that you could help loving Mr. +Hervey.” + +“Is it?” + +“Yes; quite impossible. So do not blame yourself for it.” + +“No, I do not blame myself for that. I only blame myself for not loving +him _enough_, as I told you once before.” + +“Yes, my dear; and the oftener you tell me so, the more I am convinced +of your affection. It is one of the strongest symptoms of love, that we +are unconscious of its extent. We fancy that we can never do too much +for the beloved object.” + +“That is exactly what I feel about Mr. Hervey.” + +“That we can never love him enough.” + +“Ah! that is precisely what I feel for Mr. Hervey.” + +“And what you ought--I mean, what it is natural you should feel; and +what he will himself, I hope, indeed I dare say, some time or other +wish, and be glad that you should feel.” + +“Some time or other! Does not he wish it now?” + +“I--he--my dear, what a question is that? And how shall I answer it? We +must judge of what he feels by what he expresses: when he expresses love +for you, it will then be the time to show yours for him.” + +“He has always expressed love for me, I think,” said Virginia--“always, +till lately,” continued she; “but lately he has been away so much, and +when he comes home, he does not look so well pleased; so that I was +afraid he was angry with me, and that he thought me ungrateful.” + +“Oh, my love, do not torment yourself with these vain fears! And yet I +know that you cannot help it.” + +“Since you are so kind, so very kind to me,” said Virginia, “I will tell +you all my fears and doubts. But it is late--there! the clock struck +one. I will not keep you up.” + +“I am not at all sleepy,” said the indulgent Mrs. Ormond. + +“Nor I,” said Virginia, + +“Now, then,” said Mrs. Ormond, “for these doubts and fears.” + +“I was afraid that, perhaps, Mr. Hervey would be angry if he knew that I +thought of any thing in the world but him.” + +“Of what else do you think?--Of nothing else from morning till night, +that I can see.” + +“Ah, then you do not see into my mind. In the daytime often think of +those heroes, those charming heroes, that I read of in the books you +have given me.” + +“To be sure you do.” + +“And is not that wrong? Would not Mr. Hervey be displeased if he knew +it?” + +“Why should he?” + +“Because they are not quite like him. I love some of them better than I +do him, and he might think that _ungrateful_.” + +How naturally love inspires the idea of jealousy, thought Mrs. Ormond. +“My dear,” said she, “you carry your ideas of delicacy and gratitude to +an extreme; but it is very natural you should: however, you need not +be afraid; Mr. Hervey cannot be jealous of those charming heroes, that +never existed, though they are not quite like him.” + +“I am very glad that he would not think me ungrateful--but if he knew +that I dream of them sometimes?” + +“He would think you dreamed, as all people do, of what they think of in +the daytime.” + +“And he would not be angry? I am very glad of it. But I once saw a +picture--” + +“I know you did--well,” said Mrs. Ormond, “and your grandmother was +frightened because it was the picture of a man--hey? If she was not your +grandmother, I should say that she was a simpleton. I assure you, Mr. +Hervey is not like her, if that is what you mean to ask. He would not be +angry at your having seen fifty pictures.” + +“I am glad of it--but I see it very often in my dreams.” + +“Well, if you had seen more pictures, you would not see this so often. +It was the first you ever saw, and very naturally you remember it, Mr. +Hervey would not be angry at that,” said Mrs. Ormond, laughing. + +“But sometimes, in my dreams, it speaks to me.” + +“And what does it say?” + +“The same sort of things that those heroes I read of say to their +mistresses.” + +“And do you never, in your dreams, hear Mr. Hervey say this sort of +things?” + +“No.” + +“And do you never see Mr. Hervey in these dreams?” + +“Sometimes; but he does not speak to me; he does not look at me with the +same sort of tenderness, and he does not throw himself at my feet.” + +“No; because he has never done all this in reality.” + +“No; and I wonder how I come to dream of such things.” + +“So do I; but you have read and thought of them, it is plain. Now go +to sleep, there’s my good girl; that is the best thing you can do at +present--go to sleep.” + +It was not long after this conversation that Sir Philip Baddely and Mr. +Rochfort scaled the garden wall, to obtain a sight of Clarence Hervey’s +mistress. Virginia was astonished, terrified, and disgusted, by their +appearance; they seemed to her a species of animals for which she had +no name, and of which she had no prototype in her imagination. That they +were men she saw; but they were clearly not _Clarence Herveys_: they +bore still less resemblance to the courteous knights of chivalry. Their +language was so different from any of the books she had read, and any of +the conversations she had heard, that they were scarcely intelligible. +After they had forced themselves into her presence, they did not scruple +to address her in the most unceremonious manner. Amongst other rude +things, they said, “Damme, my pretty dear, you cannot love the man that +keeps you prisoner in this manner, hey? Damme, you’d better come and +live with one of us. You can’t love this tyrant of a fellow.” + +“He is not a tyrant--I _do_ love him as much as I detest you,” cried +Virginia, shrinking from him with looks of horror. + +“Damme! good actress! Put her on the stage when he is tired of her. So +you won’t come with us?--Good bye, till we see you again. You’re right, +my girl, to be upon your good behaviour; may be you may get him to marry +you, child!” + +Virginia, upon hearing this speech, turned from the man who insulted +her with a degree of haughty indignation, of which her gentle nature had +never before appeared capable. + +Mrs. Ormond hoped, that after the alarm was over, the circumstance would +pass away from her pupil’s mind; but on the contrary, it left the most +forcible impression. Virginia became silent and melancholy, and whole +hours were spent in reverie. Mrs. Ormond imagined, that notwithstanding +Virginia’s entire ignorance of the world, she had acquired from books +sufficient knowledge to be alarmed at the idea of being taken for +Clarence Hervey’s mistress. She touched upon this subject with much +delicacy, and the answers that she received confirmed her opinion. +Virginia had been inspired by romances with the most exalted notions of +female delicacy and honour! but from her perfect ignorance, these were +rather vague ideas than principles of conduct. + +“We shall see Mr. Hervey to-morrow; he has written me word that he will +come from town, and spend the day with us.” + +“I shall be ashamed to see him after what has passed,” said Virginia. + +“You have no cause for shame, my dear; Mr. Hervey will try to discover +the persons who insulted you, and he will punish them. They will never +return here; you need not fear that. He is willing and able to protect +you.” + +“Yes of that I am sure. But what did that strange man mean, when he +said--” + +“What, my dear?” + +“That, perhaps, Mr. Hervey would marry me.” + +Virginia pronounced these words with difficulty. Mrs. Ormond was silent, +for she was much embarrassed. Virginia having conquered her first +difficulty, seemed resolute to obtain an answer. + +“You do not speak to me! Will you not tell me, dear Mrs. Ormond,” said +she, hanging upon her fondly, “what did he mean?” + +“What he said, I suppose.” + +“But he said, that if I behaved well, I might get Mr. Hervey to marry +me. What did he mean by that?” said Virginia, in an accent of offended +pride. + +“He spoke very rudely and improperly; but it is not worth while to think +of what he said, or what he meant.” + +“But, dear Mrs. Ormond, do not go away from me now: I never so much +wished to speak to you in my whole life, and you turn away from me.” + +“Well, my love, well, what would you say?” + +“Tell me one thing, only one thing, and you will set my heart at ease. +Does Mr. Hervey _wish_ me to be his wife?” + +“I cannot tell you that, my dearest Virginia. Time will show us. Perhaps +his heart has not yet decided.” + +“I wish it would decide,” said Virginia, sighing deeply; “and I wish +that strange man had not told me any thing about the matter; it has made +me very unhappy.” + +She covered her eyes with her hand, but the tears trickled between her +fingers, and rolled fast down her arm. Mrs. Ormond, quite overcome by +the sight of her distress, was no longer able to keep the secret with +which she had been entrusted by Clarence Hervey. And after all, thought +she, Virginia will hear it from himself soon. I shall only spare her +some unnecessary pain; it is cruel to see her thus, and to keep her in +suspense. Besides, her weakness might be her ruin, in his opinion, if it +were to extinguish all her energy, and deprive her of the very power of +pleasing. How wan she looks, and how heavy are those sleepless eyes! +She is not, indeed, in a condition to meet him, when he comes to us +to-morrow: if she had some hopes, she would revive and appear with her +natural ease and grace. + +“My sweet child,” said Mrs. Ormond, “I cannot bear to see you so +melancholy; consider, Mr. Hervey will be with us to-morrow, and it will +give him a great deal of pain to see you so.” + +“Will it? Then I will try to be very gay.” + +Mrs. Ormond was so delighted to see Virginia smile, that she could not +forbear adding, “The strange man was not wrong in every thing he said; +you _will_, one of these days, be Mr. Hervey’s wife.” + +“That, I am sure,” said Virginia, bursting again into tears, “that, I am +sure, I do not wish, unless _he_ does.” + +“He does, he does, my dear--do not let this delicacy of yours, which has +been wound up too high, make you miserable. He thought of you, he loved +you long and long ago.” + +“He is very good, too good,” said Virginia, sobbing. + +“Nay, what is more--for I can keep nothing from you--he has been +educating you all this time on purpose for his wife, and he only waits +till your education is finished, and till he is sure that you feel no +repugnance for him.” + +“I should be very ungrateful if I felt any repugnance for him,” said +Virginia; “I feel none.” + +“Oh, that you need not assure me,” said Mrs. Ormond. + +“But I do not wish to marry him--I do not wish to marry.” + +“You are a modest girl to say so; and this modesty will make you ten +times more amiable, especially in Mr. Hervey’s eyes. Heaven forbid that +I should lessen it!” + +The next morning Virginia, who always slept in the same room with Mrs. +Ormond, wakened her, by crying out in her sleep, with a voice of terror, +“Oh, save him!--save Mr. Hervey!--Mr. Hervey!--forgive me! forgive me!” + +Mrs. Ormond drew back the curtain, and saw Virginia lying fast asleep; +her beautiful face convulsed with agony. + +“He’s dead!--Mr. Hervey!” cried she, in a voice of exquisite distress: +then starting up, and stretching out her arms, she uttered a piercing +cry, and awoke. + +“My love, you have been dreaming frightfully,” said Mrs. Ormond. + +“Is it all a dream?” cried Virginia, looking round fearfully. + +“All a dream, my dear!” said Mrs. Ormond, taking her hand. + +“I am very, very glad of it!--Let me breathe. It was, indeed, a +frightful dream!” + +“Your hand still trembles,” said Mrs. Ormond; “let me put back this hair +from your poor face, and you will grow cool, and forget this foolish +dream.” + +“No; I must tell it you. I ought to tell it you. But it was all so +confused, I can recollect only some parts of it. First, I remember that +I thought I was not myself, but the Virginia that we were reading of the +other night; and I was somewhere in the Isle of France. I thought the +place was something like the forest where my grandmother’s cottage used +to be, only there were high mountains and rocks, and cocoa-trees and +plantains.” + +“Such as you saw in the prints of that book?” + +“Yes; only beautiful, beautiful beyond description! And it was +moonlight, brighter and clearer than any moonlight I ever before had +seen; and the air was fresh yet perfumed; and I was seated under the +shade of a plane-tree, beside Virginia’s fountain.” + +“Just as you are in your picture?” + +“Yes: but Paul was seated beside me.” + +“Paul!” said Mrs. Ormond, smiling: “that is Mr. Hervey.” + +“No; not Mr. Hervey’s face, though it spoke with his voice--this is what +I thought that I must tell you. It was another figure: it seemed a +real living person: it knelt at my feet, and spoke to me so kindly, so +tenderly; and just as it was going to kiss my hand, Mr. Hervey appeared, +and I started terribly, for I was afraid he would be displeased, and +that he would think me _ungrateful_; and he was displeased, and he +called me ungrateful Virginia, and frowned, and then I gave him my hand, +and then every thing changed, I do not know how suddenly, and I was in a +place like the great print of the cathedral, which Mr. Hervey showed me; +and there were crowds of people--I was almost stifled. _You_ pulled me +on, as I remember; and Mr. Moreton was there, standing upon some steps +by what you called the altar; and then we knelt down before him, and Mr. +Hervey was putting a ring on my finger; but there came suddenly from the +crowd that strange man, who was here the other day, and he dragged me +along with him, I don’t know how or where, swiftly down precipices, +whilst I struggled, and at last fell. Then all changed again, and I +was in a magnificent field, covered with cloth of gold, and there +were beautiful ladies seated under canopies; and I thought it was a +tournament, such as I have read of, only more splendid; and two knights, +clad in complete armour, and mounted on fiery steeds, were engaged +in single combat; and they fought furiously, and I thought they were +fighting for me. One of the knights wore black plumes in his helmet, and +the other white; and, as he was passing by me, the vizor of the knight +of the white plumes was raised, and I saw it was--” + +“Clarence Hervey?” said Mrs. Ormond. + +“No; still the same figure that knelt to me; and I wished him to be +victorious. And he was victorious. And he unhorsed his adversary, and +stood over him with his drawn sword; and then I saw that the knight in +the black plumes was Mr. Hervey, and I ran to save him, but I could +not. I saw him weltering in his blood, and I heard him say, ‘Perfidious, +_ungrateful_ Virginia! you are the cause of my death!’--and I screamed, +I believe, and that awakened me.” + +“Well, it is only a dream, my love,” said Mrs. Ormond; “Mr. Hervey is +safe: get up and dress yourself, and you will soon see him.” + +“But was it not wrong and _ungrateful_ to wish that the knight in the +white plumes should be victorious?” + +“Your poor little head is full of nothing but these romances, and love +for Mr. Hervey. It is your love for him that makes you fear that he will +be jealous. But he is not so simple as you are. He will forgive you +for wishing that the knight in the white plumes should be victorious, +especially as you did not know that the other knight was Mr. Hervey. +Come, my love, dress yourself, and think no more of these foolish +dreams, and all will go well.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +A DISCOVERY. + + +Instead of the open, childish, affectionate familiarity with which +Virginia used to meet Clarence Hervey, she now received him with +reserved, timid embarrassment. Struck by this change in her manner, +and alarmed by the dejection of her spirits, which she vainly strove to +conceal, he eagerly inquired, from Mrs. Ormond, into the cause of this +alteration. + +Mrs. Ormond’s answers, and her account of all that had passed during his +absence, increased his anxiety. His indignation was roused by the insult +which Virginia had been offered by the strangers who had scaled the +garden-wall. All his endeavours to discover who they were proved +ineffectual; but, lest they should venture to repeat their visit, he +removed her from Windsor, and took her directly to Twickenham. Here +he stayed with her and Mrs. Ormond some days, to determine, by his own +observation, how far the representations that had been made to him were +just. Till this period he had been persuaded that Virginia’s regard for +him was rather that of gratitude than of love; and with this opinion, +he thought that he had no reason seriously to reproach himself for the +imprudence with which he had betrayed the partiality that he felt for +her in the beginning of their acquaintance. He flattered himself that +even should she have discerned his intentions, her heart would not +repine at any alteration in his sentiments; and if her happiness were +uninjured, his reason told him that he was not in honour bound to +constancy. The case was now altered. Unwilling as he was to believe, he +could no longer doubt. Virginia could neither meet his eyes nor speak to +him without a degree of embarrassment which she had not sufficient art +to conceal: she trembled whenever he came near her, and if he looked +grave, or forbore to take notice of her, she would burst into tears. +At other times, contrary to the natural indolence of her character, she +would exert herself to please him with surprising energy: she learned +every thing that he wished; her capacity seemed suddenly to unfold. For +an instant, Clarence flattered himself that both her fits of melancholy +and of exertion might arise from a secret desire to see something of +that world from which she had been secluded. One day he touched upon +this subject, to see what effect it would produce; but, contrary to his +expectations, she seemed to have no desire to quit her retirement: she +did not wish, she said, for amusements such as he described; she did not +wish to go into the world. + +It was during the time of his passion for her that Clarence had her +picture painted in the character of St. Pierre’s Virginia. It happened +to be in the room in which they were now conversing, and when she spoke +of loving a life of retirement, Clarence accidentally cast his eyes upon +the picture, and then upon Virginia. She turned away--sighed deeply; and +when, in a tone of kindness, he asked her if she were unhappy, she hid +her face in her hands, and made no answer. + +Mr. Hervey could not be insensible to her distress or to her delicacy. +He saw her bloom fading daily, her spirits depressed, her existence a +burden to her, and he feared that his own imprudence had been the cause +of all this misery. + +“I have taken her out of a situation in which she might have spent her +life usefully and happily; I have excited false hopes in her mind, and +now she is a wretched and useless being. I have won her affections; her +happiness depends totally upon me; and can I forsake her? Mrs. Ormond +says, that she is convinced Virginia would not survive the day of my +marriage with another. I am not disposed to believe that girls often +die or destroy themselves for love; nor am I a coxcomb enough to suppose +that love for me must be extraordinarily desperate. But here’s a girl, +who is of a melancholy temperament, who has a great deal of natural +sensibility, whose affections have all been concentrated, who has lived +in solitude, whose imagination has dwelt, for a length of time, upon a +certain set of ideas, who has but one object of hope; in such a mind, +and in such circumstances, passion may rise to a paroxysm of despair.” + +Pity, generosity, and honour, made him resolve not to abandon this +unfortunate girl; though he felt that every time he saw Virginia, his +love for Belinda increased. It was this struggle in his mind betwixt +love and honour which produced all the apparent inconsistency and +irresolution that puzzled Lady Delacour and perplexed Belinda. The +lock of beautiful hair, which so unluckily fell at Belinda’s feet, was +Virginia’s; he was going to take it to the painter, who had made the +hair in her picture considerably too dark. How this picture got into the +exhibition must now be explained. + +Whilst Mr. Hervey’s mind was in that painful state of doubt which has +just been described, a circumstance happened that promised him some +relief from his embarrassment. Mr. Moreton, the clergyman who used to +read prayers every Sunday for Mrs. Ormond and Virginia, did not come one +Sunday at the usual time: the next morning he called on Mr. Hervey, with +a face that showed he had something of importance to communicate. + +“I have hopes, my dear Clarence,” said he, “that I have found out your +Virginia’s father. Yesterday, a musical friend of mine persuaded me +to go with him to hear the singing at the Asylum for children in +St. George’s Fields. There is a girl there who has indeed a charming +voice--but that’s not to the present purpose. After church was over, +I happened to be one of the last that stayed; for I am too old to love +bustling through a crowd. Perhaps, as you are impatient, you think +that’s nothing to the purpose; and yet it is, as you shall hear. +When the congregation had almost left the church, I observed that the +children of the Asylum remained in their places, by order of one of +the governors; and a middle-aged gentleman went round amongst the elder +girls, examined their countenances with care, and inquired with much +anxiety their ages, and every particular relative to their parents. The +stranger held a miniature picture in his hand, with which he compared +each face. I was not near enough to him,” continued Mr. Moreton, “to see +the miniature distinctly: but from the glimpse I caught of it, I thought +that it was like your Virginia, though it seemed to be the portrait of a +child but four or five years old. I understand that this gentleman will +be at the Asylum again next Sunday; I heard him express a wish to see +some of the girls who happened last Sunday to be absent.” + +“Do you know this gentleman’s name, or where he lives?” said Clarence. + +“I know nothing of him,” replied Mr. Moreton, “except that he seems fond +of painting; for he told one of the directors, who was looking at his +miniature, that it was remarkably well painted, and that, in his happier +days, he had been something of a judge of the art.” + +Impatient to see the stranger, who, he did not doubt, was Virginia’s +father, Clarence Hervey went the next Sunday to the Asylum; but no such +gentleman appeared, and all that he could learn respecting him was, that +he had applied to one of the directors of the institution for leave to +see and question the girls, in hopes of finding amongst them his lost +daughter; that in the course of the week, he had seen all those who were +not at the church the last Sunday. None of the directors knew any thing +more concerning him; but the porter remarked, that he came in a very +handsome coach, and one of the girls of the Asylum said that he gave her +half a guinea, because she was a little like _his poor Rachel, who was +dead_; but that he had added, with a sigh, “This cannot be my daughter, +for she is only thirteen, and my girl, if she be now living, must be +nearly eighteen.” + +The age, the name, every circumstance confirmed Mr. Hervey in the belief +that this stranger was the father of Virginia, and he was disappointed +and provoked by having missed the opportunity of seeing or speaking to +him. It occurred to Clarence that the gentleman might probably visit the +Foundling Hospital, and thither he immediately went, to make inquiries. +He was told that a person, such as he described, had been there about +a month before, and had compared the face of the oldest girls with a +little picture of a child: that he gave money to several of the girls, +but that they did not know his name, or any thing more about him. + +Mr. Hervey now inserted proper advertisements in all the papers, but +without producing any effect. At last, recollecting what Mr. Moreton +told him of the stranger’s love of pictures, he determined to put his +portrait of Virginia into the exhibition, in hopes that the gentleman +might go there and ask some questions about it, which might lead to a +discovery. The young artist, who had painted this picture, was under +particular obligations to Clarence, and he promised that he would +faithfully comply with his request, to be at Somerset-house regularly +every morning, as soon as the exhibition opened; that he would stay +there till it closed, and watch whether any of the spectators were +particularly struck with the portrait of Virginia. If any person should +ask questions respecting the picture, he was to let Mr. Hervey know +immediately, and to give the inquirer his address. + +Now it happened that the very day when Lady Delacour and Belinda were at +the exhibition, the painter called Clarence aside, and informed him that +a gentleman had just inquired from him very eagerly, whether the picture +of Virginia was a portrait. This gentleman proved to be not the stranger +who had been at the Asylum, but an eminent jeweller, who told Mr. Hervey +that his curiosity about the picture arose merely from its striking +likeness to a miniature, which had been lately left at his house to +be new set. It belonged to a Mr. Hartley, a gentleman who had made a +considerable fortune in the West Indies, but who was prevented from +enjoying his affluence by the loss of an only daughter, of whom the +miniature was a portrait, taken when she was not more than four or five +years old. When Clarence heard all this, he was extremely impatient to +know where Mr. Hartley was to be found; but the jeweller could only +tell him that the miniature had been called for the preceding day by Mr. +Hartley’s servant, who said his master was leaving town in a great hurry +to go to Portsmouth, to join the West India fleet, which was to sail +with the first favourable wind. + +Clarence determined immediately to follow him to Portsmouth: he had not +a moment to spare, for the wind was actually favourable, and his only +chance of seeing Mr. Hartley was by reaching Portsmouth as soon as +possible. This was the cause of his taking leave of Belinda in such +an abrupt manner: painful indeed were his feelings at that moment, and +great the difficulty he felt in parting with her, without giving any +explanation of his conduct, which must have appeared to her capricious +and mysterious. He was aware that he had explicitly avowed to Lady +Delacour his admiration of Miss Portman, and that in a thousand +instances he had betrayed his passion. Yet of her love he dared not +trust himself to think, whilst his affairs were in this doubtful +state. He had, it is true, some faint hopes that a change in Virginia’s +situation might produce an alteration in her sentiments, and he resolved +to decide his own conduct by the manner in which she should behave, +if her father should be found, and she should become heiress to a +considerable fortune. New views might then open to her imagination: the +world, the fashionable world, in all its glory, would be before her; +her beauty and fortune would attract a variety of admirers, and Clarence +thought that perhaps her partiality for him might become less exclusive, +when she had more opportunities of choice. If her love arose merely from +circumstances, with circumstances it would change; if it were only a +disease of the imagination, induced by her seclusion from society, +it might be cured by mixing with the world; and then he should be +at liberty to follow the dictates of his own heart, and declare his +attachment to Belinda. But if he should find that change of situation +made no alteration in Virginia’s sentiments, if her happiness should +absolutely depend upon the realization of those hopes which he had +imprudently excited, he felt that he should be bound to her by all the +laws of justice and honour; laws which no passion could tempt him to +break. Full of these ideas, he hurried to Portsmouth in pursuit of +Virginia’s father. The first question he asked, upon his arrival there, +may easily be guessed. + +“Has the West India fleet sailed?” + +“No: it sails to-morrow morning,” was the answer. + +He hastened instantly to make inquiries for Mr. Hartley. No such +person could be found, no such gentleman was to be heard of any where. +_Hartley_, he was sure, was the name which the jeweller mentioned to +him, but it was in vain that he repeated it; no Mr. Hartley was to be +heard of at Portsmouth, except a pawnbroker. At last, a steward of one +of the West Indiamen recollected that a gentleman of that name came over +with him in the Effingham, and that he talked of returning in the same +vessel to the West Indies, if he should ever leave England again. + +“But we have heard nothing of him since, sir,” said the steward. “No +passage is taken for him with us.” + +“And my life to a china orange,” cried a sailor who was standing by, +“he’s gone to kingdom come, or more likely to Bedlam, afore this; for +he was plaguy crazy in his timbers, and his head wanted righting, I take +it, if it was he, Jack, who used to walk the deck, you know, with a bit +of a picture in his hand, to which he seemed to be mumbling his prayers +from morning to night. There’s no use in sounding for him, master; +he’s down in Davy’s locker long ago, or stowed into the tight waistcoat +before this time o’day.” + +Notwithstanding this knowing sailor’s opinion, Clarence would not desist +from his sounding; because having so lately heard of him at different +places, he could not believe that he was gone either into Davy’s locker +or to Bedlam. He imagined that, by some accident, Mr. Hartley had been +detained upon the road to Portsmouth; and in the expectation that he +would certainly arrive before the fleet should sail, Clarence waited +with tolerable patience. He waited, however, in vain; he saw the +Effingham and the whole fleet sail--no Mr. Hartley arrived. As he +hailed one of the boats of the Effingham, which was rowing out with some +passengers, who had been too late to get on board, his friend the sailor +answered, “We’ve no crazy man here: I told you, master, he’d never go +out no more in the Effingham. He’s where I said, master, you’ll find, or +nowhere.” + +Mr. Hervey remained some days at Portsmouth, after the fleet had sailed, +in hopes that he might yet obtain some information; but none could be +had; neither could any farther tidings be obtained from the jeweller, +who had first mentioned Mr. Hartley. Despairing of success in the object +of his journey, he, however, determined to delay his return to town for +some time, in hopes that absence might efface the impression which had +been made on the heart of Virginia. He made a tour along the picturesque +coasts of Dorset and Devonshire, and it was during this excursion +that he wrote the letters to Lady Delacour which have so often been +mentioned. He endeavoured to dissipate his thoughts by new scenes and +employments, but all his ideas involuntarily centred in Belinda. If he +saw new characters, he compared them with hers, or considered how far +she would approve or condemn them. The books that he read were perused +with a constant reference to what she would think or feel; and during +his whole journey he never beheld any beautiful prospect, without +wishing that it could at the same instant be seen by Belinda. If her +name were mentioned but once in his letters, it was because he dared not +trust himself to speak of her; she was for ever present to his mind: but +while he was writing to Lady Delacour, her idea pressed more strongly +upon his heart; he recollected that it was she who first gave him a just +insight into her ladyship’s real character; he recollected that she +had joined with him in the benevolent design of reconciling her to Lord +Delacour, and of creating in her mind a taste for domestic happiness. +This remembrance operated powerfully to excite him to fresh exertions, +and the eloquence which touched Lady Delacour so much in these +“_edifying_” letters, as she called them, was in fact inspired by +Belinda. + +Whenever he thought distinctly upon his future plans, Virginia’s +attachment, and the hopes which he had imprudently inspired, appeared +insuperable obstacles to his union with Miss Portman; but, in more +sanguine moments, he flattered himself with a confused notion that these +difficulties would vanish. Great were his surprise and alarm when he +received that letter of Lady Delacour’s, in which she announced the +probability of Belinda’s marriage with Mr. Vincent. In consequence of +his moving from place to place in the course of his tour, he did not +receive this letter till nearly a fortnight after it should have come +to his hands. The instant he received it he set out on his way home; he +travelled with all that expedition which money can command in England: +his first thought and first wish when he arrived in town were to go +to Lady Delacour’s; but he checked his impatience, and proceeded +immediately to Twickenham, to have his fate decided by Virginia. It was +with the most painful sensations that he saw her again. The accounts +which he received from Mrs. Ormond convinced him that absence had +produced none of the effects which he expected on the mind of her pupil. +Mrs. Ormond was naturally both of an affectionate disposition and a +timid temper; she had become excessively fond of Virginia, and her +anxiety was more than in proportion to her love; it sometimes balanced +and even overbalanced her regard and respect for Clarence Hervey +himself. When he spoke of his attachment to Belinda, and of his doubts +respecting Virginia, she could no longer restrain her emotion. + +“Oh, indeed, Mr. Hervey,” said she, “this is no time for reasoning and +doubting. No man in his senses, no man who is not wilfully blind, could +doubt her being distractedly fond of you.” + +“I am sorry for it,” said Clarence. + +“And why--oh, why, Mr. Hervey? Don’t you recollect the time when you +were all impatience to call her yours,--when you thought her the most +charming creature in the whole world?” + +“I had not seen Belinda Portman then.” + +“And I wish to Heaven you never had seen her! But oh, surely, Mr. +Hervey, you will not desert my Virginia!--Must her health, her +happiness, her reputation, all be the sacrifice?” + +“Reputation! Mrs. Ormond.” + +“Reputation, Mr. Hervey: you do not know in what a light she is +considered here; nor did I till lately. But I tell you her reputation +is injured--fatally injured. It is whispered, and more than whispered +everywhere, that she is your mistress. A woman came here the other +day with the bullfinch, and she looked at me, and spoke in such an +extraordinary way, that I was shocked more than I can express. I +need not tell you all the particulars; it is enough that I have made +inquiries, and am sure, too sure, of what I say, that nothing but your +marriage with Virginia can save her reputation; or--” + +Mrs. Ormond stopped short, for at this instant Virginia entered the +room, walking in her slow manner, as if she were in a deep reverie. + +“Since my return,” said Clarence, in an embarrassed voice, “I have +scarcely heard a syllable from Miss St. Pierre’s lips.” + +“_Miss St. Pierre!_--He used to call me Virginia,” said she, turning to +Mrs. Ormond: “he is angry with me--he used to call me Virginia.” + +“But you were a child then, you know, my love,” said Mrs. Ormond. + +“And I wish I was still a child,” said Virginia, Then, after a long +pause, she approached Mr. Hervey with extreme timidity, and, opening +a portfolio which lay on the table, she said to him, “If you are at +leisure--if I do not interrupt you--would you look at these drawings; +though they are not worth your seeing, except as proofs that I can +conquer my natural indolence?” + +The drawings were views which she had painted from memory, of scenes in +the New Forest, near her grandmother’s cottage. That cottage was drawn +with an exactness that proved how fresh it was in her remembrance. Many +recollections rushed forcibly into Clarence Hervey’s mind at the sight +of this cottage. The charming image of Virginia, as it first struck his +fancy,--the smile, the innocent smile, with which she offered him the +finest rose in her basket,--the stern voice in which her grandmother +spoke to her,--the prophetic fears of her protectress,--the figure of +the dying woman,--the solemn promise he made to her,--all recurred, in +rapid succession, to his memory. + +“You don’t seem to like that,” said Virginia; and then putting another +drawing into his hands, “perhaps this may please you better.” + +“They are beautiful; they are surprisingly well done!” exclaimed he. + +“I knew he would like them! I told you so!” cried Mrs. Ormond, in a +triumphant tone. + +“You see,” said Virginia, “that though you have heard scarcely a +syllable from Miss St. Pierre’s lips since your return, yet she has not +been unmindful of your wishes in your absence. You told her, some time +ago, that you wished she would try to improve in drawing. She has done +her best. But do not trouble yourself to look at them any longer,” said +Virginia, taking one of her drawings from his hand; “I merely wanted to +show you that, though I have no genius, I have some--” + +Her voice faltered so that she could not pronounce the word _gratitude_. + +Mrs. Ormond pronounced it for her; and added, “I can answer for it, that +Virginia is not ungrateful.” + +“Ungrateful!” repeated Clarence; “who ever thought her so? Why did you +put these ideas into her mind?” + +Virginia, resting her head on Mrs. Ormond’s shoulder, wept bitterly. + +“You have worked upon her sensibility till you have made her miserable,” + cried Clarence, angrily. “Virginia, listen to me: look at me,” said he, +affectionately taking her hand; but she pressed closer to Mrs. Ormond, +and would not raise her head. “Do not consider me as your master--your +tyrant; do not imagine that I think you ungrateful!” + +“Oh, I am--I am--I am ungrateful to you,” cried she, sobbing; “but Mrs. +Ormond never told me so; do not blame her: she has never worked upon +my sensibility. Do you think,” said she, looking up, while a transient +expression of indignation passed over her countenance, “do you think I +cannot _feel_ without having been taught?” + +Clarence uttered a deep sigh. + +“But if you feel too much, my dearest Virginia,--if you give way to your +feelings in this manner,” said Mrs. Ormond, “you will make both yourself +and Mr. Hervey unhappy.” + +“Heaven forbid! The first wish of my soul is--” She paused. “I should be +the most ungrateful wretch in the world, if I were to make him unhappy.” + +“But if he sees you miserable, Virginia?” + +“Then he shall not see it,” said she, wiping the tears from her face. + +“To imagine that you were unhappy, and that you concealed it from us, +would be still worse,” said Clarence. + +“But why should you imagine it?” replied Virginia; “you are too good, +too kind; but do not fancy that I am not happy: I am sure I ought to be +happy.” + +“Do you regret your cottage?” said Clarence: “these drawings show how +well you remember it.” + +Virginia coloured; and, with some hesitation, answered, “Is it my fault +if I cannot forget?” + +“You were happier then, Virginia, than you are now, you will confess,” + said Mrs. Ormond, who was not a woman of refined delicacy, and who +thought that the best chance she had of working upon Mr. Hervey’s sense +of honour was by making it plain to him how much her pupil’s affections +were engaged. + +Virginia made no answer to this question, and her silence touched +Clarence more than any thing she could have said. When Mrs. Ormond +repeated her question, he relieved the trembling girl by saying, “My +dear Mrs. Ormond, confidence must be won, not demanded.” + +“I have no right to insist upon confessions, I know,” said Mrs. Ormond; +“but--” + +“Confessions! I do not wish to conceal any thing, but I think sincerity +is not _always_ in our sex consistent with--I mean--I don’t know what I +mean, what I say, or what I ought to say,” cried Virginia; and she sunk +down on a sofa, in extreme confusion. + +“Why will you agitate her, Mrs. Ormond, in this manner?” said Mr. +Hervey, with an expression of sudden anger. It was succeeded by a look +of such tender compassion for Virginia, that Mrs. Ormond rejoiced to +have excited his anger; at any price she wished to serve her beloved +pupil. + +“Do not be in the least apprehensive, my dear Virginia, that we should +take ungenerous advantage of the openness and simplicity of your +character,” said Mr. Hervey. + +“Oh, no, no; I cannot, do not apprehend any thing ungenerous from you; +you are, you ever have been, my best, my most generous friend! But I +fear that I have not the simplicity of character, the openness that you +imagine; and yet, I am sure, I wish, from the bottom of my heart--I wish +to do right, if I knew how. But there is not one--no, not one--person in +the whole world,” continued she, her eyes moving from Mrs. Ormond to Mr. +Hervey, and from him to Mrs. Ormond again, “not one person in the whole +world I dare--I ought--to lay my heart open to. I have, perhaps, said +more than is proper already. But this I know,” added she, in a firm +tone, rising, and addressing herself to Clarence, “_you_ shall never be +made unhappy by me. And do not think about my happiness so much,” said +she, forcing a smile; “I am, I will be, perfectly happy. Only let me +always know your wishes, your sentiments, your feelings, and by them I +will, as I ought, regulate mine.” + +“Amiable, charming, generous girl!” cried Clarence. + +“Take care,” said Mrs. Ormond; “take care, Virginia, lest you promise +more than you can perform. Wishes, and feelings, and sentiments, are not +to be so easily regulated.” + +“I did not, I believe, say it was easy; but I hope it is possible,” + replied Virginia. “I promise nothing but what I am able to perform.” + +“I doubt it,” said Mrs. Ormond, shaking her head. “You _are_--you _will_ +be perfectly happy. Oh, Virginia, my love, do not deceive yourself; do +not deceive us so terribly. I am sorry to put you to the blush; but--” + +“Not a word more, my dear madam, I beg--I insist,” said Mr. Hervey in a +commanding tone; but, for the first time in her life, regardless of him, +she persisted. + +“I only ask you to call to mind, my dearest Virginia,” said she, taking +her hand, “the morning that you screamed in your sleep, the morning when +you told me the frightful dream--were you perfectly happy then?” + +“It is easy to force my thoughts from me,” said Virginia, withdrawing +her hand from Mrs. Ormond; “but it is cruel to do so.” And with an air +of offended dignity she passed them, and quitted the room. + +“I wish to Heaven!” exclaimed Mrs. Ormond, “that Miss Portman was +married, and out of the way--I shall never forgive myself! We have used +this poor girl cruelly amongst us: she loves you to distraction, and I +have encouraged her passion, and I have betrayed her--oh, fool that I +was! I told her that she would certainly be your wife.” + +“You have told her so!--Did I not charge you, Mrs. Ormond----” + +“Yes; but I could not help it, when I saw the sweet girl fading +away--and, besides, I am sure she thought it, from your manner, long +and long before I told it to her. Do you forget how fond of her you were +scarce one short year ago? And do you forget how plainly you let her see +your passion? Oh, how can you blame her, if she loves you, and if she is +unhappy?” + +“I blame no one but myself,” cried Clarence; “I must abide by the +consequences of my own folly. Unhappy!--she shall not be unhappy; she +does not deserve to be so.” + +He walked backward and forward, with hasty steps, for some minutes; then +sat down and wrote a letter to Virginia. + +When he had finished it, he put it into Mrs. Ormond’s hands. + +“Read it--seal it--give it to her--and let her answer be sent to town to +me, at Dr. X.’s, in Clifford-street.” + +Mrs. Ormond clasped her hands, in an ecstasy of joy, as she glanced her +eye over the letter, for it contained an offer of his hand. + +“This is like yourself; like what I always knew you to be, dear Mr. +Hervey!” she exclaimed. + +But her exclamation was lost upon him. When she looked up, to repeat her +praises, she perceived he was gone. After the effort which he had made, +he wished for time to tranquillize his mind, before he should again see +Virginia. What her answer to this letter would be he could not doubt: +his fate was now decided, and he determined immediately to write to Lady +Delacour to explain his situation; he felt that he had not sufficient +fortitude at this moment to make such an explanation in person. With +all the strength of his mind, he endeavoured to exclude Belinda from his +thoughts, but _curiosity_--(for he would suffer himself to call it by no +other name)--curiosity to know whether she were actually engaged to Mr. +Vincent obtruded itself with such force, that it could not be resisted. + +From Dr. X---- he thought he could obtain full information, and he +hastened immediately to town. When he got to Clifford-street, he found +that the doctor was not at home; his servant said, he might probably be +met with at Mrs. Margaret Delacour’s, as he usually finished his morning +rounds at her house. Thither Mr. Hervey immediately went. + +The first sound that he heard, as he went up her stairs, was the +screaming of a macaw; and the first person he saw, through the open door +of the drawing-room, was Helena Delacour. She was standing with her back +to him, leaning over the macaw’s cage, and he heard her say in a joyful +tone, “Yes, though you do scream so frightfully, my pretty macaw, I love +you as well as Marriott ever did. When my dear, good Miss Portman, sent +this macaw--My dear aunt! here’s Mr. Hervey!--you were just wishing to +see him.” + +“Mr. Hervey,” said the old lady, with a benevolent smile, “your little +friend Helena tells you truth; we were just wishing for you. I am sure +it will give you pleasure to hear that I am at last a convert to your +opinion of Lady Delacour. She has given up all those that I used to call +her rantipole acquaintance. She has reconciled herself to her husband, +and to his friends; and Helena is to go home to live with her. Here is +a charming note I have just received from her! Dine with me on Thursday +next, and you will meet her ladyship, and see a happy family party. +You have had some share in the _reformation_, I know, and that was the +reason I wished that you should be with us on Thursday. You see I am not +an obstinate old woman, though I was cross the first day I saw you at +Lady Anne Percival’s. I found I was mistaken in your character, and I +am glad of it. But this note of Lady Delacour’s seems to have struck you +dumb.” + +There were, indeed, a few words in this note, which deprived him, for +some moments, of all power of utterance. + +“The report you have heard (unlike most other reports) is perfectly well +founded: Mr. Vincent, Belinda’s admirer, is here. I will bring him with +us on Thursday.” + +Mr. Hervey was relieved from the necessity of accounting to Mrs. +Delacour for his sudden embarrassment, by the entrance of Dr. X---- and +another gentleman, of whom, in the confusion of his mind, Clarence +did not at first take any notice. Dr. X----, with his usual mixture +of benevolence and raillery, addressed himself to Clarence, whilst the +stranger took out of his pocket some papers, and in a low voice entered +earnestly into conversation with Mrs. Delacour. + +“Now, tell me, if you can, Clarence,” said Dr. X----, “which of your +three mistresses you like best? I think I left you some months ago in +great doubt upon this subject: are you still in that philosophic state?” + +“No,” said Clarence; “all doubts are over--I am going to be married.” + +“Bravo!--But you look as if you were going to be hanged. May I, as it +will so soon be in the newspaper, may I ask the name of the fair lady?” + +“Virginia St. Pierre. You shall know her history and mine when we are +alone,” said Mr. Hervey, lowering his voice. + +“You need not lower your voice,” said Dr. X----, “for Mrs. Delacour +is, as you see, so much taken up with her own affairs, that she has no +curiosity for those of her neighbours; and Mr. Hartley is as busy as--” + +“Mr. who? Mr. Hartley did you say?” interrupted Clarence, eagerly +turning his eyes upon the stranger, who was a middle-aged gentleman, +exactly answering the description of the person who had been at the +Asylum in search of his daughter. + +“Mr. Hartley! yes. What astonishes you so much?” said X----, calmly. “He +is a West Indian. I met him in Cambridgeshire last summer, at his friend +Mr. Horton’s; he has been very generous to the poor people who suffered +by the fire, and he is now consulting with Mrs. Delacour, who has an +estate adjoining to Mr. Horton’s, about her tenants, whose houses in +the village were burnt. Now I have, in as few words and parentheses +as possible, told you all I know of Mr. Hartley’s history; but your +curiosity still looks voracious.” + +“I want to know whether he has a miniature?” said Clarence, hastily. +“Introduce me to him, for Heaven’s sake, directly!” + +“Mr. Hartley,” cried the doctor, raising his voice, “give me leave to +introduce my friend Mr. Hervey to you, and to your miniature picture, if +you have one.” + +Mr. Hartley sighed profoundly as he drew from his bosom a small +portrait, which he put into Mr. Hervey’s hands, saying, “Alas! sir, you +cannot, I fear, give me any tidings of the original; it is the picture +of a daughter, whom I have never seen since she was an infant--whom I +never shall see again.” + +Clarence instantly knew it to be Virginia; but as he was upon the point +of making some joyful exclamation, he felt Dr. X---- touch his shoulder, +and looking up at Mr. Hartley, he saw in his countenance such strong +workings of passion, that he prudently suppressed his own emotion, and +calmly said, “It would be cruel, sir, to give you false hopes.” + +“It would kill me--it would kill me, sir!--or worse!--worse! a thousand +times worse!” cried Mr. Hartley, putting his hand to his forehead. +“What,” continued he impatiently, “what was the meaning of the look you +gave, when you first saw that picture? Speak, if you have any humanity! +Did you ever see any one that resembles that picture?” + +“I have seen, I think, a picture,” said Clarence Hervey, “that has some +resemblance to it.” + +“When? where?--” + +“My good sir,” said Dr. X----, “let me recommend it to you to consider +that there is scarcely any possibility of judging, from the features of +children, of what their faces may be when they grow up. Nothing can be +more fallacious than these accidental resemblances between the pictures +of children and of grown-up people.” + +Mr. Hartley’s countenance fell. + +“But,” added Clarence Hervey, “you will perhaps, sir, think it worth +your while to see the picture of which I speak: you can see it at Mr. +F----‘s, the painter, in Newman-street; and I will accompany you thither +whenever you please.” + +“This moment, if you would have the goodness: my carriage is at the +door; and Mrs. Delacour will be so kind to excuse ----” + +“Oh, make no apologies to me at such a time as this,” said Mrs. +Delacour. “Away with you, gentlemen, as soon as you please; upon +condition, that if you have any good news to tell, some of you will +remember, in the midst of your joy, that such an old woman as Mrs. +Margaret Delacour exists, who loves to hear _good_ news of those who +deserve it.” + +“It was so late in the day when they got to Newman-street, that they +were obliged to light candles. Trembling with eagerness, Mr. Hartley +drew near, while Clarence held the light to the picture. + +“It is so like,” said he, looking at his miniature, “that I dare not +believe my senses. Dr. X----, pray do you look. My head is so dizzy, and +my eyes so----What do you think, sir? What do you say, doctor?” + +“That the likeness is certainly striking--but this seems to be a fancy +piece.” + +“A fancy piece,” repeated Mr. Hartley, with terror: “why then did you +bring me here?--A fancy piece!” + +“No, sir; it is a portrait,” said Clarence; “and if you will be calm, I +will tell you more.” + +“I will be calm--only is she alive?” + +“The lady, of whom this is the portrait, is alive,” replied Clarence +Hervey, who was obliged to exert his utmost command over himself, to +maintain that composure which he saw was necessary; “the lady, of whom +this is the portrait, is alive, and you shall see her to-morrow.” + +“Oh, why not now? Cannot I see her now? I must see her to-night--this +instant, sir!” + +“It is impossible,” said Mr. Hervey, “that you should see her this +instant, for she is some miles off, at Twickenham.” + +“It is too late to go thither now; you cannot think of it, Mr. Hartley,” + continued Dr. X----, in a tone of command, to which he yielded more +readily than to reason. + +Clarence had the presence of mind to recollect that it would be +necessary to prepare poor Virginia for this meeting, and he sent a +messenger immediately to request that Mrs. Ormond would communicate the +intelligence with all the caution in her power. + +The next morning, Mr. Hartley and Mr. Hervey set off together for +Twickenham. In their way thither Clarence gradually confirmed Mr. +Hartley in the belief that Virginia was his daughter, by relating all +the circumstances that he had learned from her grandmother, and +from Mrs. Smith, the farmer’s wife, with whom she had formerly been +acquainted: the name, the age, every particular, as it was disclosed, +heightened his security and his joy. + +For some time Mr. Hartley’s mind was so intent that he could not listen +to any thing, but at last Clarence engaged his attention and suspended +his anxiety, by giving him a history of his own connexion with Virginia, +from the day of his first discovering her in the New Forest, to the +letter which he had just written, to offer her his hand. The partiality +which it was suspected Virginia felt for him was the only circumstance +which he suppressed, because, notwithstanding all Mrs. Ormond had +said, and all he had himself heard and seen, his obstinate incredulity +required confirmation under her own hand, or positively from her own +lips. He still fancied it was possible that change of situation might +alter her views and sentiments; and he earnestly entreated that she +might be left entirely to her own decision. It was necessary to make +this stipulation with her father; for in the excess of his gratitude +for the kindness which Clarence had shown to her, he protested that he +should look upon her as a monster if she did not love him: he added, +that if Mr. Hervey had not a farthing, he should prefer him to every man +upon earth; he, however, promised that he would conceal his wishes, and +that his daughter should act entirely from the dictates of her own mind. +In the fulness of his heart, he told Clarence all those circumstances +of his conduct towards Virginia’s mother which had filled his soul +with remorse. She was scarcely sixteen when he ran away with her from +a boarding-school; he was at that time a gay officer, she a sentimental +girl, who had been spoiled by early novel-reading. Her father had a +small place at court, lived beyond his fortune, educated his daughter, +to whom he could give no portion, as if she were to be heiress to a +large estate; then died, and left his widow absolutely in penury. This +widow was the old lady who lived in the cottage in the New Forest. It +was just at the time of her husband’s death, and of her own distress, +that she heard of the elopement of her daughter from school. Mr. +Hartley’s parents were so much incensed by the match, that he was +prevailed upon to separate from his wife, and to go abroad, to push +his fortune in the army. His marriage had been secret: his own friends +disavowed it, notwithstanding the repeated, urgent entreaties of his +wife and of her mother, who was her only surviving relation. His wife, +on her death-bed, wrote to urge him to take charge of his daughter; and, +to make the appeal stronger to his feelings, she sent him a picture +of his little girl, who was then about four years old. Mr. Hartley, +however, was intent upon forming a new connexion with the rich widow +of a planter in Jamaica. He married the widow, took possession of her +fortune, and all his affections soon were fixed upon a son, for whom +he formed, even from the moment of his birth, various schemes of +aggrandizement. The boy lived till he was about ten years old, when he +caught a fever, which at that time raged in Jamaica, and, after a few +days’ illness, died. His mother was carried off by the same disease; +and Mr. Hartley, left alone in the midst of his wealth, felt how +insufficient it was to happiness. Remorse now seized him; he returned to +England in search of his deserted daughter. To this neglected child he +now looked forward for the peace and happiness of the remainder of his +life. Disappointment in all his inquiries for some months preyed +upon his spirits to such a degree, that his intellects were at times +disordered; this derangement was the cause of his not sooner recovering +his child. He was in confinement during the time that Clarence Hervey’s +advertisements were inserted in the papers; and his illness was also the +cause of his not going to Portsmouth, and sailing in the Effingham, as +he had originally intended. The history of his connexion with Mr. Horton +would be uninteresting to the reader; it is enough to say, that he was +prevailed upon, by that gentleman, to spend some time in the country +with him, for the recovery of his health; and it was there that he +became acquainted with Dr. X----, who introduced him, as we have seen, +to Mrs. Margaret Delacour, at whose house he met Clarence Hervey. This +is the most succinct account that we can give of him and his affairs. +His own account was ten times as long; but we spare our readers his +incoherences and reflections, because, perhaps, they are in a hurry to +get to Twickenham, and to hear of his meeting with Virginia. + +Mrs. Ormond found it no easy task to prepare Virginia for the sight of +Mr. Hartley. Virginia had scarcely ever spoken of her father; but the +remembrance of things which she had heard of him from her grandmother +was fresh in her mind; she had often pictured him in her fancy, and +she had secretly nourished the hope that she should not for ever be a +_deserted child_. Mrs. Ormond had observed, that in those romances, of +which she was so fond, every thing that related to children who were +deserted by their parents affected her strongly. + +The belief in what the French call _la force du sang_ was suited to +her affectionate temper and ardent imagination, and it had taken full +possession of her mind. The eloquence of romance persuaded her that +she should not only discover but love her father with intuitive filial +piety, and she longed to experience those yearnings of affection of +which she had read so much. + +The first moment that Mrs. Ormond began to speak of Mr. Clarence +Hervey’s hopes of discovering her father, she was transported with joy. + +“My _father_!--How delightful that word _father_ sounds!--_My_ +father?--May I say _my_ father?--And will he own me, and will he love +me, and will he give me his blessing, and will he fold me in his arms, +and call me his daughter, his dear daughter?--Oh, how I shall love him! +I will make it the whole business of my life to please him!” + +“The _whole_ business?” said Mrs. Ormond, smiling. + +“Not the whole,” said Virginia; “I hope my father will like Mr. Hervey. +Did not you say that he is rich? I wish that my father may be _very_ +rich.” + +“That is the last wish that I should have expected to hear from you, my +Virginia.” + +“But do you not know why I wish it?--that I may show my gratitude to Mr. +Hervey.” + +“My dear child,” said Mrs. Ormond, “these are most generous sentiments, +and worthy of you; but do not let your imagination run away with you at +this rate--Mr. Hervey is rich enough.” + +“I wish he were poor,” said Virginia, “that I might make him rich.” + +“He would not love you the better, my dear,” said Mrs. Ormond, “if +you had the wealth of the Indies. Perhaps your father may not be rich; +therefore do not set your heart upon this idea.” + +Virginia sighed: fear succeeded to hope, and her imagination immediately +reversed the bright picture that it had drawn. + +“But I am afraid,” said she, “that this gentleman is not my father--how +disappointed I shall be! I wish you had never told me all this, my dear +Mrs. Ormond.” + +“I would not have told it to you, if Mr. Hervey had not desired that I +should; and you maybe sure he would not have desired it, unless he had +good reason to believe that you would not be disappointed.” + +“But he is not sure--he does not say he is quite sure. And, even if I +were quite certain of his being my father, how can I be certain that he +will not disown me--he, who has deserted me so long? My grandmother, I +remember, often used to say that he had no natural affection.” + +“Your grandmother was mistaken, then; for he has been searching for +his child all over England, Mr. Hervey says; and he has almost lost his +senses with grief and with remorse!” + +“Remorse!” + +“Yes, remorse, for having so long deserted you: he fears that you will +hate him.” + +“Hate him!--is it possible to hate a father?” said Virginia. + +“He dreads that you should never forgive him.” + +“Forgive him!--I have read of parents forgiving their children, but +I never remember to have read of a daughter forgiving her father. +_Forgive!_ you should not have used that word. I cannot _forgive_ my +father: but I can love him, and I will make him quite forget all his +sorrows--I mean, all his sorrows about me.” + +After this conversation Virginia spent her time in imagining what sort +of person her father would be; whether he was like Mr. Hervey; what +words he would say; where he would sit; whether he would sit beside her; +and, above all, whether he would give her his blessing. + +“I am afraid,” said she, “of liking my father better than _any body +else_.” + +“No danger of that, my dear,” said Mrs. Ormond, smiling. + +“I am glad of it, for it would be very wrong and _ungrateful_ to like +any thing in this world so well as Mr. Hervey.” + +The carriage now came to the door: Mrs. Ormond instantly ran to the +window, but Virginia had not power to move--her heart beat violently. + +“Is he come?” said she. + +“Yes, he is getting out of the carriage this moment!” + +Virginia stood with her eyes eagerly fixed upon the door: “Hark!” said +she, laying her hand upon Mrs. Ormond’s arm, to prevent her from moving: +“Hush! that we may hear his voice.” + +She was breathless--no voice was to be heard: “They are not coming,” + said she, turning as pale as death. An instant afterwards her colour +returned--she heard the steps of two people coming up the stairs. + +“His step!--Do you hear it?--Is it my father?” + +Virginia’s imagination was worked to the highest pitch; she could +scarcely sustain herself: Mrs. Ormond supported her. At this instant her +father appeared. + +“My child!--the image of her mother!” exclaimed he, stopping short: he +sunk upon a chair. + +“My father!” cried Virginia, springing forward, and throwing herself at +his feet. + +“The voice of her mother!” said Mr. Hartley. “My daughter!--My long lost +child!” + +He tried to raise her, but could not; her arms were clasped round his +knee, her face rested upon it, and when he stooped to kiss her cheek, he +found it cold--she had fainted. + +When she came to her senses, and found herself in her father’s arms, she +could scarcely believe that it was not a dream. + +“Your blessing!--give me your blessing, and then I shall know that you +are indeed my father!” cried Virginia, kneeling to him, and looking up +with an enthusiastic expression of filial piety in her countenance. + +“God bless you, my sweet child!” said he, laying his hand upon her; “and +God forgive your father!” + +“My grandmother died without giving me her blessing,” said Virginia; +“but now I have been blessed by my father! Happy, happy moment!--O that +she could look down from heaven, and see us at this instant!” + +Virginia was so much astonished and overpowered by this sudden discovery +of a parent, and by the novelty of his first caresses, that after the +first violent effervescence of her sensibility was over, she might, +to an indifferent spectator, have appeared stupid and insensible. Mrs. +Ormond, though far from an indifferent spectator, was by no means a +penetrating judge of the human heart: she seldom saw more than the +external symptoms of feeling, and she was apt to be rather impatient +with her friends if theirs did not accord with her own. + +“Virginia, my dear,” said she, in rather a reproachful tone, “Mr. +Hervey, you see, has left the room, on purpose to leave you at full +liberty to talk to your father; and I am going--but you are so silent!” + +“I have so much to say, and my heart is so full!” said Virginia. + +“Yes, I know you told me of a thousand things that you had to say to +your father, before you saw him.” + +“But now I see him, I have forgotten them all. I can think of nothing +but of him.” + +“Of him and Mr. Hervey,” said Mrs. Ormond. + +“I was not thinking of Mr. Hervey at that moment,” said Virginia, +blushing. + +“Well, my love, I will leave you to think and talk of what you please,” + said Mrs. Ormond, smiling significantly as she left the room. + +Mr. Hartley folded his daughter in his arms with the fondest expressions +of parental affection, and he was upon the point of telling her how much +he approved of the choice of her heart; but he recollected his promise, +and he determined to sound her inclinations farther, before he even +mentioned the name of Clarence Hervey. + +He began by painting the pleasures of the world, that world from which +she had hitherto been secluded. + +She heard him with simple indifference: not even her curiosity was +excited. + +He observed, that though she had no curiosity to see, it was natural +that she must have some pleasure in the thoughts of being seen. + +“What pleasure?” said Virginia. + +“The pleasure of being admired and loved: beauty and grace such as +yours, my child, cannot be seen without commanding admiration and love.” + +“I do not want to be admired,” replied Virginia, “and I want to be loved +by those only whom I love.” + +“My dearest daughter, you shall be entirely your own mistress; I will +never interfere, either directly or indirectly, in the disposal of your +heart.” + +At these last words, Virginia, who had listened to all the rest unmoved, +took her father’s hand, and kissed it repeatedly. + +“Now that I have found you, my darling child, let me at least make you +happy, if I can--it is the only atonement in my power; it will be the +only solace of my declining years. All that wealth can bestow--” + +“Wealth!” interrupted Virginia: “then you have wealth?” + +“Yes, my child--may it make you happy! that is all the enjoyment I +expect from it: it shall all be yours.” + +“And may I do what I please with it?--Oh, then it will indeed make me +happy. I will give it all, all to Mr. Hervey. How delightful to have +something to _give_ to Mr. Hervey!” + +“And had you never any thing to give to Mr. Hervey till now?” + +“Never! never! he has given me every thing. Now--oh, joyful day!--I can +prove to him that Virginia is not ungrateful!” + +“Dear, generous girl,” said her father, wiping the tears from his eyes, +“what a daughter have I found! But tell me, my child,” continued he, +smiling, “do you think Mr. Hervey will be content if you give him only +your fortune? Do you think that he would accept the fortune without the +heart? Nay, do not turn away that dear blushing face from me; remember +it is _your father_ who speaks to you. Mr. Hervey will not take your +fortune without yourself, I am afraid: what shall we do? Must I refuse +him your hand?” + +“Refuse him! do you think that I could refuse him any thing, who +has given me every thing?--I should be a monster indeed! There is no +sacrifice I would not make, no exertion of which I am not capable, for +Mr. Hervey’s sake. But, my dear father,” said she, changing her tone, +“he never asked for my hand till yesterday.” + +But he had won your heart long ago, I see, thought her father. + +“I have written an answer to his letter; will you look at it, and tell +me if you approve of it?” + +“I do approve of it, my darling child: I will not read it--I know what +it must be: he has a right to the preference he has so nobly earned.” + +“Oh, he has--he has, indeed!” cried Virginia, with an expression +of strong feeling; “and now is the time to show him that I am not +ungrateful.” + +“How I love you for this, my child!” cried her father, fondly embracing +her. “This is exactly what I wished, though I did not dare to say so +till I was sure of your sentiments. Mr. Hervey charged me to leave you +entirely to yourself; he thought that your new situation might perhaps +produce some change in your sentiments: I see he was mistaken; and I am +heartily glad of it. But you are going to say something, my dear; do not +let me interrupt you.” + +“I was only going to beg that you would give this letter, my dear +father, to Mr. Hervey. It is an answer to one which he wrote to me +when I was poor”--_and deserted_, she was near saying, but she stopped +herself. + +“I wish,” continued she, “Mr. Hervey should know that my sentiments are +precisely the same now that they have always been. Tell him,” added she, +proudly, “that he did me injustice by imagining that my sentiments could +alter with my situation. He little knows Virginia.” Clarence at this +moment entered the room, and Mr. Hartley eagerly led his daughter to +meet him. + +“Take her hand,” cried he; “you have her heart--you deserve it; and +she has just been very angry with me for doubting. But read her +letter,--that will speak better for her, and more to your satisfaction, +no doubt, than I can.” + +Virginia hastily put the letter into Mr. Hervey’s hand, and, breaking +from her father, retired to her own apartment. + +With all the trepidation of a person who feels that the happiness of his +life is to be decided in a few moments, Clarence tore open Virginia’s +letter, and, conscious that he was not able to command his emotion, he +withdrew from her father’s inquiring eyes. Mr. Hartley, however, saw +nothing in this agitation but what he thought natural to a lover, and +he was delighted to perceive that his daughter had inspired so strong a +passion. + +Virginia’s letter contained but these few lines: + +“Most happy shall I be if the whole of my future life can prove to you +how deeply I feel your goodness. + +“VIRGINIA ST. PIERRE.” + +[_End of C. Hervey’s packet_.] + +An acceptance so direct left Clarence no alternative: his fate was +decided. He determined immediately to force himself to see Belinda and +Mr. Vincent; for he fancied that his mind would be more at ease when he +had convinced himself by ocular demonstration that she was absolutely +engaged to another; that, consequently, even if he were free, he could +have no chance of gaining her affections. There are moments when we +desire the conviction which at another time would overwhelm us with +despair: it was in this temper that Mr. Hervey paid his visit to Lady +Delacour; but we have seen that he was unable to support for many +minutes that philosophic composure to which, at his first entrance +into the room, he had worked up his mind. The tranquillity which he had +expected would be the consequence of this visit, he was farther than +ever from obtaining. The extravagant joy with which Lady Delacour +received him, and an indescribable something in her manner when she +looked from him to Belinda, and from Belinda to Mr. Vincent, persuaded +him her ladyship wished that he were in Mr. Vincent’s place. The idea +was so delightful, that his soul was entranced, and for a few minutes +Virginia, and every thing that related to her, vanished from his +remembrance. It was whilst he was in this state that Lady Delacour (as +the reader may recollect) invited him into her lord’s dressing-room, +to tell her the contents of the packet, which had not then reached her +hands. The request suddenly recalled him to his senses, but he felt +that he was not at this moment able to trust himself to her ladyship’s +penetration; he therefore referred her to his letter for that +explanation which he dreaded to make in person, and he escaped from +Belinda’s presence, resolving never more to expose himself to such +danger. + +What effect his packet produced on Lady Delacour’s mind and on +Belinda’s, we shall not at present stop to inquire; but having brought +up Clarence Hervey’s affairs to the present day, we shall continue his +history. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +E O. + + +Though Clarence Hervey was not much disposed to see either Virginia or +her father whilst he was in the state of perturbation into which he had +been thrown by his interview with Belinda, yet he did not delay to send +his servant home with a note to Mrs. Ormond, to say that he would meet +Mr. Hartley, whenever he pleased, at his lawyer’s, to make whatever +arrangements might be necessary for proper settlements. + +As he saw no possibility of receding with honour, he, with becoming +resolution, desired to urge things forward as fast as possible, and to +strengthen in his mind the sense of the _necessity_ of the sacrifice +that he was bound to make. His passions were naturally impetuous, but +he had by persevering efforts brought them under the subjection of his +reason. His power over himself was now to be put to a severe trial. + +As he was going to town, he met Lord Delacour, who was riding in the +park: he was extremely intent upon his own thoughts, and was anxious to +pass unnoticed. In former times this would have been the most feasible +thing imaginable, for Lord Delacour used to detest the sight of Clarence +Hervey, whom he considered as the successor of Colonel Lawless in +his lady’s favour; but his opinion and his feelings had been entirely +changed by the perusal of those letters, which were perfumed with ottar +of roses: even this perfume had, from that association, become agreeable +to him. He now accosted Clarence with a warmth and cordiality in +his manner that at any other moment must have pleased as much as +it surprised him; but Clarence was not in a humour to enter into +conversation. + +“You seem to be in haste, Mr. Hervey,” said his lordship, observing his +impatience; “but, as I know your good-nature, I shall make no scruple to +detain you a quarter of an hour.” + +As he spoke he turned his horse, and rode with Clarence, who looked as +if he wished that his lordship had been more scrupulous, and that he had +not such a reputation for good-nature. + +“You will not refuse me this quarter of an hour, I am sure,” continued +Lord Delacour, “when you hear that, by favouring me with your attention, +you may perhaps materially serve an old, or rather a young, friend of +yours, and one whom I once fancied was a particular favourite--I mean, +Miss Belinda Portman.” + +At the name of Belinda Portman, Clarence Hervey became all attention: he +assured his lordship that he was in no haste; and all his difficulty now +was to moderate the eagerness of his curiosity. + +“We can take a turn or two in the park, as well as any where,” said his +lordship: “nobody will overhear us, and the sooner you know what I have +to say the better.” + +“Certainly,” said Clarence. + +The most malevolent person upon earth could not have tired poor +Clarence’s patience more than good-natured Lord Delacour contrived to +do, with the best intentions possible, by his habitual circumlocution. + +He descanted at length upon the difficulties, as the world goes, of +meeting with a confidential friend, whom it is prudent to trust in any +affair that demands delicacy, honour, and address. Men of talents were +often, he observed, devoid of integrity, and men of integrity devoid of +talents. When he had obtained Hervey’s assent to this proposition, he +next paid him sundry handsome, but long-winded compliments: then he +complimented himself for having just thought of Mr. Hervey as the +fittest person he could apply to: then he congratulated himself upon his +good luck in meeting with the very man he was just thinking of. At last, +after Clarence had returned thanks for all his kindness, and had given +assent to all his lordship’s truisms, the substance of the business came +out. + +Lord Delacour informed Mr. Hervey, “that he had been lately +commissioned, by Lady Delacour, to discover what attractions drew a Mr. +Vincent so constantly to Mrs. Luttridge’s----” + +Here he was going to explain who Mr. Vincent was; but Clarence +assured him that he knew perfectly well that he had been a ward of Mr. +Percival’s, that he was a West Indian of large fortune, &c. + +“And a lover of Miss Portman’s--that is the most material part of the +story to _me_,” continued Lord Delacour; “for otherwise, you know, Mr. +Vincent would be no more to me than any other gentleman. But in that +point of view--I mean as a lover of Belinda Portman, and I may say, not +quite unlikely to be her husband--he is highly interesting to my +Lady Delacour, and to me, and to you, as Miss Portman’s well-wisher, +doubtless.” + +“Doubtless!” was all Mr. Hervey could reply. + +“Now, you must know,” continued his lordship, “that Lady Delacour +has, for a woman, an uncommon share of penetration, and can put things +together in a wonderful way: in short, it has come to her (my Lady +Delacour’s) knowledge, that before Miss Portman was at Oakly-park last +summer, and after she left it this autumn, Mr. Vincent was a constant +visitor at Mrs. Luttridge’s, whilst at Harrowgate, and used to play +high (though unknown to the Percivals, of course) at billiards with Mr. +Luttridge--a _man_, I confess, I disliked _always_, even when I carried +the election for them. But no matter: it is not from enmity I speak now. +But it is very well known that Luttridge has but a small fortune, and +yet lives as if he had a large one; and all the young men who like high +play are sure to be well received at his house. Now, I hope Mr. Vincent +is not well received on that footing. + +“Since my Lady Delacour and I have been such good friends,” continued +his lordship, “I have dropped all connexion with the Luttridges; so +cannot go there myself: moreover, I do not wish to be tempted to lose +any more thousands to the lady. But you never play, and you are not +likely to be tempted to it now; so you will oblige me and Lady Delacour +if you will go to Luttridge’s to-night: she is always charmed to see +you, and you will easily discover how the land lies. Mr. Vincent is +certainly a very agreeable, open-hearted young man; but, if he game, God +forbid that Miss Portman should ever be his wife!” + +“God forbid!” said Clarence Hervey. + +“The man,” resumed Lord Delacour, “must, in my opinion, be very superior +indeed who is deserving of Belinda Portman. Oh, Mr. Hervey, you do +not--you cannot know her merit, as I do. It is one thing, sir, to see +a fine girl in a ball-room, and another--quite another--to live in +the house with her for months, and to see her, as I have seen Belinda +Portman, in every-day life, as one may call it. _Then_ it is one can +judge of the real temper, manners, and character; and never woman had +so sweet a temper, such charming manners, such a fair, open, generous, +decided yet gentle character, as this Miss Portman.” + +“Your lordship speaks _con amore_,” said Clarence. + +“I speak, Mr. Hervey, from the bottom of my soul,” cried Lord Delacour, +pulling in his horse, and stopping short. “I should be an unfeeling, +ungrateful brute, if I were not sensible of the obligations--yes, the +obligations--which my Lady Delacour and I have received from Belinda +Portman. Why, sir, she has been the peacemaker between us--but we will +not talk of that now. Let us think of her affairs. If Mr. Vincent once +gets into Mrs. Luttridge’s cursed set, there’s no knowing where it will +end. I speak from my own experience, for I really never was fond of high +play; and yet, when I got into that set, I could not withstand it. I +lost by hundreds and thousands; and so will he, before he is aware of +it, no doubt. Mrs. Luttridge will look upon him as her dupe, and make +him such. I always--but this is between ourselves--suspected that I +did not lose my last thousand to her fairly. Now, Hervey, you know the +whole, do try and save Mr. Vincent, for Belinda Portman’s sake.” + +Clarence Hervey shook hands with Lord Delacour, with a sentiment of real +gratitude and affection; and assured him that his confidence was not +misplaced. His lordship little suspected that he had been soliciting him +to save his rival. Clarence’s love was not of that selfish sort which +the moment that it is deprived of hope sinks into indifference, or is +converted into hatred. Belinda could not be his; but, in the midst of +the bitterest regret, he was supported by the consciousness of his +own honour and generosity: he felt a noble species of delight in the +prospect of promoting the happiness of the woman upon whom his +fondest affections had been fixed; and he rejoiced to feel that he had +sufficient magnanimity to save a rival from ruin. He was even determined +to make that rival his friend, notwithstanding the prepossession which, +he clearly perceived, Mr. Vincent felt against him. + +“His jealousy will be extinguished the moment he knows my real +situation,” said Clarence to himself. “He will be convinced that I have +a soul incapable of envy; and, if he suspect my love for Belinda, he +will respect the strength of mind with which I can command my passions. +I take it for granted that Mr. Vincent must possess a heart and +understanding such as I should desire in a friend, or he could never +be--what he is to Belinda.” + +Full of these generous sentiments, Clarence waited with impatience for +the hour when he might present himself at Mrs. Luttridge’s. He went +there so early in the evening, that he found the drawing-room quite +empty; the company, who had been invited to dine, had not yet left +the dining-room, and the servants had but just set the card-tables and +lighted the candles. Mr. Hervey desired that nobody should be disturbed +by his coming so early; and, fortunately, Mrs. Luttridge was detained +some minutes by Lady Newland’s lingering glass of Madeira. In the mean +time, Clarence executed his design. From his former observations, and +from the hints that Lord Delacour had let fall, he suspected that +there was sometimes in this house not only high play, but foul play: +he recollected that once, when he played there at billiards, he had +perceived that the table was not perfectly horizontal; and it occurred +to him, that perhaps the E O table might be so contrived as to put +the fortunes of all who played at it in the power of the proprietor. +Clarence had sufficient ingenuity to invent the method by which this +might be done; and he had the infallible means in his possession of +detecting the fraud. The E O table was in an apartment adjoining to +the drawing-room: he found his way to it; and he discovered, beyond a +possibility of doubt, that it was constructed for the purposes of fraud. +His first impulse was to tell this immediately to Mr. Vincent, to +put him on his guard; but, upon reflection, he determined to keep his +discovery to himself, till he was satisfied whether that gentleman had +or had not any passion for play. + +“If he have,” thought Clarence, “it is of the utmost consequence to Miss +Portman that he should early in life receive a shock that may leave an +indelible impression upon his mind. To save him a few hours of remorse, +I will not give up the power of doing him the most essential service. I +will let him go on--if he be so inclined--to the very verge of ruin +and despair: I will let him feel all the horrors of a gamester’s fate, +before I tell him that I have the means to save him. Mrs. Luttridge +must, when I call upon her, refund whatever he may lose: she will not +brave public shame--she cannot stand a public prosecution.” + +Scarcely had Clarence arranged his scheme, when he heard the voices of +the ladies, who were coming up stairs. + +Mrs. Luttridge made her appearance, accompanied by a very pretty, +modish, affected young lady, Miss Annabella Luttridge, her niece. Her +little coquettish airs were lost upon Clarence Hervey, whose eye was +intently fixed upon the door, watching for the entrance of Mr. Vincent. +He was one of the dinner party, and he came up soon after the ladies. +He seemed prepared for the sight of Mr. Hervey, to whom he bowed with +a cold, haughty air; and then addressed himself to Miss Annabella +Luttridge, who showed the most obvious desire to attract his attention. + +From all that passed this evening, Mr. Hervey was led to suspect, +notwithstanding the reasons which made it apparently improbable, that +the fair Annabella was the secret cause of Mr. Vincent’s frequent visits +at her aunt’s. It was natural that Clarence should be disposed to this +opinion, from the circumstances of his own situation. During three hours +that he stayed at Mrs. Luttridge’s, Mr. Vincent never joined any of +the parties at play; but, just as he was going away, he heard some one +say--“How comes it, Vincent, that you’ve been idle all night?” This +question revived Mr. Hervey’s suspicions; and, uncertain what report he +should make to Lord Delacour, he resolved to defer making any, till he +had farther opportunities of judging. + +When Mr. Hervey asked himself how it was possible that the pupil of Mr. +Percival could become a gamester, he forgot that Mr. Vincent had not +been educated by his guardian; that he had lived in the West Indies +till he was eighteen; and that he had only been under the care of Mr. +Percival for a few years, after his habits and character were in a great +measure formed. The taste for gambling he had acquired whilst he was a +child; but, as it was then confined to trifles, it had been passed over, +as a thing of no consequence, a boyish folly, that would never grow +up with him: his father used to see him, day after day, playing with +eagerness at games of chance, with his negroes, or with the sons of +neighbouring planters; yet he was never alarmed: he was too intent upon +making a fortune for his family to consider how they would spend it; +and he did not foresee that this boyish fault might be the means of his +son’s losing, in a few hours, the wealth which he had been many years +amassing. When young Vincent came over to England, Mr. Percival had not +immediate opportunities of discovering this particular foible in his +ward; but he perceived that in his mind there was that presumptuous +belief in his special good fortune which naturally leads to the love +of gambling. Instead of lecturing him, his guardian appealed to his +understanding, and took opportunities of showing him the ruinous +effects of high play in real life. Young Vincent was touched, and, as +he thought, convinced; but his emotion was stronger than his +conviction--his feelings were always more powerful than his reason. +His detestation of the selfish character of a gamester was felt and +expressed with enthusiasm and eloquence; and his indignation rose +afterwards at the slightest hint that _he_ might ever in future be +tempted to become what he abhorred. Unfortunately he disdained prudence, +as the factitious virtue of inferior minds: he thought that the +_feelings_ of a man of honour were to be his guide in the first and last +appeal; and for his conduct through life, as a man and as a gentleman, +he proudly professed to trust to the sublime instinct of a good heart. +His guardian’s doubts of the infallibility and even of the existence of +this moral instinct wounded Mr. Vincent’s pride instead of alarming his +understanding; and he was rather eager than averse to expose himself to +the danger, that he might prove his superiority to the temptation. How +different are the feelings in different situations! Yet often as +this has been repeated, how difficult it is to impress the truth upon +inexperienced, sanguine minds!--Whilst young Vincent was immediately +under his guardian’s eye at Oakly-park, his safety from vice appeared +to him inglorious; he was impatient to sally forth into the world, +confident rather of his innate than acquired virtue. + +When he first became acquainted with Mrs. Luttridge at Harrowgate, he +knew that she was a professed gambler, and he despised the character; +yet without reflecting on the danger, or perhaps for the pleasure of +convincing Mr. Percival that he was superior to it, he continued his +visits. For some time he was a passive spectator. Billiards, however, +was a game of address, not chance; there was a billiard-table at +Oakly-park, as well as at Mr. Luttridge’s, and he had played with his +guardian. Why, then, should he not play with Mr. Luttridge? He did play: +his skill was admired; he betted, and his bets were successful: but he +did not call this gaming, for the bets were not to any great amount, and +it was only playing at billiards. Mr. Percival was delayed in town some +weeks longer than usual, and he knew nothing of the manner in which his +young friend spent his time. As soon as Mr. Vincent heard of his +arrival at Oakly-park, he left half finished his game at billiards; +and, fortunately for him, the charms of Belinda made him forget for +some months that such a thing as a billiard-table existed. All that had +happened at Mr. Luttridge’s passed from his mind as a dream; and whilst +his heart was agitated by his new passion, he could scarcely believe +that he had ever been interested by any other feelings. He was surprised +when he accidentally recollected the eagerness with which he used to +_amuse_ himself in Mr. Luttridge’s company; but he was certain that +all this was passed for ever; and precisely because he was under the +dominion of one strong passion, he thought he could never be under the +dominion of another. Thus persisting in his disdain of reason as a moral +guide, Mr. Vincent thought, acted, and suffered as a man of feeling. +Scarcely had Belinda left Oakly-park for one week when the ennui +consequent to violent passion became insupportable; and to console +himself for her absence he flew to the billiard-table. Emotion of some +kind or other was become necessary to him; he said that not to feel was +not to live; and soon the suspense, the anxiety, the hopes, the fears, +the perpetual vicissitudes of a gamester’s life, seemed to him almost +as delightful as those of a lover’s. Deceived by these appearances, Mrs. +Luttridge thought that his affection for Belinda either was or might +be conquered, and her hopes of obtaining his fortune for her niece +Annabella revived. As Mr. Vincent could not endure Mrs. Freke, she +abstained, at her friend’s particular desire, from appearing at her +house whilst he was there, and Mrs. Luttridge interested him much in her +own favour, by representing her indignation at _Harriot’s_ conduct to +be such that it had occasioned a total breach in their friendship. Mrs. +Freke’s sudden departure from Harrowgate confirmed the probability of +this quarrel; yet these two ladies were secretly leagued together in a +design of breaking off Mr. Vincent’s match with Belinda, against whom +Mrs. Freke had vowed revenge. The anonymous letter, which she hoped +would work her purpose, produced, however, an effect totally unexpected +upon his generous mind: he did not guess the writer; but his indignation +against such base accusations burst forth with a violence that +astounded Mrs. Luttridge. His love for Belinda appeared ten times more +enthusiastic than before--the moment she was accused, he felt himself +her defender, as well as her lover. He was dispossessed of the evil +spirit of gambling as if by a miracle; and the billiard-table, and +Mrs. Luttridge, and Miss Annabella, vanished from his view. He breathed +nothing but love; he would ask no permission, he would wait for none +from Belinda: he declared that instant he would set out in search of +her, and he would tear that infamous letter to atoms in her presence; +he would show her how impossible suspicion was to his nature. The first +violence of the hurricane Mrs. Luttridge could not stand, and thought +not of opposing; but whilst his horses and curricle were getting ready, +she took such an affectionate leave of his dog Juba, and she protested +so much that she and Annabella should not know how to live without poor +Juba, that Mr. Vincent, who was excessively fond of his dog, could +not help sympathizing in their sorrow: reasoning just as well as they +wished, he extended his belief in their affection for this animal +to friendship, if not love, for his master. He could not grant Mrs. +Luttridge’s earnest supplication to leave the dog behind him under her +protection; but he promised--and laid his hand upon his heart when he +promised--that Juba should wait upon Mrs. Luttridge as soon as she went +to town. This appointment being made, Miss Annabella permitted herself +to be somewhat consoled. It would be injustice to omit that she did +all that could be done by a cambric handkerchief to evince delicate +sensibility in this parting scene. Mrs. Luttridge also deserves her +share of praise for the manner in which she reproved her niece for +giving way to her feelings, and for the address with which she wished to +Heaven that poor Annabella had the calm philosophic temper of which Miss +Portman was, she understood, a most uncommon example. + +As Mr. Vincent drove toward London he reflected upon these last words; +and he could not help thinking that if Belinda had more faults she would +be more amiable. + +These thoughts were, however, driven from his mind, and scarcely left +a trace behind them, when he once more saw and conversed with her. The +dignity, sincerity, and kindness which she showed the evening that he +put the anonymous letter into her hands charmed and touched him, and his +real feelings and his enthusiasm conspired to make him believe that his +whole happiness depended on her smiles. The confession which she made +to him of her former attachment to Clarence Hervey, as it raised in +Vincent’s mind strong emotions of jealousy, increased his passion +as much as it piqued his pride; and she appeared in a new and highly +interesting light when he discovered that the coldness of manner +which he had attributed to want of sensibility arose probably from its +excess--that her heart should have been preoccupied was more tolerable +to him than the belief of her settled indifference. He was so intent +upon these delightful varieties in his love for Belinda that it was not +till he had received a reproachful note from Mrs. Luttridge, to remind +him of his promised visit with Juba, that he could prevail upon himself +to leave Twickenham, even for a few hours. Lady Delacour’s hatred +or fear of Juba, which he accidentally mentioned to Miss Annabella, +appeared to her and to her aunt “the most extraordinary thing upon +earth;” and when it was contrasted with their excessive fondness, it +seemed to him indeed unaccountable. From pure consideration for her +ladyship’s nerves, Mrs. Luttridge petitioned Vincent to leave the dog +with her, that Helena might not be in such imminent danger from +“the animal’s monstrous jaws.” The petition was granted; and as the +petitioners foresaw, Juba became to them a most useful auxiliary. +Juba’s master called daily to see him, and sometimes when he came in the +morning Mrs. Luttridge was not at home, so that his visits were repeated +in the evening; and the evening in London is what in other places is +called the night. Mrs. Luttridge’s nights could not be passed without +deep play. The sight of the E O table at first shocked Mr. Vincent: he +thought of Mr. Percival, and he turned away from it; but to his +active social disposition it was extremely irksome to stand idle and +uninterested where all were busy and eager in one common pursuit; to his +generous temper it seemed ungentlemanlike to stand by the silent +censor of the rest of the company; and when he considered of how little +importance a few hundreds or even thousands could be to a man of his +large fortune, he _could not help feeling_ that it was sordid, selfish, +avaricious, to dread their possible loss; and thus social spirit, +courage, generosity, all conspired to carry our man of feeling to the +gaming-table. Once there, his ruin was inevitable. Mrs. Luttridge, +whilst she held his doom in her power, hesitated only whether it would +be more her interest to marry him to her niece, or to content herself +with his fortune. His passion for Belinda, which she saw had been by +some means or other increased, in spite of the anonymous letter, gave +her little hopes of Annabella’s succeeding, even with the assistance +of Juba and delicate sensibility. So the aunt, careless of her niece’s +disappointment, determined that Mr. Vincent should be _her_ victim; and +sensible that she must not give him time for reflection, she hurried +him on, till, in the course of a few evenings spent at the E O table, +he lost not only thousands, but tens of thousands. One lucky night, +she assured him, would set all to rights; the run could not always be +against him, and fortune must change in his favour, if he tried her with +sufficient perseverance. + +The horror, the agony of mind, which he endured at this sudden ruin +which seemed impending over him--the recollection of Belinda, of Mr. +Percival, almost drove him to distraction. He retreated from the E O +table one night, swearing that he never would hazard another guinea. But +his ruin was not yet complete--he had thousands yet to lose, and Mrs. +Luttridge would not thus relinquish her prey. She persuaded him to try +his fortune _once_ more. She now suffered him to regain courage, by +winning back some of his own money. His mind was relieved from the sense +of immediate danger; he rejoiced to be saved from the humiliation of +confessing his losses to Mr. Percival and Belinda. The next day he saw +her with unusual pleasure, and this was the very morning Clarence Hervey +paid his visit. The imprudence of Lady Delacour, joined perhaps to his +own consciousness that he had a secret fault, which ought to lower him +in the esteem of his mistress, made him misinterpret every thing that +passed--his jealousy was excited in the most sudden and violent manner. +He flew from Lady Delacour’s to Mrs. Luttridge’s--he was soothed +and flattered by the apparent kindness with which he was received by +Annabella and her aunt; but after dinner, when one of the servants +whispered to Mrs. Luttridge, who sat next to him, that Mr. Clarence +Hervey was above stairs, he gave such a start, that the fair Annabella’s +lap did not escape a part of the bumper of wine which he was going to +drink to her health. In the confusion and apologies which this accident +occasioned, Mrs. Luttridge had time to consider what might be the cause +of the start, and she combined her suspicions so quickly and judiciously +that she guessed the truth--that he feared to be seen at the E O table +by a person who might find it for his interest to tell the truth to +Belinda Portman. “Mr. Vincent,” said she, in a low voice, “I have such +a terrible headache, that I am fit for nothing--I am not _up_ to E O +to-night, so you must wait for your revenge till to-morrow.” + +Mr. Vincent was heartily glad to be relieved from his engagement, and he +endeavoured to escape Clarence’s suspicions, by devoting his whole time +this evening to Annabella, not in the least apprehensive that Mr. Hervey +would return the next night. Mr. Vincent was at the E O table at the +usual hour, for he was excessively anxious to regain what he had lost, +not so much for the sake of the money, which he could afford to lose, +but lest the defalcation in his fortune should lead Mr. Percival to the +knowledge of the means which had occasioned it. He could not endure, +after his high vaunts, to see himself humbled by his rash confidence in +himself, and he secretly vowed, that if he could but reinstate himself, +by one night’s good luck, he would for ever quit the society of +gamblers. A few months before this time, he would have scorned the idea +of concealing any part of his conduct, any one of his actions, from +his best friend, Mr. Percival; but his pride now reconciled him to the +meanness of concealment; and here, the acuteness of his feelings was +to his own mind an excuse for dissimulation: so fallacious is moral +instinct, unenlightened or uncontrolled by reason and religion. + +Mr. Vincent was disappointed in his hopes of regaining what he had lost. +This was not the fortunate night, which Mrs. Luttridge’s prognostics +had vainly taught him to expect: he played on, however, with all the +impetuosity of his natural temper; his judgment forsook him; he scarcely +knew what he said or did; and, in the course of a few hours, he was +worked up to such a pitch of insanity, that in one desperate moment he +betted nearly all that he was worth in the world--and lost! He stood +like one stupified: the hum of voices scarcely reached his ear--he saw +figures moving before him; but he did not distinguish who or what they +were. + +Supper was announced, and the room emptied fast, whilst he remained +motionless leaning on the E O table. He was roused by Mrs. Luttridge +saying, as she passed, “Don’t you sup to-night, Mr. Hervey?”--Vincent +looked up, and saw Clarence Hervey opposite to him. His countenance +instantly changed, and the lightning of anger flashed through the gloom +of despair: he uttered not a syllable; but his looks said, “How is this, +sir? Here again to-night to watch me?--to enjoy my ruin?--to be ready to +carry the first news of it to Belinda?” + +At this last thought, Vincent struck his closed hand with violence +against his forehead; and rushing by Mr. Hervey, who in vain attempted +to speak to him, he pressed into the midst of the crowd on the stairs, +and let himself be carried along with them into the supper-room. At +supper he took his usual seat between Mrs. Luttridge and the fair +Annabella; and, as if determined to brave the observing eyes of Clarence +Hervey, who was at the same table, he affected extravagant gaiety; he +ate, drank, talked, and laughed, more than any of the company. Toward +the end of the supper, his dog, who was an inmate at Mrs. Luttridge’s, +licked his hand to put him in mind that he had given him nothing to eat. + +“Drink, Juba!--drink, and never have done, boy!” cried Vincent, holding +a bumper of wine to the dog’s mouth; “he’s the only dog I ever saw +taste wine.” Then snatching up some of the flowers, which ornamented the +table, he swore that Juba should henceforward be called Anacreon, and +that he deserved to be crowned with roses by the hand of beauty. The +fair Annabella instantly took a hothouse rose from her bosom, and +assisted in making the garland, with which she crowned the new Anacreon. +Insensible to his honours, the dog, who was extremely hungry, turned +suddenly to Mrs. Luttridge, by whom he had, till this night, regularly +been fed with the choicest morsels, and lifting up his huge paw, laid +it, as he had been wont to do, upon her arm. She shook it off: he, +knowing nothing of the change in his master’s affairs, laid the paw +again upon her arm; and with that familiarity to which he had long been +encouraged, raised his head almost close to the lady’s cheek. + +“Down, Juba!--down, sir, down!” cried Mrs. Luttridge, in a sharp voice. + +“Down, Juba!--down, sir!” repeated Mr. Vincent, in a tone of bitter +feeling, all his assumed gaiety forsaking him at this instant: “Down, +Juba!--down, sir, down!” as low as your master, thought he; and pushing +back his chair, he rose from table, and precipitately left the room. + +Little notice was taken of his retreat; the chairs closed in; and +the gap which his vacant place left was visible but for a moment: the +company were as gay as before; the fair Annabella smiled with a grace +as attractive; and Mrs. Luttridge exulted in the success of her +schemes--whilst her victim was in the agonies of despair. + +Clarence Hervey, who had watched every change of Vincent’s countenance, +saw the agony of soul with which he rose from the table, and quitted the +room: he suspected his purpose, and followed him immediately; but Mr. +Vincent had got out of the house before he could overtake him; which +way he was gone no one could tell, for no one had seen him; the only +information he could gain was, that he might possibly be heard of at +Nerot’s Hotel, or at Governor Montford’s, in Portland-place. The hotel +was but a few yards from Mrs. Luttridge’s. Clarence went there directly. +He asked for Mr. Vincent. One of the waiters said, that he was not yet +come in; but another called out, “Mr. Vincent, sir, did you say? I have +just shown him up to his room.” + +“Which is the room?--I must see him instantly,” cried Hervey. + +“Not to-night--you can’t see him now, sir. Mr. Vincent won’t let you +in, I can assure you, sir. I went up myself three minutes ago, with some +letters, that came whilst he was away, but he would not let me in. I +heard him double-lock the door, and he swore terribly. I can’t go up +again at this time o’night--for my life I dare not, sir.” + +“Where is his own man?--Has Mr. Vincent any servant here?--Mr. Vincent’s +man!” cried Clarence; “let me see him!” + +“You can’t, sir. Mr. Vincent has just sent his black, the only servant +he has here, out on some message. Indeed, sir, there’s no use in going +up,” continued the waiter, as Clarence sprang up two or three stairs +at once: “Mr. Vincent has desired nobody may disturb him. I give you my +word, sir, he’ll be very angry; and, besides, ‘twould be to no purpose, +for he’ll not unlock the door.” + +“Is there but one door to the room?” said Mr. Hervey; and, as he asked +the question, he pulled a guinea out of his pocket, and touched the +waiter’s hand with it. + +“Oh, now I recollect--yes, sir, there’s a private door through a closet: +may be that mayn’t be fastened.” + +Clarence put the guinea into the waiter’s hand, who instantly showed him +the way up the back staircase to the door that opened into Mr. Vincent’s +bed-chamber. + +“Leave me now,” whispered he, “and make no noise.” + +The man withdrew; and as Mr. Hervey went close to the concealed door, +to try if it was fastened, he distinctly heard a pistol cocked. The door +was not fastened: he pushed it softly open, and saw the unfortunate man +upon his knees, the pistol in his hand, his eyes looking up to heaven. +Clarence was in one moment behind him; and, seizing hold of the pistol, +he snatched it from Vincent’s grasp with so much calm presence of mind +and dexterity, that, although the pistol was cocked, it did not go off. + +“Mr. Hervey!” exclaimed Vincent, starting up. Astonishment overpowered +all other sensations. But the next instant recovering the power of +speech, “Is this the conduct of a gentleman, Mr. Hervey--of a man of +honour,” cried he, “thus to intrude upon my privacy; to be a spy upon my +actions; to triumph in my ruin; to witness my despair; to rob me of the +only--” + +He looked wildly at the pistol which Clarence held in his hand; then +snatching up another, which lay upon the table, he continued, “You are +my enemy--I know it; you are my rival; I know it; Belinda loves you! +Nay, affect not to start--this is no time for dissimulation--Belinda +loves you--you know it: for her sake, for your own, put me out of the +world--put me out of torture. It shall not be called murder: it shall +be called a duel. You have been a spy upon my actions--I demand +satisfaction. If you have one spark of honour or of courage within you, +Mr. Hervey, show it now--fight me, sir, openly as man to man, rival to +rival, enemy to enemy--fire.” + +“If you fire upon me, you will repent it,” replied Clarence calmly; “for +I am not your enemy--I am not your rival.” + +“You _are_,” interrupted Vincent, raising his voice to the highest pitch +of indignation: “you are my rival, though you dare not avow it! The +denial is base, false, unmanly. Oh, Belinda, is this the being you +prefer to _me_? Gamester--wretch, as I am, my soul never stooped to +falsehood! Treachery I abhor; courage, honour, and a heart worthy +of Belinda, I possess. I beseech you, sir,” continued he, addressing +himself, in a tremulous tone of contempt, to Mr. Hervey, “I beseech you, +sir, to leave me to my own feelings--and to myself.” + +“You are not yourself at this moment, and I cannot leave you to such +mistaken feelings,” replied Hervey: “command yourself for a moment, and +hear me; use your reason, and you will soon be convinced that I am your +friend.” + +“My friend!” + +“Your friend. For what purpose did I come here? to snatch this pistol +from your hand? If it were my interest, my wish, that you were out of +the world, why did I prevent you from destroying yourself? Do you think +_that_ the action of an enemy? Use your reason.” + +“I cannot,” said Vincent, striking his forehead; “I know not what to +think--I am not master of myself. I conjure you, sir, for your own sake, +to leave me.” + +“For my _own_ sake!” repeated Hervey, disdainfully: “I am not thinking +of myself; nor can any thing you have said provoke me from my purpose. +My purpose is to save you from ruin, for the sake of a woman, whom, +though I am no longer your rival, I have loved longer, if not better, +than you have.” + +There was something so open in Hervey’s countenance, such a strong +expression of truth in his manner, that it could not be resisted, and +Vincent, in an altered voice, exclaimed, “You acknowledge that you have +loved Belinda--and could you cease to love her? Impossible!--And, loving +her, must you not detest me?” + +“No,” said Clarence, holding out his hand to him; “I wish to be your +friend. I have not the baseness to wish to deprive others of happiness +because I cannot enjoy it myself. In one word, to put you at ease with +me for ever, I have no pretensions, I can have none, to Miss Portman. +I am engaged to another woman--in a few days you will hear of my +marriage.” + +Mr. Vincent threw the pistol from him, and gave his hand to Hervey. + +“Pardon what I said to you just now,” cried he; “I knew not what +I said--I spoke in the agony of despair: your purpose is most +generous--but it is in vain--you come too late--I am ruined, past all +hope.” + +He folded his arms, and his eyes reverted involuntarily to his pistols. + +“The misery that you have this night experienced,” said Mr. Hervey, “was +necessary to the security of your future happiness.” + +“Happiness!” repeated Vincent; “happiness--there is no happiness left +for me. My doom is fixed--fixed by my own folly--my own rash, headstrong +folly. Madman that I was, what could tempt me to the gaming-table? +Oh! if I could recall but a few days, a few hours of my existence! But +remorse is vain--prudence comes too late. Do you know,” said he, fixing +his eyes upon Hervey, “do you know that I am a beggar? that I have not a +farthing left upon earth? Go to Belinda; tell her so: tell her, that if +she had ever the slightest regard for me, I deserve it no longer. Tell +her to forget, despise, detest me. Give her joy that she has escaped +having a gamester for a husband.” + +“I will,” said Clarence, “I will, if you please, tell her what I believe +to be true, that the agony you have felt this night, the dear-bought +experience you have had, will be for ever a warning.” + +“A warning!” interrupted Vincent: “Oh, that it could yet be useful to +me!--But I tell you it comes too late--nothing can save me.” + +“_I_ can,” said Mr. Hervey. “Swear to me, for Belinda’s sake--solemnly +swear to me, that you will never more trust your happiness and hers +to the hazard of a die--swear that you will never more, directly or +indirectly, play at any game of chance, and I will restore to you the +fortune that you have lost.” + +Mr. Vincent stood as if suspended between ecstasy and despair: he dared +not trust his senses: with a fervent and solemn adjuration he made the +vow that was required of him; and Clarence then revealed to him the +secret of the E O table. + +“When Mrs. Luttridge knows that I have it in my power to expose her to +public shame, she will instantly refund all that she has iniquitously +won from you. Even among gamblers she would be blasted for ever by this +discovery: she knows it, and if she dared to brave public opinion, we +have then a sure resource in the law--prosecute her. The laws of honour, +as well as the laws of the land, will support the prosecution. But she +will never let the affair go into a court of justice. I will see her +early, as early as I can to-morrow, and put you out of suspense.” + +“Most generous of human beings!” exclaimed Vincent; “I cannot express to +you what I feel; but your own heart, your own approbation--” + +“Farewell, good night,” interrupted Clarence; “I see that I have made a +friend--I was determined that Belinda’s husband should be my friend--I +have succeeded beyond my hopes. And now I will _intrude_ no longer,” + said he, as he closed the door after him. His sensations at this instant +were more delightful even than those of the man he had relieved from +the depth of despair. How wisely has Providence made the benevolent and +generous passions the most pleasurable! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +A JEW. + + +In the silence of the night, when the hurry of action was over, and the +enthusiasm of generosity began to subside, the words, which had escaped +from Mr. Vincent in the paroxysm of despair and rage--the words, +“_Belinda loves you_”--recurred to Clarence Hervey; and it required all +his power over himself to banish the sound from his ear, and the idea +from his mind. He endeavoured to persuade himself that these words were +dictated merely by sudden jealousy, and that there could be no real +foundation for the assertion: perhaps this belief was a necessary +support to his integrity. He reflected, that, at all events, his +engagement with Virginia could not be violated; his proffered services +to Mr. Vincent could not be withdrawn: he was firm and consistent. +Before two o’clock the next day, Vincent received from Clarence this +short note: + +“Enclosed is Mrs. Luttridge’s acknowledgment, that she has no claims +upon you, in consequence of what passed last night. I said nothing about +the money she had previously won, as I understand you have paid it. + +“The lady fell into fits, but it would not do. The husband attempted to +bully me; I told him I should be at his service, after he had made the +whole affair public, by calling you out. + +“I would have seen you myself this morning, but that I am engaged with +lawyers and marriage settlements. + +“Yours sincerely, + +“CLARENCE HERVEY.” + +Overjoyed at the sight of Mrs. Luttridge’s acknowledgment, Vincent +repeated his vow never more to hazard himself in her dangerous society. +He was impatient to see Belinda; and, full of generous and grateful +sentiments, in his first moment of joy, he determined to conceal nothing +from her; to make at once the confession of his own imprudence and the +eulogium of Clarence Hervey’s generosity. He was just setting out for +Twickenham, when he was sent for by his uncle, Governor Montford, who +had business to settle with him, relative to his West India estates. He +spent the remainder of the morning with his uncle; and there he received +a charming letter from Belinda--that letter which she had written and +sent whilst Lady Delacour was reading Clarence Hervey’s packet. It would +have cured Vincent of jealousy, even if he had not, in the interim, seen +Mr. Hervey, and learnt from him the news of his approaching marriage. +Miss Portman, at the conclusion of her letter, informed him that Lady +Delacour purposed being in Berkeley-square the next day; that they were +to spend a week in town, on account of Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who +had promised her ladyship a visit; and to go to Twickenham would be a +formidable journey to an infirm old lady, who seldom stirred out of her +house. + +Whatever displeasure Lady Delacour felt towards her friend Belinda, +on account of her coldness to Mr. Hervey, and her steadiness to Mr. +Vincent, had by this time subsided. Angry people, who express their +passion, as it has been justly said, always speak worse than they think. +This was usually the case with her ladyship. + +The morning after they arrived in town, she came into Belinda’s room, +with an air of more than usual sprightliness and satisfaction. “Great +news!--Great news!--Extraordinary news!--But it is very imprudent +to excite your expectations, my dear Belinda. Pray, did you hear a +wonderful noise in the square a little while ago?” + +“Yes, I thought I heard a great bustle; but Marriott appeased my +curiosity, by saying that it was only a battle between two dogs.” + +“It is well if this battle between two dogs do not end in a duel between +two men,” said Lady Delacour. + +“This prospect of mischief seems to have put your ladyship in +wonderfully good spirits,” said Belinda, smiling. + +“But what do you think I have heard of Mr. Vincent?” continued Lady +Delacour: “that Miss Annabella Luttridge is dying for love of him--or +of his fortune. Knowing, as I do, the vanity of mankind, I suppose that +your Mr. Vincent, all perfect as he is, was flattered by the little +coquette; and perhaps he condescends to repay her in the same coin. I +take it for granted--for I always fill up the gaps in a story my own +way--I take it for granted that Mr. Vincent got into some entanglement +with her, and that this has been the cause of the quarrel with the aunt. +That there has been a quarrel is certain, for your friend Juba told +Marriott so. His massa swore that he would never go to Mrs. Luttridge’s +again; and this morning he took the decisive measure of sending to +request that his dog might be returned. Juba went for his namesake. Miss +Annabella Luttridge was the person who delivered up the dog; and she +desired the black to tell his master, with her compliments, that Juba’s +collar was rather too tight; and she begged that he would not fail to +take it off as soon as he could. Perhaps, my dear, you are as simple +as the poor negro, and suspect no _finesse_ in this message. Miss +Luttridge, aware that the faithful fellow was too much in your interests +to be either persuaded or bribed to carry a billet-doux from any other +lady to his master, did not dare to trust him upon this occasion; but +she had the art to make him carry her letter without his knowing it. +_Colin maillard_, vulgarly called _blind man’s buff_, was, some time +ago, a favourite play amongst the Parisian ladies: now _hide and seek_ +will be brought into fashion, I suppose, by the fair Annabella. Judge +of her talents for the game by this instance:--she hid her billet-doux +within the lining of Juba’s collar. The dog, unconscious of his dignity +as an ambassador, or rather as a chargé d’affaires, set out on his +way home. As he was crossing Berkeley-square he was met by Sir Philip +Baddely and his dog. The baronet’s insolent favourite bit the black’s +heels. Juba, the dog, resented the injury immediately, and a furious +combat ensued. In the height of the battle Juba’s collar fell off. Sir +Philip Baddely espied the paper that was sewed to the lining, and seized +upon it immediately: the negro caught hold of it at the same instant: +the baronet swore; the black struggled: the baronet knocked him down. +The great dog left his canine antagonist that moment, flew at your +baronet, and would have eaten him up at three mouthfuls, if Sir Philip +had not made good his retreat to Dangerfield’s circulating library. The +negro’s head was terribly cut by the sharp point of a stone, and his +ankle was sprained; but, as he has just told me, he did not feel this +till afterward. He started up, and pursued his master’s enemy. Sir +Philip was actually reading Miss Luttridge’s billet-doux aloud when the +black entered the library. He reclaimed his master’s property with great +intrepidity; and a gentleman who was present took his part immediately. + +“In the mean time, Lord Delacour, who had been looking at the battle +from our breakfast-room window, determined to go over to Dangerfield’s, +to see what was the matter, and how all this would end. He entered the +library just as the gentleman who had volunteered in favour of poor Juba +was disputing with Sir Philip. The bleeding negro told my lord, in as +plain words as he could, the cause of the dispute; and Lord Delacour, +who, to do him justice, is a man of honour, joined instantly in his +defence. The baronet thought proper at length to submit; and he left +the field of battle, without having any thing to say for himself +but--‘Damme!--very extraordinary, damme!’--_or words to that effect_. + +“Now, Lord Delacour, besides being a man of honour, is also a man of +humanity. I know that I cannot oblige you more, my dear Belinda, than +by seasoning my discourse with a little conjugal flattery. My lord +was concerned to see the poor black writhing in pain; and with the +assistance of the gentleman who had joined in his defence, he brought +Juba across the square to our house. Guess for what:--to try upon the +strained ankle an infallible quack balsam recommended to him by the +Dowager Lady Boucher. I was in the hall when they brought the poor +fellow in: Marriott was called. ‘Mrs. Marriott,’ cried my lord, ‘pray +let us have Lady Boucher’s infallible balsam--this instant!’ Had you but +seen the eagerness of face, or heard the emphasis, with which he said +‘_infallible_ balsam’--you must let me laugh at the recollection. One +human smile must pass, and be forgiven.” + +“The smile may be the more readily forgiven,” said Belinda, “since I am +sure you are conscious that it reflected almost as much upon yourself as +upon Lord Delacour.” + +“Why, yes; belief in a quack doctor is full as bad as belief in a quack +balsam, I allow. Your observation is so malicious, because so just, that +to punish you for it, I will not tell you the remainder of my story for +a week to come; and I assure you that the best part of it I have left +untold. To return to our friend Mr. Vincent:--could you but know what +reasons I have, at this instant, for wishing him in Jamaica, you would +acknowledge that I am truly candid in confessing that I believe +my suspicions about E O were unfounded; and I am truly generous in +admitting that you are right to treat him with justice.” + +This last enigmatical sentence Belinda could not prevail upon Lady +Delacour to explain. + +In the evening Mr. Vincent made his appearance. Lady Delacour +immediately attacked him with raillery, on the subject of the fair +Annabella. He was rejoiced to perceive that her suspicions took this +turn, and that nothing relative to the transaction in which Clarence +Hervey had been engaged had transpired. Vincent wavered in his +resolution to confess the truth to Belinda. Though he had determined +upon this in the first moment of joyful enthusiasm, yet the delay of +four-and-twenty hours had made a material change in his feelings; his +most virtuous resolves were always rather the effect of sudden impulse +than of steady principle. But when the tide of passion had swept away +the landmarks, he had no method of ascertaining the boundaries of right +and wrong. Upon the present occasion his love for Belinda confounded +all his moral calculations: one moment, his feelings as a man of honour +forbade him to condescend to the meanness of dissimulation; but the +next instant his feelings as a lover prevailed; and he satisfied his +conscience by the idea that, as his vow must preclude all danger of +his return to the gaming-table in future, it would only be creating +an unnecessary alarm in Belinda’s mind to speak to her of his past +imprudence. His generosity at first revolted from the thought of +suppressing those praises of Clarence Hervey, which had been so well +deserved; but his jealousy returned, to combat his first virtuous +impulse. He considered that his own inferiority must by comparison +appear more striking to his mistress; and he sophistically persuaded +himself that it would be for her happiness to conceal the merits of a +rival, to whom she could never be united. In this vacillating state of +mind he continued during the greatest part of the evening. About half an +hour before he took his leave, Lady Delacour was called out of the room +by Mrs. Marriott. Left alone with Belinda, his embarrassment increased, +and the unsuspecting kindness of her manner was to him the most bitter +reproach. He stood in silent agony whilst in a playful tone she smiled +and said, + +“Where are your thoughts, Mr. Vincent? If I were of a jealous temper, I +should say with the fair Annabella--” + +“You would say wrong, then,” replied Mr. Vincent, in a constrained +voice. He was upon the point of telling the truth; but to gain a +reprieve of a few minutes, he entered into a defence of his conduct +towards Miss Luttridge. + +The sudden return of Lady Delacour relieved him from his embarrassment, +and they conversed only on general subjects during the remainder of the +evening; and he at last departed, secretly rejoicing that he was, as +he fancied, under the necessity of postponing his explanation; he +even thought of suppressing the history of his transaction with Mrs. +Luttridge. He knew that his secret was safe with Clarence Hervey: Mrs. +Luttridge would be silent for her own sake; and neither Lady Delacour +nor Belinda had any connexion with her society. + +A few days afterward, Mr. Vincent went to Gray, the jeweller, for some +trinkets which he had bespoken. Lord Delacour was there, speaking about +the diamond ring, which Gray had promised to dispose of for him. Whilst +his lordship and Mr. Vincent were busy about their own affairs, Sir +Philip Baddely and Mr. Rochfort came into the shop. Sir Philip and Mr. +Vincent had never before met. Lord Delacour, to prevent him from getting +into a quarrel about a lady who was so little worth fighting for as Miss +Annabella Luttridge, had positively refused to tell Mr. Vincent what he +knew of the affair, or to let him know the name of the gentleman who was +concerned in it. + +The shopman addressed Mr. Vincent by his name, and immediately Sir +Philip whispered to Rochfort, that Mr. Vincent was “_the master of the +black_.” Vincent, who unluckily overheard him, instantly asked Lord +Delacour if that was the gentleman who had behaved so ill to his +servant? Lord Delacour told him that it was now of no consequence to +inquire. “If,” said his lordship, “either of these gentlemen choose to +accost you, I shall think you do rightly to retort; but for Heaven’s +sake do not begin the attack!” + +Vincent’s impetuosity was not to be restrained; he demanded from Sir +Philip, whether he was the person who had beaten his servant? Sir +Philip readily obliged him with an answer in the affirmative; and the +consequence was the loss of a finger to the baronet, and a wound in the +side to Mr. Vincent, which, though it did not endanger his life, yet +confined him to his room for several days. The impatience of his mind +increased his fever, and retarded his recovery. + +When Belinda’s first alarm for Mr. Vincent’s safety was over, she +anxiously questioned Lord Delacour as to the particulars of all that had +passed between Mr. Vincent and Sir Philip, that she might judge of the +manner in which her lover had conducted himself. Lord Delacour, who was +a man of strict truth, was compelled to confess that Mr. Vincent had +shown more spirit than temper, and more courage than prudence. Lady +Delacour rejoiced to perceive that this account made Belinda uncommonly +serious. + +Mr. Vincent now thought himself sufficiently recovered to leave his +room; his physicians, indeed, would have kept him prisoner a few +days longer, but he was too impatient of restraint to listen to their +counsels. + +“Juba, tell the doctor, when he comes, that you could not keep me at +home; and that is all that is necessary to be said.” + +He had now summoned courage to acknowledge to Belinda all that had +happened, and was proceeding, with difficulty, down stairs, when he was +suddenly struck by the sound of a voice which he little expected at this +moment; a voice he had formerly been accustomed to hear with pleasure, +but now it smote him to the heart:--it was the voice of Mr. Percival. +For the first time in his life, he wished to deny himself to his friend. +The recollection of the E O table, of Mrs. Luttridge, of Mr. Percival as +his guardian, and of all the advice he had heard from him as his friend, +rushed upon his mind at this instant; conscious and ashamed, he shrunk +back, precipitately returned to his own room, and threw himself into +a chair, breathless with agitation. He listened, expecting to hear Mr. +Percival coming up stairs, and endeavoured to compose himself, that +he might not betray, by his own agitation, all that he wished most +anxiously to conceal. After waiting for some time, he rang the bell, to +make inquiries. The waiter told him that a Mr. Percival had asked for +him; but, having been told by his black that he was just gone out, +the gentleman being, as he said, much hurried, had left a note; for an +answer to which he would call at eight o’clock in the evening. Vincent +was glad of this short reprieve. “Alas!” thought he, “how changed am +I, when I fear to meet my best friend! To what has this one fatal +propensity reduced me!” + +He was little aware of the new difficulties that awaited him. + +Mr. Percival’s note was as follows:-- + + +“My dear _friend_! + +“Am not I a happy man, to find a friend in my ci-devant ward? But I have +no time for sentiment; nor does it become the character, in which I am +now writing to you--that of a DUN. You are so rich, and so prudent, that +the word in capital letters cannot frighten you. Lady Anne’s cousin, +poor Mr. Carysfort, is dead. I am guardian to his boys; they are but ill +provided for. I have fortunately obtained a partnership in a good house +for the second son. Ten thousand pounds are wanting to establish him--we +cannot raise the money amongst us, without dunning poor Mr. Vincent. +Enclosed is your bond for the purchase-money of the little estate you +bought from me last summer. I know that you have double the sum we want +in ready money--so I make no ceremony. Let me have the ten thousand this +evening, if you can, as I wish to leave town as soon as possible. + +“Yours most sincerely, + +“HENRY PERCIVAL.” + +Now Mr. Vincent had lost, and had actually paid to Mrs. Luttridge, +the ready money which had been destined to discharge his debt to Mr. +Percival: he expected fresh remittances from the West Indies in the +course of a few weeks; but, in the mean time, he must raise this +money immediately: this he could only do by having recourse to Jews--a +desperate expedient. The Jew, to whom he applied, no sooner discovered +that Mr. Vincent was under a necessity of having this sum before eight +o’clock in the evening than he became exorbitant in his demands; and the +more impatient this unfortunate young man became, the more difficulties +he raised. At last, a bargain was concluded between them, in which +Vincent knew that he was grossly imposed upon; but to this he submitted, +for he had no alternative. The Jew promised to bring him ten thousand +pounds at five o’clock in the evening, but it was half after seven +before he made his appearance; and then he was so dilatory and +circumspect, in reading over and signing the bonds, and in completing +the formalities of the transaction, that before the money was actually +in Vincent’s possession, one of the waiters of the hotel knocked at the +door to let him know that Mr. Percival was coming up stairs. Vincent +hurried the Jew into an adjoining apartment, and bid him wait there, +till he should come to finish the business. Though totally unsuspicious, +Mr. Percival could not help being struck with the perturbation in which +he found his young friend. Vincent immediately began to talk of the +duel, and his friend was led to conclude that his anxiety arose +from this affair. He endeavoured to put him at ease by changing the +conversation. He spoke of the business which brought him to town, and of +the young man whom he was going to place with a banker. “I hope,” said +he, observing that Vincent grew more embarrassed, “that my _dunning_ you +for this money is not really inconvenient.” + +“Not in the least--not in the least. I have the money ready--in a few +moments--if you’ll be so good as to wait here--I have the money ready in +the next room.” + +At this instant a loud noise was heard--the raised voices of two people +quarrelling. It was Juba, the black, and Solomon, the Jew. Mr. Vincent +had sent Juba out of the way, on some errand, whilst he had been +transacting his affairs with the Jew; but the black, having executed +the commission on which he had been sent, returned, and went into his +master’s bedchamber, to read at his leisure a letter which he had just +received from his wife. He did not at first see the Jew, and he was +spelling out the words of his wife’s letter. + +“My dear Juba, + +“I take this op-por-tu--” --_nity_ he would have said; but the Jew, +who had held his breath in to avoid discovery, till he could hold it no +longer, now drew it so loud, that Juba started, looked round, and saw +the feet of a man, which appeared beneath the bottom of the window +curtain. Where fears of supernatural appearances were out of the +question, our negro was a man of courage; he had no doubt that the man +who was concealed behind the curtain was a robber, but the idea of a +robber did not unnerve him like that of an Obeah woman. With presence +of mind worthy of a greater danger, Juba took down his master’s pistol, +which hung over the chimney-piece, and marching deliberately up to the +enemy, he seized the Jew by the throat, exclaiming-- + +“You rob my massa?--You dead man, if you rob my massa.” + +Terrified at the sight of the pistol, the Jew instantly explained who +he was, and producing his large purse, assured Juba that he was come to +lend money, and not to take it from his master; but this appeared highly +improbable to Juba, who believed his master to be the richest man in the +world; besides, the Jew’s language was scarcely intelligible to him, and +he saw secret terror in Solomon’s countenance. Solomon had an antipathy +to the sight of a black, and he shrunk from the negro with strong signs +of aversion. Juba would not relinquish his hold; each went on talking +in his own angry gibberish as loud as he could, till at last the negro +fairly dragged the Jew into the presence of his master and Mr. Percival. + +It is impossible to describe Mr. Vincent’s confusion, or Mr. Percival’s +astonishment. The Jew’s explanation was perfectly intelligible to him; +he saw at once all the truth. Vincent, overwhelmed with shame, stood the +picture of despair, incapable of uttering a single syllable. + +“There is no necessity to borrow this money on my account,” said Mr. +Percival, calmly; “and if there were, we could probably have it on more +reasonable terms than this gentleman proposes.” + +“I care not on what terms I have it--I care not what becomes of me--I am +undone!” cried Vincent. + +Mr. Percival coolly dismissed the Jew, made a sign to Juba to leave the +room, and then, addressing himself to Vincent, said, “I can borrow the +money that I want elsewhere. Fear no reproaches from me--I foresaw all +this--you have lost this sum at play: it is well that it was not your +whole fortune. I have only one question to ask you, on which depends my +esteem--have you informed Miss Portman of this affair?” + +“I have not yet told her, but I was actually half down stairs in my way +to tell her.” + +“Then, Mr. Vincent, you are still my friend. I know the difficulty of +such an avowal--but it is necessary.” + +“Cannot you, dear Mr. Percival, save me the intolerable shame of +confessing my own folly? Spare me this mortification! Be yourself the +bearer of this intelligence, and the mediator in my favour.” + +“I will with pleasure,” said Mr. Percival; “I will go this instant: but +I cannot say that I have any hope of persuading Belinda to believe in +your being irrevocably reclaimed from the charms of play.” + +“Indeed, my excellent friend, she may rely upon me: I feel such horror +at the past, such heartfelt resolution against all future temptation, +that you may pledge yourself for my total reformation.” + +Mr. Percival promised that he would exert all his influence, except by +pledging his own honour; to this he could not consent. “If I have any +good news for you, I will return as soon as possible; but I will not +be the bearer of any painful intelligence,” said he; and he departed, +leaving Mr. Vincent in a state of anxiety, which, to his temper, was a +punishment sufficient for almost any imprudence he could have committed. + +Mr. Percival returned no more that night. The next morning Mr. Vincent +received the following letter from Belinda. He guessed his fate: he had +scarcely power to read the words. + +“I promised you that, whenever my own mind should be decided, I would +not hold yours in suspense; yet at this moment I find it difficult to +keep my word. + +“Instead of lamenting, as you have often done, that my esteem for your +many excellent qualities never rose beyond the bounds of friendship, we +have now reason to rejoice at this, since it will save us much useless +pain. It spares me the difficulty of conquering a passion that might +be fatal to my happiness; and it will diminish the regret which you may +feel at our separation. I am now obliged to say, that circumstances have +made me certain we could not add to our mutual felicity by any nearer +connexion. + +“The hope of enjoying domestic happiness with a person whose manners, +temper, and tastes suited my own, inclined me to listen to your +addresses. But this happiness I could never enjoy with one who has any +propensity to the love of play. + +“For my own sake, as well as for yours, I rejoice that your fortune has +not been materially injured; as this relieves me from the fear that my +present conduct should be imputed to interested motives. Indeed, such +is the generosity of your own temper, that in any situation I should +scarcely have reason to apprehend from you such a suspicion. + +“The absolute impossibility of my forming at present a connexion with +another, will prevent you from imagining that I am secretly influenced +by sentiments different from those which I avow; nor can any weak doubts +on this subject expose me to my own reproaches. + +“You perceive, sir, that I am not willing utterly to lose your esteem, +even when I renounce, in the most unequivocal manner, all claim upon +your affections. If any thing should appear to you harsh in this letter, +I beg you to impute it to the real cause--my desire to spare you all +painful suspense, by convincing you at once that my determination is +irrevocable. With sincere wishes for your happiness, I bid you farewell. + +“BELINDA PORTMAN.” + + +A few hours after Mr. Vincent had read this letter he threw himself into +a post-chaise, and set out for Germany. He saw that all hopes of being +united to Belinda were over, and he hurried as far from her as possible. +Her letter rather soothed than irritated his temper; her praises of his +generosity were highly gratifying, and they had so powerful an effect +upon his mind, that he was determined to prove that they were deserved. +His conscience reproached him with not having made sufficiently +honourable mention of Clarence Hervey’s conduct, on the night when he +was on the point of destroying himself. Before he left London he wrote +a full account of this whole transaction, to be given to Miss Portman +after his departure. + +Belinda was deeply touched by this proof of his generosity. His +letter--his farewell letter--she could not read without great emotion. +It was written with true feeling, but in a manly style, without one word +of vain lamentation. + +“What a pity,” thought Belinda, “that with so many good and great +qualities, I should be forced to bid him adieu for ever!” + +Though she strongly felt the pain of this separation, yet she could not +recede from her decision: nothing could tempt her to connect herself +with a man who had the fatal taste for play. Even Mr. Percival, much as +he loved his ward, much as he wished for his union with Belinda, dared +not pledge his honour for Mr. Vincent on this point. + +Lady Anne Percival, in a very kind and sensible letter, expressed the +highest approbation of Belinda’s conduct; and the most sincere hope that +Belinda would still continue to think of her with affection and esteem, +though she had been so rash in her advice, and though her friendship had +been apparently so selfish. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +NEWS. + + +“Do not expect that I should pretend to be sorry for Mr. Vincent,” said +Lady Delacour. “Let him be as generous and as penitent as he pleases, +I am heartily glad that he is on his way to Germany. I dare say he will +find in the upper or _lower_ circles of the empire some heroine in +the Kotzebue taste, who will alternately make him miserable till he +is happy, and happy till he is miserable. He is one of those men who +require great emotions: fine lovers these make for stage effect--but the +worst husbands in the world! + +“I hope, Belinda, you give me credit, for having judged better of Mr. +Vincent than Lady Anne Percival did?” + +“For having judged worse of him, you mean? Lady Anne always judges _as +well_ as possible of every body.” + +“I will allow you to play upon words in a friend’s defence, but do not +be alarmed for the reputation of Lady Anne’s judgment. If it will be +any satisfaction to you, I can with thorough sincerity assure you that +I never liked her so well in my life as since I have detected her in +a mistake. It saves her, in my imagination, from the odium of being a +perfect character.” + +“And there was something so handsome in her manner of writing to me, +when she found out her error,” said Belinda. + +“Very true, and my friend Mr. Percival behaved handsomely. Where +friendships clash, it is not every man who has clearness of head +sufficient to know his duty to his neighbour. Mr. Percival said no +more than just the thing he ought, for his ward. You have reason to be +obliged to him: and as we are returning thanks to all persons concerned +in our deliverance from this imminent danger, Juba, the dog, and Juba, +the black, and Solomon, the Jew, ought to come in for their share; for +without that wrestling match of theirs, the truth might never have been +dragged to light, and Mr. Vincent would have been in due course of +time your lord and master. But the danger is over; you need not look +so terrified: do not be like the man who dropped down dead with terror, +when he was shown by daylight the broken bridge which he had galloped +over in the dark.” + +Lady Delacour was in such high spirits that, without regard to +connexion, she ran on from one subject to another. + +“You have proved to me, my dear,” said she, “that you are not a girl to +marry, because the day was fixed, or because _things had gone so far_. +I give you infinite credit for your _civil courage_, as Dr. X---- calls +it: military courage, as he said to me yesterday--military courage, that +seeks the bubble reputation even in the cannon’s mouth, may be had +for sixpence a day. But civil courage, such as enabled the Princess +Parizade, in the Arabian Tales, to go straight up the hill to her +object, though the magical multitude of advising and abusive voices +continually called to her to turn back, is one of the rarest qualities +in man or woman, and not to be had for love, money, or admiration.” + +“You place admiration not only above money, but above love, in your +climax, I perceive,” said Belinda, smiling. + +“I will give you leave to be as philosophically sarcastic as you please, +my dear, if you will only smile, and if you will not look as pale as +Seneca’s Paulina, whose story we heard--from whom?” + +“From Mr. Hervey, I believe.” + +“His name was ready upon your lips; I hope he was not far from your +thoughts?” + +“No one could be farther from my thoughts,” said Belinda. + +“Well, very likely--I believe it, because you say it; and because it is +impossible.” + +“Rally me as much as you please, my dear Lady Delacour, I assure you +that I speak the simple truth.” + +“I cannot suspect you of affectation, my dear. Therefore honestly tell +me, if Clarence Hervey were at your feet this instant, would you spurn +him from you?” + +“Spurn him! no--I would neither spurn him, nor _motion him from me_; but +without using any of the terms in the heroine’s dictionary----” + +“You would refuse him?” interrupted Lady Delacour, with a look of +indignation--“you would refuse him?” + +“I did not say so, I _believe_.” + +“You would accept him?” + +“I did not say so, _I am sure_.” + +“Oh, you would tell him that you were not _accustomed_ to him?” + +“Not exactly in those words, perhaps.” + +“Well, we shall not quarrel about words,” said Lady Delacour; “I only +beg you to remember your own principles; and if ever you are put to +the trial, be consistent. The first thing in a philosopher is to be +consistent.” + +“Fortunately, for the credit of my philosophy, there is no immediate +danger of its being put to the test.” + +“Unfortunately, you surely mean; unless you are afraid that it might not +stand the test. But I was going, when I spoke of consistency, to remind +you that all your own and Mr. Percival’s arguments about _first loves_ +may now, with equal propriety, be turned against you.” + +“How _against_ me?” + +“They are evidently as applicable to second as to first loves, I think.” + +“Perhaps they are,” said Belinda; “but I really and truly am not +inclined to think of love at present; particularly as there is no +necessity that I should.” + +Belinda took up a book, and Lady Delacour for one half hour abstained +from any farther raillery. But longer than half an hour she could not be +silent on the subject uppermost in her thoughts. + +“If Clarence Hervey,” cried she, “were not the most honourable of +blockheads, he might be the most happy of men. This Virginia!--oh, how I +hate her!--I am sure poor Clarence cannot love her.” + +“Because you hate her--or because you hate her without having ever seen +her?” said Belinda. + +“Oh, I know what she must be,” replied Lady Delacour: “a soft, sighing, +dying damsel, who puts bullfinches into her bosom. Smile, smile, my +dear; you cannot help it; in spite of all your generosity, I know you +must think as I do, and wish as I do, that she were at the bottom of the +Black Sea this instant.” + +Lady Delacour stood for some minutes musing, and then exclaimed, “I will +move heaven and earth to break off this absurd match.” + +“Good Heavens! my dear Lady Delacour, what do you mean?” + +“Mean! my dear--I mean what I say, which very few people do: no wonder I +should surprise you.” + +“I conjure you,” cried Belinda, “if you have the least regard for my +honour and happiness--” + +“I have not the least, but the greatest; and depend upon it, my dear, I +will do nothing that shall injure that _dignity of mind and delicacy of +character_, which I admire and love, as much as Clarence Hervey did, and +does. Trust to me: not Lady Anne Percival herself can be more delicate +in her notions of propriety than I am for my friends, and, since +my reformation, I hope I may add, for myself. Fear nothing.” As she +finished these words, she rang for her carriage. “I don’t ask you to go +out with me, my dear Belinda; I give you leave to sit in this armchair +till I come back again, with your feet upon the fender, a book in +your hand, and this little table beside you, like Lady S.’s picture of +Comfort.” + +Lady Delacour spent the rest of the morning abroad; and when she +returned home, she gave no account of what she had been doing, or of +what or whom she had seen. This was so unusual, that Belinda could not +avoid taking notice of it. Notwithstanding her ladyship’s eulogium upon +her own delicate sense of propriety, Miss Portman could not confide, +with perfect resignation, in her prudence. + +“Your ladyship reproached me once,” said she, in a playful tone, “for +my provoking want of curiosity: you have completely cured me of this +defect, for never was woman more curious than I am, at this instant, to +know the secret scheme that you have in agitation.” + +“Have patience a little longer, and the mystery will be unravelled. In +the mean time, trust that every thing I do is for the best. However, as +you have behaved pretty well, I will give you one leading hint, when you +have explained to me what you meant by saying that your heart is not at +present inclined to love. Pray, have you quarrelled with love for ever?” + +“No; but I can exist without it.” + +“Have you a heart?” + +“I hope so.” + +“And it can exist without love? I now understand what was once said to +me by a foolish lordling:--’ Of what use is the sun to the dial?’” [10] + +Company came in, and relieved Belinda from any further raillery. Lady +Boucher and Mrs. Margaret Delacour were, amongst a large party, to dine +at Lady Delacour’s. At dinner, the dowager seized the first auspicious +moment of silence to announce a piece of intelligence, which she +flattered herself would fix the eyes of all the world upon her. + +“So Mr. Clarence Hervey is married at last!” + +“Married!” cried Lady Delacour: she had sufficient presence of mind +not to look directly at Belinda; but she fixed the dowager’s eyes, by +repeating, “Married! Are you sure of it?” + +“Positive--positive! He was privately married yesterday at his aunt, +Lady Almeria’s apartments, at Windsor, to Miss Hartley. I told you it +was to be, and now it is over; and a very extraordinary match Mr. Hervey +has made of it, after all. Think of his going at last, and marrying a +girl who has been his mistress for years! Nobody will visit her, to be +sure. Lady Almeria is excessively distressed; she did all she could to +prevail on her brother, the bishop, to marry his nephew, but he very +properly refused, giving it as a reason, that the girl’s character was +too well known.” + +“I thought the bishop was at Spa,” interposed a gentleman, whilst the +dowager drew breath. + +“O dear, no, sir; you have been misinformed,” resumed she. “The bishop +has been returned from Spa this great while, and he has refused to see +his nephew, to my certain knowledge. After all, I cannot but pity poor +Clarence for being driven into this match. Mr. Hartley has a prodigious +fine fortune, to be sure, and he hurried things forward at an amazing +rate, to patch up his daughter’s reputation. He said, as I am credibly +informed, yesterday morning, that if Clarence did not marry the girl +before night, he would carry her and her fortune off the next day to the +West Indies. Now the fortune was certainly an object.” + +“My dear Lady Boucher,” interrupted Lord Delacour, “you must be +misinformed in that particular: fortune is no object to Clarence +Hervey; he is too generous a fellow to marry for fortune. What do you +think--what do you say, Lady Delacour?” + +“I say, and think, and feel, as you do, my lord,” said Lady Delacour. + +“You say, and think, and feel the same as my lord.--Very extraordinary +indeed!” said the dowager. “Then if it were not for the sake of the +fortune, pray why did Mr. Hervey marry at all? Can any body guess?” + +“I should guess because he was in love,” said Lord Delacour “for I +remember that was the reason I married myself.” + +“My dear good lord--but when I tell you the girl had been his mistress, +till he was tired of her--” + +“My Lady Boucher,” said Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who had hitherto +listened in silence, “my Lady Boucher, you have been misinformed; Miss +Hartley never was Clarence Hervey’s mistress.” + +“I’m mighty glad you think so, Mrs. Delacour; but I assure you nobody +else is so _charitable_. Those who live in the world hear a great deal +more than those who live out of the world. I can promise you, nobody +will visit the bride, and that is the thing by which we are to judge.” + +Then the dowager and the rest of the company continued to descant upon +the folly of the match. Those who wished to pay their court to Lady +Delacour were the loudest in their astonishment at his throwing himself +away in this manner. Her ladyship smiled, and kept them in play by her +address, on purpose to withdraw all eyes from Miss Portman, whilst, +from time to time, she stole a glance at Belinda, to observe how she was +affected by what passed: she was provoked by Belinda’s self-possession. +At last, when it had been settled that all the Herveys were _odd_, but +that this match of Clarence’s was the _oddest_ of all the odd things +that any of the family had done for many generations, Mrs. Delacour +calmly said, “Are you sure, Lady Boucher, that Mr. Hervey is married?” + +“Positive! as I said before, positive! Madam, my woman had it from Lady +Newland’s Swiss, who had it from Lady Singleton’s Frenchwoman, who had +it from Longueville, the hairdresser, who had it from Lady Almeria’s own +woman, who was present at the ceremony, and must know if any body does.” + +“The report has come to us zigzag as quick as lightning, yet it does not +flash conviction upon me,” said Lady Delacour. + +“Nor upon me,” said Mrs. Delacour, “for this simple reason. I have seen +Miss Hartley within these two hours, and I had it from herself that she +is not married.” + +“Not married!” cried the dowager with terror. + +“I rather think not; she is now with her father, at my house at dinner, +I believe, and Clarence Hervey is at Lady Almeria’s, at Windsor: her +ladyship is confined by a fit of the gout, and sent for her nephew +yesterday. If people who live out of the world hear less, they sometimes +hear more correctly than those who live in it.” + +“Pray when does Mr. Hervey return from Windsor?” said the incorrigible +dowager. + +“To-morrow, madam,” said Mrs. Delacour. “As your ladyship is going to +several parties this evening, I think it but _charitable_ to set you +right in these particulars, and I hope you will be so _charitable_ as +to contradict the report of Miss Hartley’s having been Clarence’s +mistress.” + +“Why, as to that, if the young lady is not married, we must presume +there are good reasons for it,” said the dowager. “Pray, on which side +was the match broken off?” + +“On neither side,” answered Mrs. Delacour. + +“The thing goes on then; and what day is the marriage to take place?” + said Lady Boucher. + +“On Monday--or Tuesday--or Wednesday--or Thursday--or Friday--or +Saturday---or Sunday, I believe,” replied Mrs. Delacour, who had the +prudent art of giving answers effectually baffling to the curiosity of +gossips. + +The dowager consoled herself in her utmost need with a full plate of +brandy peaches, and spoke not a word more during the second course. When +the ladies retired after the dessert, she again commenced hostilities: +she dared not come to open war with Mrs. Delacour; but in a bye-battle, +in a corner, she carried every thing before her; and she triumphantly +whispered, “We shall see, ma’am, that it will turn out, as I told you, +that Miss Rachel, or Virginia, or whatever he pleases to call her, has +been what I said; and, as I said, nobody will visit her, not a soul: +fifty people I can count who have declared to me they’ve made up their +minds; and my own’s made up, I candidly confess; and Lady Delacour, I +am sure by her silence and looks, is of my way of thinking, and has no +opinion of the young lady: as to Miss Portman, she is, poor thing, of +course, so wrapped up in her own affairs, no wonder she says nothing. +That was a sad business of Mr. Vincent’s! I am surprised to see her look +even so well as she does after it. Mr. Percival, I am told,” said the +well-informed dowager, lowering her voice so much that the lovers of +scandal were obliged to close their heads round her--“Mr. Percival, I am +informed, refused his consent to his ward (who is not of age) on account +of an anonymous letter, and it is supposed Mr. Vincent desired it for +an excuse to get off handsomely. Fighting that duel about her with Sir +Philip Baddely settled his love--so he is gone to Germany, and she +is left to wear the willow, which, you see, becomes her as well as +everything else. Did she eat any dinner, ma’am? you sat next her.” + +“Yes; more than I did, I am sure.” + +“Very extraordinary! Then perhaps Sir Philip Baddely’s _on_ again--Lord +bless me, what a match would that be for her! Why, Mrs. Stanhope might +then, indeed, deserve to be called the match-maker general. The seventh +of her nieces this. But look, there’s Mrs. Delacour leading Miss Portman +off into the trictrac cabinet, with a face full of business--her hand +in hers--Lord, I did not know they were on that footing! I wonder +what’s going forward. Suppose old Hartley was to propose for Miss +Portman--there would be a dénouement! and cut his daughter off with a +shilling! Nothing’s impossible, you know. Did he ever see Miss Portman? +I must go and find out, positively.” + +In the mean time, Mrs. Delacour, unconscious of the curiosity she had +excited, was speaking to Belinda in the trictrac cabinet. + +“My dear Miss Portman,” said she, “you have a great deal of good-nature, +else I should not venture to apply to you on the present occasion. Will +you oblige me, and serve a friend of mine--a gentleman who, as I once +imagined, was an admirer of yours?” + +“I will do any thing in my power to oblige any friend of yours, madam,” + said Belinda; “but of whom are you speaking?” + +“Of Mr. Hervey, my dear young lady.” + +“Tell me how I can serve him as a friend,” said Belinda, colouring +deeply. + +“That you shall know immediately,” said Mrs. Delacour, rummaging and +rustling for a considerable time amongst a heap of letters, which she +had pulled out of the largest pockets that ever woman wore, even in the +last century. + +“Oh, here it is,” continued she, opening and looking into them. “May I +trouble you just to look over this letter? It is from poor Mr. Hartley; +he is, as you will see, excessively fond of his daughter, whom he has so +fortunately discovered after his long search: he is dreadfully nervous, +and has been terribly annoyed by these idle gossiping stories. You find, +by what Lady Boucher said at dinner, that they have settled it amongst +them that Virginia is not a fit person to be visited; that she has been +Clarence’s mistress instead of his pupil. Mr. Hartley, you see by this +letter, is almost out of his senses with the apprehension that his +daughter’s reputation is ruined. I sent my carriage to Twickenham, the +moment I received this letter, for the poor girl and her gouvernante. +They came to me this morning; but what can I do? I am only one old woman +against a confederacy of veteran gossips; but if I could gain you and +Lady Delacour for my allies, I should fear no adversaries. Virginia is +to stay with me for some days; and Lady Delacour, I see, has a great +mind to come to see her; but she does not like to come without you, and +she says that she does not like to ask you to accompany her. I don’t +understand her delicacy about the matter--I have none; believing, as I +do, that there is no foundation whatever for these malicious reports, +which, _entre nous_, originated, I fancy, with Mrs. Marriott. Now, +will you oblige me? If you and Lady Delacour will come and see Virginia +to-morrow, all the world would follow your example the next day. It’s +often cowardice that makes people ill-natured: have you the courage, +my good Miss Portman, to be the first to do a benevolent action? I +do assure you,” continued Mrs. Delacour with great earnestness, “I do +assure you I would as soon put my hand into that fire, this moment, +as ask you to do any thing that I thought improper. But forgive me for +pressing this point; I am anxious to have your suffrage in her favour: +Miss Belinda Portman’s character for prudence and propriety stands so +high, and is fixed so firmly, that she may venture to let us cling to +it; and I am as well convinced of the poor girl’s innocence as I am of +yours; and when you see her, you will be of my opinion.” + +“I assure you, Mrs. Delacour,” said Belinda, “that you have wasted a +great deal of eloquence upon this occasion, for--” + +“I am sorry for it,” interrupted Mrs. Delacour, rising from her seat, +with a look of some displeasure. “I meant not to distress or offend you, +Miss Portman, by _my eloquence_: I am only concerned that I should have +so far mistaken your character as to expose myself to this refusal.” + +“I have given no refusal,” said Belinda, mildly: “you did not let me +finish my sentence.” + +“I beg pardon; that is a foolish old trick of mine.” + +“Mrs. Delacour, I was going to say, has wasted a great deal of +eloquence: for I am entirely of her opinion, and I shall, with the +greatest readiness, comply with her request.” + +“You are a charming, generous girl, and I am a passionate old +fool--thank you a thousand times.” + +“You are not at all obliged to me,” said Belinda. “When I first heard +this story, I believed it, as Lady Boucher now does--but I have had +reason to alter my opinion, and perhaps the same means of information +would have changed hers; once convinced, it is impossible to relapse +into suspicion.” + +“Impossible to _you_: the most truly virtuous women are always the least +suspicious and uncharitable in their opinion of their own sex. Lady Anne +Percival inspired me with this belief, and Miss Portman confirms it. +I admire your courage in daring to come forward in the defence of +innocence. I am very rude, alas! for praising you so much.” + +“I have not a right to your admiration,” said Belinda; “for I must +honestly confess to you that I should not have this courage if there +were any danger in the case. I do not think that in doubtful cases it is +the business of a young woman to hazard her own reputation by an +attempt to preserve another’s: I do not imagine, at least, that I am of +sufficient consequence in the world for this purpose; therefore I should +never attempt it. It is the duty of such women as Mrs. Delacour, whose +reputation is beyond the power of scandal, to come forward in the +defence of injured innocence; but this would not be courage in Belinda +Portman, it would be presumption and temerity.” + +“Well, if you will not let me admire your courage, or your generosity, +or your prudence,” said Mrs. Delacour laughing, “you must positively +let me admire _you_ altogether, and love you too, for I cannot help it. +Farewell.” + +After the company was gone, Lady Delacour was much surprised by the +earnestness with which Belinda pressed the request that they might the +next morning pay a visit to Virginia. + +“My dear,” said Lady Delacour, “to tell you the truth, I am full of +curiosity, and excessively anxious to go. I hesitated merely on your +account: I fancied that you would not like the visit, and that if I went +without you, it might be taken notice of; but I am delighted to find +that you will come with me: I can only say that you have more generosity +than I should have in the same situation.” + +The next morning they went together to Mrs. Delacour’s. In their way +thither, Belinda, to divert her own thoughts, and to rouse Lady Delacour +from the profound and unnatural silence into which she had fallen, +petitioned her to finish the history of Sir Philip Baddely, the dog, +Miss Annabella Luttridge, and her billet-doux. + +“For some of my high crimes and misdemeanours, you vowed that you would +not tell me the remainder of the story till the whole week had elapsed; +now will you satisfy my curiosity? You recollect that you left off just +where you said that you were come to the best part of the story.” + +“Was I? did I?--Very true, we shall have time enough to finish it +by-and-by, my dear,” said Lady Delacour; “at present my poor head is +running upon something else, and I have left off being an accomplished +actress, or I could talk of one subject and think of another as well +as the best of you.--Stop the carriage, my dear; I am afraid they have +forgot my orders.” + +“Did you carry what I desired this morning to Mrs. Delacour?” said her +ladyship to one of the footmen. + +“I did, my lady.” + +“And did you say from me, that it was not to be opened till I came?’ + +“Yes, my lady.” + +“Where did you leave it?” + +“In Mrs. Delacour’s dressing-room, my lady:--she desired me to take it +up there, and she locked the door, and said no one should go in till you +came.” + +“Very well--go on. Belinda, my dear, I hope that I have worked up your +curiosity to the highest pitch.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +THE DENOUEMENT. + + +Curiosity was not, at this instant, the strongest passion in Belinda’s +mind. When the carriage stopped at Mrs. Delacour’s door, her heart +almost ceased to beat; but she summoned resolution to go through, with +firmness and dignity, the task she had undertaken. + +Clarence Hervey was not in the room when they entered, nor was Virginia: +Mrs. Ormond said that she had been extremely feverish during the night, +and that she had advised her not to get up till late in the day. But +Mrs. Delacour immediately went for her, and in a few minutes she made +her appearance. + +Belinda and Lady Delacour exchanged a glance of surprise and admiration. +There was a grace and simplicity in her manner, joined to an air of +naïveté, that made an irresistible impression in her favour. Lady +Delacour, however, after the first surprise was over, seemed to relapse +into her former opinion; and the piercing looks which her ladyship from +time to time cast upon Virginia as she spoke, produced their effect. +She was abashed and silent. Belinda endeavoured to engage her in +conversation, and to her she talked with ease and even with freedom. +Virginia examined Miss Portman’s countenance with a species of +artless curiosity and interest, that was not restrained by factitious +politeness. This examination was not peculiarly agreeable to Belinda, +yet it was made with so much apparent simplicity, that she could not be +displeased. + +On the first pause in the conversation, Mrs. Delacour said, “Pray, my +dear Lady Delacour, what is this wonderful present that you sent to me +this morning, which you desired that no one should see till you came?” + +“I cannot satisfy your curiosity yet,” replied Lady Delacour. “I must +wait till Clarence Hervey comes, for the present is intended for him.” + +An air of solemn mystery in her ladyship’s manner, as she pronounced +these words, excited general attention. There was a dead silence, which +lasted several minutes: some feeble attempts were then made by each of +the company to start a fresh subject of conversation; but it would +not do--all relapsed into the silence of expectation. At last Clarence +Hervey arrived. Belinda rejoiced that the universal curiosity which Lady +Delacour had inspired prevented any one’s observing the sudden change in +Mr. Hervey’s countenance when he beheld her. + +“A pretty set of curious children you are!” cried Lady Delacour, +laughing. “Do you know, Clarence, that they are all dying with +impatience to see _un gage d’amitié_ that I have brought for you; and +the reason that they are so curious is simply because I had the address +to say, in a solemn voice, ‘I cannot satisfy your curiosity till +Clarence Hervey arrives.’ Now follow me, my friends; and if you be +disappointed, lay the blame, not on me, but on your own imaginations.” + +She led the way to Mrs. Delacour’s dressing-room, and all the company +followed. + +“Now, what do you expect to see?” said she, putting the key into the +door. + +After waiting some moments for a reply, but in vain, she threw open +the door, and they saw, hung before the wall opposite to them, a green +curtain. + +“I thought, my dear Clarence,” resumed Lady Delacour, “that no present +could be more agreeable to you than a companion for your Virginia. Does +this figure,” continued she, drawing back the curtain, “does this figure +give you the idea of Paul?” + +“Paul!” said Clarence; “it is a naval officer in full uniform: what can +your ladyship mean?” + +“Virginia perhaps will know what I mean, if you will only stand out of +her way, and let her see the picture.” + +At these words Clarence made way for Virginia: she turned her eyes upon +the picture, uttered a piercing shriek, and fell senseless upon the +floor. + +“Take it coolly,” said Lady Delacour, “and she will come to her senses +presently. Young ladies must shriek and faint upon certain occasions; +but men (looking at Clarence Hervey) need not always be dupes. This is +only a _scene_; consider it as such, and admire the actress as I do.” + +“Actress! Oh, she is no actress!” cried Mrs. Ormond. + +Clarence Hervey raised her from the ground, and Belinda sprinkled water +over her face. + +“She’s dead!--she’s dead! Oh, my sweet child! she’s dead!” exclaimed +Mrs. Ormond, trembling so violently, that she could not sustain +Virginia. + +“She is no actress, indeed,” said Clarence Hervey: “her pulse is gone!” + +Lady Delacour looked at Virginia’s pale lips, touched her cold hands, +and with a look of horror cried out, “Good Heavens! what have I done? +What shall we do with her?” + +“Give her air--give her air, air, air!” cried Belinda. + +“You keep the air from her, Mrs. Ormond,” said Mrs. Delacour. “Let us +leave her to Miss Portman; she has more presence of mind than any of +us.” And as she spoke she forced Mrs. Ormond away with her out of the +room. + +“If Mr. Hartley should come, keep him with you, Mrs. Delacour,” said +Clarence Hervey. “Is her pulse quite gone?” + +“No; it beats stronger and stronger,” said Belinda. + +“Her colour is returning,” said Lady Delacour. “There! raise her a +little, dear Belinda; she is coming to herself.” + +“Had not you better draw the curtain again before that picture,” said +Miss Portman, “lest she should see it the moment she opens her eyes?” + +Virginia came slowly to her recollection, saw Lady Delacour drawing the +curtain before the picture, then fixed her eyes upon Clarence Hervey, +without uttering a word. + +“Are you better now?” said he, in a gentle tone. + +“Oh, do not speak--do not look so kindly!” cried Virginia. “I am +well--quite well--better than I deserve to be;” and she pressed +Belinda’s hand, as if to thank her for assisting and supporting her. + +“We may safely leave her now,” whispered Belinda to Lady Delacour; “we +are strangers, and our presence only distresses her.” + +They withdrew. But the moment Virginia found herself alone with Mr. +Hervey, she was seized with a universal tremor; she tried to speak, but +could not articulate. At last she burst into a flood of tears; and when +this had in some measure relieved her, she threw herself upon her knees, +and clasping her hands, exclaimed, as she looked up to heaven-- + +“Oh, if I knew what I ought to do!--if I knew what I ought to say!” + +“Shall I tell you, Virginia? And will you believe me?” + +“Yes, yes, yes!” + +“You ought to say--the truth, whatever it may be.” + +“But you will think me the most ungrateful of human beings?” + +“How often must I assure you, Virginia, that I make no claim upon your +gratitude? Speak to me--I conjure you, as you value your happiness and +mine--speak to me without disguise! What is all this mystery? Why should +you fear to let me know what passes in your heart? Why did you shriek at +the sight of that picture?” + +“Oh, forgive me! forgive me!” cried Virginia: she would have sunk at his +feet, if he had not prevented her. + +“I will--I can forgive any thing but deceit. Do not look at me with so +much terror, Virginia--I have not deserved it: my wish is to make you +happy. I would sacrifice even my own happiness to secure yours; but +do not mislead me, or you ruin us both. Cannot you give me a distinct +answer to this simple question--Why did you shriek at the sight of that +picture?” + +“Because--but you will call me ‘_perfidious, ungrateful +Virginia_!’--because I have seen that figure--he has knelt to me--he has +kissed my hand--and I------” + +Clarence Hervey withdrew his arms, which had supported her, and placing +her upon a sofa, left her, whilst he walked up and down the room for +some minutes in silence. + +“And why, Virginia,” said he, stopping short, “was it necessary to +conceal all this from me? Why was it necessary to persuade me that I +was beloved? Why was it necessary that my happiness should be the +sacrifice?” + +“It shall not!--it shall not! Your happiness shall not be the sacrifice. +Heaven is my witness, that there is no sacrifice I would not make for +you. Forgive me that shriek! I could not help fainting, indeed! But I +will be yours--I _ought_ to be yours; and I am not perfidious--I am not +ungrateful: do not look upon me as you did in my dream!” + +“Do not talk to me of dreams, my dear Virginia; this is no time for +trifling; I ask no sacrifice from you--I ask nothing but truth.” + +“Truth! Mrs. Ormond knows all the truth: I have concealed nothing from +her.” + +“But she has concealed every thing from me,” cried Clarence; and, with a +sudden impulse of indignation, he was going to summon her, but when his +hand was upon the lock of the door he paused, returned to Virginia, and +said, “Let me hear the truth from _your_ lips: it is all I shall ever +ask from you. How--when--where did you see this man?” + +“What man?” said Virginia, looking up, with the simple expression of +innocence in her countenance. + +Clarence pointed to the picture. + +“At the village in the New Forest, at Mrs. Smith’s house,” said +Virginia, “one evening when I walked with her from my grandmother’s +cottage.” + +“And your grandmother knew of this?” + +“Yes,” said Virginia, blushing, “and she was very much displeased.” + +“And Mrs. Ormond knew of this?” pursued Clarence. + +“Yes; but she told me that you would not be displeased at it.” + +Mr. Hervey made another hasty step toward the door, but restraining +his impetuous temper, he again stopped, and leaning ever the back of a +chair, opposite to Virginia, waited in silence for her to proceed. He +waited in vain. + +“I do not mean to distress you, Miss Hartley,” said he. + +She burst into tears. “I knew, I knew,” cried she, “that you _would_ be +displeased; I told Mrs. Ormond so. I knew you would never forgive me.” + +“In that you were mistaken,” said Clarence, mildly; “I forgive you +without difficulty, as I hope you may forgive yourself: nor can it be my +wish to extort from you any mortifying confessions. But, perhaps, it may +yet be in my power to serve you, if you will trust to me. I will myself +speak to your father. I will do every thing to secure to you the object +of your affections, if you will, in this last moment of our connexion, +treat me with sincerity, and suffer me to be your friend.” + +Virginia sobbed so violently for some time, that she could not speak: +at last she said, “You are--you are the most generous of men! You have +always been my _best_ friend! I am the most ungrateful of human beings! +But I am sure I never wished, I never intended, to deceive you. Mrs. +Ormond told me--” + +“Do not speak of her at present, or perhaps I may lose my temper,” + interrupted Clarence in an altered voice: “only tell me--I conjure you, +tell me--in one word, who is this man and where is he to be found?” + +“I do not know. I do not understand you,” said Virginia. + +“You do not know! You will not trust me. Then I must leave you to--to +Mr. Hartley.” + +“Do not leave me--oh, do not leave me in anger!” cried Virginia, +clinging to him. “Not trust you!--I!--not trust you! Oh, what _can_ you +mean? I have no confessions to make! Mrs. Ormond knows every thought of +my mind, and so shall you, if you will only hear me. I do not know who +this man is, I assure you; nor where he is to be found.” + +“And yet you love him? Can you love a man whom you do not know, +Virginia?” + +“I only love his figure, I believe,” said Virginia. + +“His figure!” + +“Indeed I am quite bewildered,” said Virginia, looking round wildly; “I +know not what I feel.” + +“If you permitted this man to kneel to you, to kiss your hand, surely +you must know that you love him, Virginia?” + +“But that was only in a dream; and Mrs. Ormond said----” + +“Only a dream! But you met him at Mrs. Smith’s, in the New Forest?” + +“That was only a picture.” + +“Only a picture!--but you have seen the original?” + +“Never--never in my life; and I wish to Heaven I had never, never seen +the fatal picture! the image haunts me day and night. When I read of +heroes in the day, that figure rises to my view, instead of yours. When +I go to sleep at night, I see it, instead of yours, in my dreams; it +speaks to me, it kneels to me. I long ago told Mrs. Ormond this, but she +laughed at me. I told her of that frightful dream. I saw you weltering +in your blood; I tried to save you, but could not. I heard you say, +‘Perfidious, ungrateful Virginia! you are the cause of my death!’ Oh, +it was the most dreadful night I ever passed! Still this figure, this +picture, was before me; and he was the knight of the white plumes; and +it was he who stabbed you; but when I wished him to be victorious, I did +not know that he was fighting against you. So Mrs. Ormond told me that +I need not blame myself; and she said that you were not so foolish as to +be jealous of a picture; but I knew you would be displeased--I knew you +would think me ungrateful--I knew you would never forgive me.” + +Whilst Virginia rapidly uttered all this, Clarence marked the wild +animation of her eyes, the sudden changes of her countenance; he +recollected her father’s insanity; every feeling of his mind gave way to +terror and pity; he approached her with all the calmness that he +could assume, took both her hands, and holding them in his, said, in a +soothing voice-- + +“My dear Virginia, you are not ungrateful. I do not think you so. I am +not displeased with you. You have done nothing to displease me. Compose +yourself, dear Virginia.” + +“I am quite composed, now you again call me dear Virginia. Only I am +afraid, as I always told Mrs. Ormond, that I do not love you _enough_; +but she said that I did, and that my fear was the strongest proof of my +affection.” + +Virginia now spoke in so consistent a manner that Clarence could not +doubt that she was in the clear possession of her understanding. She +repeated to him all that she had said to Mrs. Ormond; and he began to +hope that, without any intention to deceive, Mrs. Ormond’s ignorance +of the human heart led her into a belief that Virginia was in love with +him; whilst, in fact, her imagination, exalted by solitude and romance, +embodied and became enamoured of a phantom. + +“I always told Mrs. Ormond that she was mistaken,” said Clarence. +“I never believed that you loved me, Virginia, till--(he paused and +carefully examined her countenance)--till you yourself gave me reason to +think so. Was it only a principle of gratitude, then, that dictated your +answer to my letter?” + +She looked irresolute: and at last, in a low voice, said, “If I could +see, if I could speak to Mrs. Ormond------” + +“She cannot tell what are the secret feelings of your heart, Virginia. +Consult no Mrs. Ormond. Consult no human creature but yourself.” + +“But Mrs. Ormond told me that you loved me, and that you had educated me +to be your wife.” + +Mr. Hervey made an involuntary exclamation against Mrs. Ormond’s folly. + +“How, then, can you be happy,” continued Virginia, “if I am so +ungrateful as to say I do not love you? That I do not _love_ you!--Oh! +_that_ I cannot say; for I do love you better than any one living except +my father, and with the same sort of affection that I feel for him. +You ask me to tell you the secret feelings of my heart: the only secret +feeling of which I am conscious is--a wish not to marry, unless I could +see in reality such a person as----But that I knew was only a picture, +a dream; and I thought that I ought at least to sacrifice my foolish +imaginations to you, who have done so much for me. I knew that it would +be the height of ingratitude to refuse you; and besides, my father +told me that you would not accept of my fortune without my hand, so +I consented to marry you: forgive me, if these were wrong motives--I +thought them right. Only tell me what I can do to make you happy, as +I am sure I wish to do; to that wish I would sacrifice every other +feeling.” + +“Sacrifice nothing, dear Virginia. We may both be happy without making +any sacrifice of our feelings,” cried Clarence. And, transported at +regaining his own freedom, Virginia’s simplicity never appeared to +him so charming as at this moment. “Dearest Virginia, forgive me for +suspecting you for one instant of any thing unhandsome. Mrs. Ormond, +with the very best intentions possible, has led us both to the brink +of misery. But I find you such as I always thought you, ingenuous, +affectionate, innocent.” + +“And you are not angry with me?” interrupted Virginia, with joyful +eagerness; “and you will not think me ungrateful? And you will not be +unhappy? And Mrs. Ormond was mistaken? And you do not wish that I should +_love_ you, that I should be your wife, I mean? Oh, don’t deceive me, +for I cannot help believing whatever you say.” + +Clarence Hervey, to give her a convincing proof that Mrs. Ormond had +misled her as to his sentiments, immediately avowed his passion for +Belinda. + +“You have relieved me from all doubt, all fear, all anxiety,” said +Virginia, with the sweetest expression of innocent affection in her +countenance. “May you be as happy as you deserve to be! May Belinda--is +not that her name?--May Belinda--” + +At this moment Lady Delacour half opened the door, exclaiming--“Human +patience can wait no longer!” + +“Will you trust me to explain for you, dear Virginia?” said Clarence. + +“Most willingly,” said Virginia, retiring as Lady Delacour advanced. +“Pray leave me here alone, whilst you, who are used to talk before +strangers, speak for me.” + +“Dare you venture, Clarence,” said her ladyship, as she closed the door, +“to leave her alone with that picture? You are no lover, if you be not +jealous.” + +“I am not jealous,” said Clarence, “yet I am a lover--a passionate +lover.” + +“A passionate lover!” cried Lady Delacour, stopping short as they were +crossing the antechamber:--“then I have done nothing but mischief. In +love with Virginia? I will not--cannot believe it.” + +“In love with Belinda!--Cannot you, will not you believe it?” + +“My dear Clarence, I never doubted it for an instant. But are you at +liberty to own it to any body but me?” + +“I am at liberty to declare it to all the world.” + +“You transport me with joy! I will not keep you from her a second. But +stay--I am sorry to tell you, that, as she informed me this morning, +_her heart is not at present inclined to love_. And here is Mrs. +Margaret Delacour, poor wretch, in this room, dying with curiosity. +Curiosity is as ardent as love, and has as good a claim to compassion.” + +As he entered the room, where there were only Mrs. Margaret Delacour and +Belinda, Clarence Hervey’s first glance, rapid as it was, explained his +heart. + +Belinda put her arm within Lady Delacour’s, trembling so that she +could scarcely stand. Lady Delacour pressed her hand, and was perfectly +silent. + +“And what is Miss Portman to believe,” cried Mrs. Margaret Delacour, +“when she has seen you on the very eve of marriage with another lady?” + +“The strongest merit I can plead with such a woman as Miss Portman is, +that I was ready to sacrifice my own happiness to a sense of duty. Now +that I am at liberty----” + +“Now that you are at liberty,” interrupted Lady Delacour, “you are in a +vast hurry to offer your whole soul to a lady, who has for months +seen all your merits with perfect insensibility, and who has been, +notwithstanding all my operations, stone blind to your love.” + +“The struggles of my passion cannot totally have escaped Belinda’s +penetration,” said Clarence; “but I like her a thousand times the better +for not having trusted merely to appearances. That love is most to be +valued which cannot be easily won. In my opinion there is a prodigious +difference between a warm imagination and a warm heart.” + +“Well,” said Lady Delacour, “we have all of us seen _Pamela +maritata_--let us now see _Belinda in love_, if that be possible. _If!_ +forgive me this last stroke, my dear--in spite of all my raillery, I +do believe that the prudent Belinda is more capable of feeling real +permanent passion than any of the dear sentimental young ladies, whose +motto is + + ‘All for love, or the world well lost.’” + +“That is just my opinion,” said Mrs. Margaret Delacour. + +“But pray, what is become of Mr. Hartley?” looking round: “I do not see +him.” + +“No: for I have hid him,” said Lady Delacour: “he shall be forthcoming +presently.” + +“Dear Mr. Clarence Hervey, what have you done with my Virginia?” said +Mrs. Ormond, coming into the room. + +“Dear Mrs. Ormond, what have _you_ done with her?” replied Clarence. “By +your mistaken kindness, by insisting upon doing us both good against our +wills, you were very near making us both miserable for life. But I blame +nobody; I have no right to blame any one so much as myself. All this +has arisen from my own presumption and imprudence. Nothing could be more +absurd than my scheme of educating a woman in solitude to make her fit +for society. I might have foreseen what must happen, that Virginia would +consider me as her tutor, her father, not as her lover, or her husband; +that with the most affectionate of hearts, she could for me feel nothing +but _gratitude_.” + +“Nothing but gratitude!” repeated Mrs. Ormond, with a degree of +amazement in her countenance, which made every body present smile: “I am +sure I thought she was dying for love of you.” + +“My dear Belinda,” whispered Lady Delacour, “if I might judge of the +colour of this cheek, which has been for some moments permanent crimson, +I should guess that you were beginning to find out _of what use the sun +is to the dial_.” + +“You will not let me hear what Mr. Hervey is saying,” replied Belinda; +“I am very curious.” + +“Curiosity is a stronger passion than love, as I told him just now,” + said Lady Delacour. + +In spite of all his explanations, Mrs. Ormond could not be made to +comprehend Virginia’s feelings. She continually repeated, “But it is +impossible for Virginia, or for any body, to be in love with a picture.” + +“It is not said that she is in love with a picture,” replied Mrs. +Delacour, “though even for that I could find you a precedent.” + +“My Lady Delacour,” said Mrs. Ormond, “will you explain to us how that +picture came into your possession, and how it came here, and, in short, +all that is to be known about it?” + +“Ay, explain! explain! my dear Lady Delacour,” cried Mrs. Delacour: +“I am afraid I am grown almost as curious as my Lady Boucher. Explain! +explain!” + +“Most willingly,” said Lady Delacour. “To Marriott’s ruling passion for +birds you are all of you indebted for this discovery. Some time ago, +whilst we were at Twickenham, as Marriott was waiting at a stationer’s, +to bid her last adieus to a bullfinch, a gentleman came into the shop +where she and Bobby (as she calls this bird) were coquetting, and the +gentleman was struck even more than Marriott with the bullfinch. He went +almost distracted on hearing a particular tune, which this bird sang. I +suspected, from the symptoms, that the gentleman must be, or must have +been, in love with the bullfinch’s mistress. Now the bullfinch was +traced home to the ci-devant Virginia St. Pierre, the present Miss +Hartley. I had my reasons for being curious about her loves and lovers, +and as soon as I learned the story from Marriott, I determined, if +possible, to find out who this stranger, with the strange passion for +bullfinches, might be. I questioned and cross-questioned all those +people at the stationer’s who were present when he fell into ecstasies; +and, from the shopman, who had been bribed to secrecy, I learned that +our gentleman returned to the stationer’s the day after he met Marriott, +and watched till he obtained a sight of Virginia, as she came to her +window. Now it was believed by the girl of this shop, who had lived for +some time with Mrs. Ormond--Forgive me, Mr. Hervey, for what I am going +to say--forgive me, Mrs. Ormond--scandal, like death, is common to +all--It was believed that Virginia was Mr. Hervey’s mistress. My +stranger no sooner learned this than he swore that he would think of her +no more; and after bestowing a variety of seamen’s’ execrations upon +the villain who had seduced this heavenly creature, he departed from +Twickenham, and was no more seen or heard of. My inquiries after him +were indefatigable, but for some time unsuccessful: and so they might +have continued, and we might have been all making one another unhappy at +this moment, if it had not been for Mr. Vincent’s great dog Juba--Miss +Annabella Luttridge’s billet-doux--Sir Philip Baddely’s insolence--my +Lord Delacour’s belief in a quack balsam--and Captain Sunderland’s +humanity.” + +“Captain Sunderland! who is Captain Sunderland? we never heard of him +before,” cried Mrs. Ormond. + +“You shall hear of him just as I did, if you please,” said Lady +Delacour, “and if Belinda will submit to hear me tell the same story +twice.” + +Here her ladyship repeated the history of the battle of the dogs; and +of Sir Philip Baddely’s knocking down Juba, the man, for struggling in +defence of Juba, the dog. + +“Now the gentleman who assisted my Lord Delacour in bringing the +disabled negro across the square to our house, was Captain Sunderland. +My lord summoned Marriott to produce Lady Boucher’s infallible balsam, +that it might be tried upon Juba’s sprained ankle. Whilst my lord was +intent upon the balsam, Marriott was intent upon Captain Sunderland. +She recollected that she had met him somewhere before, and the moment he +spoke, she knew him to be the gentleman who had fallen into ecstasies +in the shop at Twickenham, about the bullfinch. Marriott hastened to +me with the news; I hastened to my lord, made him introduce Captain +Sunderland to me, and I never rested till he had told me all that I +wanted to know. Some years ago, just before he went to sea, he paid +a visit to his mother, who then lodged with a widow Smith, in the New +Forest. Whilst he was there, he heard of the young beauty who lived in +the Forest, with a grandmother, who was _not a little particular_; and +who would not permit any body to see her. + +“My captain’s curiosity was excited; one day, unseen by the duenna, he +obtained a distinct view of Virginia, watering her roses and tending her +bees. Struck with her uncommon beauty, he approached carefully to the +thicket in which the cottage was enclosed, and found a _lair_, where +he concealed himself, day after day, and contemplated at leisure the +budding charms of the fair wood-nymph. In short, he became so enamoured, +that he was determined to gain admittance at the cottage, and declare +his passion: but to his honour be it told, that when the history of the +poor girl’s mother, and the situation and fears of the old lady, who +was her only friend, were known to him, in consideration of the extreme +youth of the ward, and the extreme age of her guardian, he determined to +defer his addresses till his return from the West Indies, whither he was +shortly to sail, and where he had hopes of making a fortune, that +might put him in a situation to render the object of his affections +independent. He left a bullfinch with Mrs. Smith, who gave it to +Virginia, without telling to whom it had belonged, lest her grandmother +might be displeased. + +“I really thought that all this showed too nice a moral sense for +a young dashing lieutenant in the navy, and I was persuaded that my +gentleman was only keeping his mistress’s secret like a man of honour. +With this belief, I regretted that Clarence Hervey should throw himself +away upon a girl who was unworthy of him.” + +“I hope,” interrupted Clarence, “you are perfectly convinced of your +mistake.” + +“Perfectly! perfectly!--I am convinced that Virginia is only half mad. +But let me go on with my story. I was determined to discover whether she +had any remains of affection for this captain. It was in vain he assured +me that she had never seen him. I prevailed upon him to let me go on my +own way. I inquired whether he had ever had his picture drawn. Yes, he +had for his mother, just when he first went out to sea. It had been left +at the widow Smith’s. I begged him to procure it for me. He told me it +was impossible. I told him I trampled on impossibilities. In short, he +got the picture for me, as you see. ‘Now,’ thought I, ‘if he speaks the +truth, Virginia will see this picture without emotion, and it will only +seem to be a present for Clarence. But if she had ever seen him before, +or had any secret to conceal, she will betray herself on the sudden +appearance of this picture.’ Things have turned out contrary to all my +expectations, and yet better.------And now, Clarence, I must beg you +will prevail on Miss Hartley to appear; I can go on no farther without +her.” + +Lady Delacour took Virginia by the hand, the moment she entered the +room. + +“Will you trust yourself with me, Miss Hartley?” said she. “I have made +you faint once to-day by the sight of a picture; will you promise me not +to faint again, when I produce the original?” + +“The original!” said Virginia. “I will trust myself with you, for I am +sure you cannot mean to laugh at me, though, perhaps, I deserve to be +laughed at.” + +Lady Delacour threw open the door of another apartment. Mr. Hartley +appeared, and with him Captain Sunderland. + +“My dear daughter,” said Mr. Hartley, “give me leave to introduce to you +a friend, to whom I owe more obligations than to any man living, except +to Mr. Hervey. This gentleman was stationed some years ago at Jamaica, +and in a rebellion of the negroes on my plantation he saved my life. +Fortune has accidentally thrown my benefactor in my way. To show my +sense of my obligations is out of my power.” + +Virginia’s surprise was extreme; her vivid dreams, the fond wishes of +her waking fancy, were at once accomplished. For the first moment she +gazed as on an animated picture, and all the ideas of love and romance +associated with this image rushed upon her mind. + +But when the realities by which he was surrounded dispelled the +illusion, she suddenly withdrew her eyes, and blushed deeply, with such +timid and graceful modesty as charmed every body present. + +Captain Sunderland pressed forward; but was stopped by Lady Delacour. + +“Avaunt, thou real lover!” cried she: “none but the shadow of a man can +hope to approach the visionary maid. In vain has Marraton forced his way +through the bushes and briars, in vain has he braved the apparition of +the lion; there is yet a phantom barrier apparently impassable between +him and his Yaratilda, for he is in the world of shadows. Now, mark me, +Marraton: hurry not this delicate spirit, or perchance you frighten and +lose her for ever; but have patience, and gradually and gracefully she +will venture into your world of realities--only give her time.” + +“Time! O yes, give me time,” cried Virginia, shrinking back. + +“My dear Miss Hartley,” continued Lady Delacour, “in plain prose, to +prevent all difficulties and embarrassments, I must inform you, that +Captain Sunderland will not insist upon prompt payment of your father’s +debt of gratitude: he has but one quarter of an hour to spend with +us--he is actually under sailing orders; so that you will have time to +compose your mind before his return. Clarence, I advise you to accompany +Captain Sunderland on this cruise; don’t you, Belinda? + +“And now, my good friends,” continued Lady Delacour, “shall I finish the +novel for you?” + +“If your ladyship pleases; nobody can do it better,” said Clarence +Hervey. + +“But I hope you will remember, dear Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “that +there is nothing in which novelists are so apt to err as in hurrying +things toward the conclusion: in not allowing _time_ enough for that +change of feeling, which change of situation cannot instantly produce.” + +“That’s right, my dear Belinda; true to your principles to the last +gasp. Fear nothing--you shall have _time_ enough to become accustomed +to Clarence. Would you choose that I should draw out the story to five +volumes more? With your advice and assistance, I can with the greatest +ease, my dear. A declaration of love, you know, is only the beginning +of things; there may be blushes, and sighs, and doubts, and fears, and +misunderstandings, and jealousies without end or common sense, to fill +up the necessary space, and to gain the necessary _time_; but if I might +conclude the business in two lines, I should say, + + ‘Ye gods, annihilate both space and time, + And make four lovers happy.’” + +“Oh, that would be cutting matters too short,” said Mrs. Margaret +Delacour. “I am of the old school; and though I could dispense with the +description of Miss Harriot Byron’s worked chairs and fine china, yet I +own I like to hear something of the preparation for a marriage, as well +as of the mere wedding. I like to hear _how_ people become happy in a +rational manner, better than to be told in the huddled style of an old +fairy tale--_and so they were all married, and they lived very happily +all the rest of their days_.” + +“We are not in much danger of hearing such an account of modern +marriages,” said Lady Delacour. “But how shall I please you all?--Some +people cry, ‘Tell me every thing;’ others say, that, + + ‘Le secret d’ennuyer est celui de tout dire.’” + +“Something must be left to the imagination. Positively I will not +describe wedding-dresses, or a procession to church. I have no objection +to saying that the happy couples were united by the worthy Mr. Moreton; +that Mr. Percival gave Belinda away; and that immediately after the +ceremony, he took the whole party down with him to Oakly-park. Will this +do?--Or, we may conclude, if you like it better, with a characteristic +letter of congratulation from Mrs. Stanhope to her _dearest_ niece, +Belinda, acknowledging that she was wrong to quarrel with her for +refusing Sir Philip Baddely, and giving her infinite credit for that +admirable _management_ of Clarence Hervey, which she hopes will continue +through life.” + +“Well, I have no objection to ending with a letter,” said Mrs. Delacour; +“for last speeches are always tiresome.” + +“Yes,” said her ladyship; “it is so difficult, as the Critic says, to +get lovers off upon their knees. Now I think of it, let me place you all +in proper attitudes for stage effect. What signifies being happy, +unless we appear so?--Captain Sunderland--kneeling with Virginia, if you +please, sir, at her father’s feet: you in the act of giving them your +blessing, Mr. Hartley. Mrs. Ormond clasps her hands with joy--nothing +can be better than that, madam--I give you infinite credit for the +attitude. Clarence, you have a right to Belinda’s hand, and may kiss +it too: nay, Miss Portman, it is the rule of the stage. Now, where’s +my Lord Delacour? he should be embracing me, to show that we are +reconciled. Ha! here he comes--Enter Lord Delacour, with little Helena +in his hand--very well! a good start of surprise, my love--stand still, +pray; you cannot be better than you are: Helena, my love, do not let go +your father’s hand. There! quite pretty and natural! Now, Lady Delacour, +to show that she is reformed, comes forward to address the audience with +a moral--a moral! Yes, + + “Our _tale_ contains a _moral_; and, no doubt, + You all have wit enough to find it out.’” + +(_Written in_ 1800. _Published in_ 1801.) + +THE END. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] This declaration was taken from the lips of a celebrated character. + +[2] The manners, if not the morals, of gentlemen, have improved since +the first publication of this work. Swearing has gone out of fashion. +But Sir Philip Baddely’s oaths are retained, as marks in a portrait +of the times held up to the public, touched by ridicule, the best +reprobation. + +[3] The bloody hand is the heraldic designation of the baronet. + +[4] “Would Chloe know if you’re alive or dead, + She bids her footman put it in her head.” + +[5] See Adventures of a Guinea, vol. i. chap. xvi. + +[6] Marmontel. + +[7] See Edwards’s History of the West Indies, vol. ii. + +[8] Miscellaneous Pieces by Mrs. Barbauld and Dr. Aikin. + +[9] we spare the reader the medical journal of Lady Delacour’s health +for some months. Her recover was gradual and complete. + +[10] A fact. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales And Novels, Volume 3 (of 10), by +Maria Edgeworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME 3 (OF 10) *** + +***** This file should be named 9455-0.txt or 9455-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/4/5/9455/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann, David Widger and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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