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BELINDA
BY
MARIA EDGEWORTH
ILLUSTRATED BY CHRIS HAMMOND
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
ANNE THACKERAY RITCHIE
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Honlion
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited.
NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
1896
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INTRODUCTION
It is to Miss Beaufort, the fourth Mrs. Edgeworlh, that we
owe those delightful volumes of biography and correspond-
ence which deserves a place upon the shelf where we keep
our Walpole, our D'Arblay, our S(;vign^, and in which Iwo
accomplished women have given such delightful sketches of
the brilliant and intelligent society in which they lived. In
these volumes we find the story of the writing of Bdinda.
It was published in 1801. 'Maria was at Black Castle when
the first copy reached her, and she contrived, before her
aunt Mrs. Ruxton saw it, to tear out the title-pages of the
three volumes, so that her aunt read on without the least
suspicion of who was the author, Mrs. Ruxton was ex-
cessively entertained and delighted. She insisted on
Maria's listening to passage after passage as she went on.
Maria affected to be deeply interested in some hook she
held in her hand, and when Mrs, Ruxton exclaimed, " Is
not that admirably written?" Maria coldly replied, "Ad-
mirably read ! I think." Again and again Mrs. Ruxton
called upon Maria for her sympathy, until, quite pro-
voked at her faint acquiescence, she at last accused her
of being jealous. " I am sorry to see my little Maria un-
able to bear the praises of a rival author."
Al this Maria burst into tears, and showing the title-
pages, she declared herseK the authoi. "But '^i&. ^voin^
was not pleased ; she never liked Belinda afterwards, and
Maria had always a painful recollection of her aunt's sus-
pecting her of the meanness of envy.' Perhaps it was under
the influence of this early association that in her later
correspondence Miss Edgeworth herself falls foul of Belinda,
and accuses her of lameness, and says she has no patience
with her.
' I really was so provoked with the cold tameness of that
stick or stone Belinda that I could have torn the pages to
pieces,' she writes to Mrs. Barbauld. Miss Zimmern quotes
the passage, and adds, ' At no time did Miss Edgeworth
even set a due value on her work, still less an exaggerated
one,'
Belinda is the story of a young and beautiful girl sur-
rounded by frivolous and double-minded people ; she has
been brought up by a scheming aunt, but she is single-
minded and true-hearted. She is chaperoned by Lady
Delacour, a leader of fashion, and introduced to the
smartest circles of those brilliant days. Lady Delacour's
house is 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 extinguished, the spell was dissolved. She would
walk up and down the empty magnificent saloons, absorbed
in thoughts, seemingly of the most painful nature.' Of
Lord Delacour for some days Behnda hears nothing after
her arrival ; but at last they meet. His lordship is arriving
dead drunk in the arms of two footmen, who are carry-
ing him upstairs. The heroes of those days seem to get
tipsy as a matter of course, just as the heroines faint
sway. Clarence Hervey, the agreeable friend of Lady
INTRODUCTION
comes ^
rCelacouT, whatever his failings may be, always
1 sober, and with plenty of brillianl and ready
tion, on the nature of ladies' promises, the si^e of ihe arm
of the Venus de Medici, on the size of Lady Deiacour's
own ann. He also descants on the thick legs of ancient
I statues, on Mrs. Luttridge and her wig. Mr. Hervey
displays so much wit, gallantry, and satire on al) these
topics, and talks with so happy an effect, that Belinda is
quite charmed. Clarence is also charmed, but he mistrusts
Belinda's bringing up, and imagines her to be no less
worldly and frivolous than her surroundings. He has an
Utopian scheme for bringing up an artless wife to suit his
own particular taste, and hence much of the imbroglio
which follows. Mrs. Freke, a lively will o' the wisp ot
fashion, takes a very difierent view of Belinda to Clarence
Hervey's ; she looks over the books on her table and asks
her why she reads them. Belinda says she reads them
that she may think for herself ' Only to ruin your under-
standing, trust me,' exclaims Mrs. Freke, turning over the
books. ' Smith's Theory of Moral StnliniinU — milk and
water! Moore's Travels — hasty pudding! La Bruyere —
nettle porridge !' cries the lively lady ; and then, taking up
a book in which she sees Behnda's mark. Against Tnccn-
tistefuy in our Expectations, 'Poor thing,' says she, 'who
bored you with this task ? ' Whatever Mrs. Freke may
have thought, Mrs. Bartwuld must certainly have appre-
ciated Miss Edgeworth's pretty httle compliment in thus
1 leaving her heroine's mark between the pages of the
t admirable essay.
Belinda was included in this edition after some delibera-
^on, not because it is the best of Miss Edgeworth's stories,
I but because it is certainly one of the best known. The pretty
e carries a certain distinction along w'ttVv \l tjiot tt ^t
'. fascinated J
Critics are 1
the only Belinda whose beauty and grace have f
succeeding generations of novel -readers). Critics ;
divided about Se/inda, says Miss Zimmern; there are I
portions of the story where Miss Edgeworth is at her best '
Sir Philip Eaddely's account of the Fetes at Frogmore, his 1
talk, his proposal to Belinda, she calls a masterpiece of '
caustic humour, but there is also the tiresome and pre- '
posterous episode of Virginia by Mr. Edge worth, to '
represent the other side of the medal. Virginia is the
young lady Clarence had intended to train up as a wife for
himself. The idiotic Virginia — happily for Clarence — fails
in love with the picture of somebody else, and then the
original of the picture appears. All this of course would be
a concatenation after Mr. Edgeworth's own heart. Miss
Edgeworth had intended to make Lady Delacour die. She
is described as a spirited, dashing lady of quality, with a
certain nobility and sincerity which redeem her reckless
career. It was Mr, Edgeworth who insisted upon having
her life spared, and accordingly she is saved by Belinda's
means ; surviving to speak a sort of epilogue, with all the
characters assembled round about her, as the curtain drops
upon the scene, and Clarence and Belinda come to a happy
understanding. But it must be confessed that it is all
very confused and disappointing, and the beginning of the
book is far better than the end, which Mr. Edgeworth
seems to have taken in hand with such ill results. A well-
known critic has justly called him one of the strangest
characters ever compounded in the vast laboratory from
which emerge those strange freaks called men and women.
He was like a man with a good voice, and without any ear,
sometimes a note came true and sometimes false. It was
all a chance, but he never had the good fortune to hear the
imth. Some one talks of the natural claqut
'■ given 1^.^
INTRODUCTION
en, that of applauding parents ; i
voTth's case, that of applauding children followed his words
and every motion. It was a genuine, an organised applause
headed by the modest Maria. Everything goes to prove
that his children's aSectionate admiration was warm and
sincere. There is a letter from one of Mr. Edgeworth's sons
which shows in what estimation they hold him ; the son
will not engage himself until he has his father's consent.
'You,' the son says to his father, 'who have always been
successful in love, cannot judge of the flow of joy which
now fills my bosom at the result of my visit to Derby. I
am convinced that Miss Broadhurst is not only in every
way formed to make me happy, but that she only wails
your approbation to sanction my being her declared
admirer. This I hope you will have no rt;ason to withhold.
She has loo great an awe of your talents, she does not
yet know the tenderness of your affections. O my
beloved father, confirm the happiness of your son, who has
a heart that would not disobey, but cannot cease to
love.' The young man concludes his letter by a de-
scription of the scenery ; ' Love,' he says, ' coloured every
vision of happiness, which it is now in my father's power
to realise. ..." He signs his letter, 'Your ardent and
dutiful son, Charles Sneyd Edgeworth.'
Scott, Sir James Mackintosh, and Sydney Smith all
reviewed Miss Edgeworth in due time, but it took time for
the critics to express their full approbation. The Edin-
burgh for 1804 is modified in its praise. TIte Edhiburgh
for 1809 is quite unstinted in its flattering allusion, and I
have been told that Sydney Smith is the writer of the article,
iir James Mackintosh criticises Miss Edgeworth with sym-
lathetic enthusiasm in his correspondence, though he
of her peculiar code of morals and t\\e (\\i2^'aea ^»
BELINDA
selects for praise. Miss Edgeworth's extraordinary merit
consists, he says, in her having selected a class of virtues
far more difficult to treat as a subject of fiction than others,
and which had therefore been left by other writers for her.
Belinda came out immediately after Castle Rackrent
*The Edgeworths immediately became famous,' says Mr.
Hare, * and the books were at once translated into French
and German.'
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
Characters ...... i
CHAPTER II
Masks . . . . . . .14
CHAPTER III
Lady Delacour's History . . . .31
CHAPTER IV
Lady Delacour's History continued . . .50
CHAPTER V
Birthday Dresses ...... 67
CHAPTER VI
Ways and Means ...... 82
CHAPTER VII
The Serpentine River ... . ^"^
• • •
Xlll
BELINDA
CHAPTER VIII
PAGE
A Family Party ...... 99
CHAPTER IX
Advice . . . . . . .111
CHAPTER X
The Mysterious Boudoir . . . .127
CHAPTER XI
Difficulties . . . '139
CHAPTER XII
The Macaw . . . . . • '55
CHAPTER XIII
SORTES ViRGILIANAE . . . . 167
CHAPTER XIV
The Exhibition . . . . .181
CHAPTER XV
Jealousy ....... 203
CHAPTER XVI
Domestic Happiness . . . .217
xiv
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XVII
Rights of Woman ..... 230
CHAPTER XVIII
A Declaration . . . . .241
CHAPTER XIX
A Wedding ...... 255
CHAPTER XX
Reconciliation . . . . .271
CHAPTER XXI
Helena ....... 293
CHAPTER XXII
A Spectre . . . . . . .310
CHAPTER XXIII
The Chaplain ...... 326
CHAPTER XXIV
Feu a Peu ....... 335
CHAPTER XXV
Love Me, Love my Dog ..... 353
XV
BELINDA
CHAPTER XXVI
PAGS
Virginia ....... 371
CHAPTER XXVII
A Discovery ...... 399
CHAPTER XXVIII
E O . . . . . 425
CHAPTER XXIX
A Jew . . .... 444
CHAPTER XXX
News ....... 456
CHAPTER XXXI
The Denouement ...... 468
XVI
N
Selinila's astoaishmept was a
Lady Delacour's cooftision
a on, Lady Delacour,' said his lordship
•No love-letters, indeed. Lady Delacour,' 5aid Belinda, holding
the paper fast .....
■ Will you give Miss Poitman a glitss of water ?.~Ihere's
behind you on that sideboard, mim 1' .
' Promise, swear lo me,' resumed Ijidy Delacour
■ My Lady Delacour, I am not a man to be governed by a
I was left slanding alone till I could stand no longer .
Mrs. Luttiidge, as I hoped and expected, was lieyund mc
enraged at the sight of the caricature and epigiaio
A person who was driving up the lane a la^e herd of squeak-
ing, gnuiting pigs
'Do you forgel that Belinda Portman and her accomplishments
have already been as well advertised as Packwood's
He threw down the music-stand with hts hoop
•No, no,' exclaimed Clarence, laughing, ' it is not come 1
with me yet, Lady Delacour, I promise you '
• Dr. X !' cried he. ' Is it possible ? How rejniceil
BELINDA
PAGE
The old lady walked away to an antechamber, fanning herself
with great energy ..... 104
Clarence Hervey threw himself at her feet . . 1 16
* O Miss Portman, what shall we do ? what shall we do ? —
My lady ! my poor lady T .... 129
Belinda, though she cast but one involuntary, hasty glance at it,
was struck with the beauty of its colour . . .143
' You can*t be in earnest, Miss Portman ! * exclaimed the
astonished baronet . . . .157
* Lady Delacour, here is the young lady who sent you the gold-
fishes' ....... 174
She turned abruptly away from the picture, and she saw Clarence
Hervey standing beside her . . .196
She stamped with a look of rage . . . .213
He looked up in astonishment to hear such a voice from a woman 226
She threw herself into an arm-chair, and laughed immoderately 237
* Our Lucy takes no offence at his courting her now, my lady,
I can assure you ' . . . .251
* My lord and lady shall never come together, if I can help it * 268
Grief and horror and pity were painted in Lord Delacour's
countenance, as he passed hastily through the room . 276
* Miss Portman will think us both a couple of old fools,* said
her ladyship, making a slight effort to withdraw her hand 292
* Dear mamma, I never was so happy in my life ; for you never
looked so very, very kindly at me before * . . 298
She turned, and saw Helena standii^ at the half-open bed-
chamber door ...... 306
She sat down trembling on the steps which led to her mother's
room ....... 322
Belinda appeared, her countenance radiant with joy . .324
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
xviii
PAGB
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
hounds, huddle on his surplice, and gabble over the
service ....... 329
Belinda read with some surprise . . . '345
' My dear Belinda, how can you stand this fire ? ' said Lady
Delacour . . . . • 3^5
Mr. Hervey saw a young girl watering the rose-trees, and an
old woman beside her . . . . .374
Trembling with eagerness, Mr. Hartley drew near, while
Clarence held the light to the picture . . .415
Seizing hold of the pistol, he snatched it from Vincent's grasp 440
He was so dilatory and circumspect, in reading over and signing
the bonds ...... 452
* I am sorry for it,* interrupted Mrs. Delacour, rising from her
seat, with a look of some displeasure . . . 466
* Clarence, you have a right to Belinda's hand ' . . 484
XIX
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
still remained unmarried — BeUnda Portman, of whom
the was determined to get rid with all convenient expedition,
Belinda was handsome, graceful, sprightly, and highly accom-
plished ; her aunt had endeavoured to leach her that a young
lady's chief business is to please in society, that al! her charms
l-ond accomplishments should be invariably subservient to one
frand object — the establishing herself in the world :
rs. Stanhope did not find Belinda such a docile pupil as
her other nieces, for she had been educated chiefly in the
country r she had early been inspired with a tasle for domestic
pleasures ; she was fond of reading, and disposed to conduct
herself with prudence and iniegrity. Her character, however,
'as yet to be developed by circumstances,
Mrs. Stanhope lived at Bath, where she had opportunities
erf' showing her niece off, as she thought, lo advantage ; but as
her health began to decline, she could not go out with her as
much as she wished. After manceuvring with more than her
usual art, she succeeded in fastening Belinda upon the fashion-
able l^dy Delacour for the season, Her ladyship was so
4J
/;
BELINDA
much pleased by Miss Portman's accomplishments and vivacity,
KS to invite her to spend the winter with her in London. Soon
ftfter her arrival in town, Belinda received the following letter
from her aunt Stanhope.
' Chesce.nt, Bath.
' After searching every place I could Ihink 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
«ent i[ to you by a young gentleman, who came lo Bath (un-
luckily) the very day you left me — Mr. Clarence Her\-ey— an
Kcquainiance, and great admirer of my Lady Delacour. He is
really an uncommonly pleasant young man, is highly connected,
uid 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 intro-
duced to you, and remember, what I have so often told you,
that nobody can look well without taking some pains to please.
' 1 see— «r at least when I went out more than my health
11 at present permit — I used to see multitudes of silly girls,
emingly all cut out upon the same pattern, who frequented
public places day after day, and year after year, without any
idea further than that of diverting themselves, or of obtaining
transient admiration. How I have pitied and despised the
giddy creatures, whilst 1 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 ; chatter
tittering, and flirting ; full of the present moment,
reflecting upon the future ; quite satisfied if they got a
at a ball, without ever thinking of a partner for life 1 I haj
often asked myself, what is to become of such girls when they /
" or ugly, or when the public eye grows tired of them ?
if they have large fortunes, it is all very well ; they can aflford
to divert themselves for a season or two, without doubt ; they
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 poof
girl, who, after spending not only the interest, but the solid
capital of her small fortune in dress and frivolous extravagance,
foils in her matrimonial expectations (as many do merely from
CHARACTERS
not beginning to speculate in time). She finds herself at five
or six-and-ihirty a burden lo her friends, destitute of the means
of rendering herself independent (for the girls I speak of never
think of leai-ning 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 txpecttd return for
civilities, having no home^I mean no establishment, no house,
etc.— fit for the reception of comp>any 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
Iin your education, and (which is the essential point) 1 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 pubhc, as
[ I doubtless you will with L^dy Delacour. — Your own good sense
Snust make you aware, my dear, that from her ladyship's situa-
■ tion and knowledge of the world, it will always be proper, upon
all subjects of conversation, for her to lead and you to follow :
I it would be very unfit for a young girl like you lo su£Fer
I yourself lo stand in competition with Lady Delacour, whose
high pretensions to wit and beauty are indisputable. 1 need
lo you upon this subject, my dear. Even with
your limited experience, you must have obsen'ed how foolish
L young people offend those who are the most necessary to their
i, by an imprudert indulgence of their vanity.
' Lady Delacour has an incomparable taste in dress : con-
I'Sult her, my dear, and do not, by an ill-judged economy,
ly views — apropos, I have no objection lo your
I being presented at court. You will, of course, have credit
I with ail her ladyship's tradespeople, if you manage properly,
I To know how and when to lay out money is highly commend- I
I able, for in some situations people judge of what one cant. »
I afford by what one actually spends.^I know of no law which i"
V compels a young lady to tell what her age or her fortune may be.
I You have no occasion for caution yet on one of these points.
' I have covered ray old carpet with a handsome green
I baize, and every stranger who comes to see me, I observe,
■ 'takes it for granted that I have a rich carpet under it. Say
rerything that is proper, in your best manner, for me to Lady
I Delacour. Adieu, my dear Belinda. — Yours, very sincerely.
s forttuiate, that the means whidi are taken
to produce cenain effects upon the mind have a tendency
directly opposite to what is expected. Mrs, Staohope"!
perpetual anxiety about her niece's appearance, manners, and
establishment, bad 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 ate, because she had been so much faltered and shown
off, as it is called, by her match-making aunt — Yet Belinda
was (bnd of amusement, and had imbibed some of Mrs.
Stanhope's prejudices in favour of rank and fashion. Her
fasie for literature declined in proportion to her intercourse
with the fashionable world, as she did not in this society per-
ceive the least use in ihe knowledge that she had acquited.
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, habitnal,
' blind obedience ; but she was more imdesigning, and more free
ifrom 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 &scinating 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 nd other. — The newspapers
were full of Lady Delacour's parties, and Lady Delacour^s
dresses, and Lady Delacour's bon mots : ev'erything thai her
ladyship said was repeated as witty ; everything that her lady-
ship 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 ailer 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
societj', 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
1
_ J
CHARACTERS
itted as im 1
sintrularlv '
■ad envied by all her acquaintance, Tor being admitted a
Inmate. How could she avoid thinking herself singularly
fortunate ? -
A short time after her arrival at Lady Delacour's, Belinda A
began to see through the thin veil with which politeness covers \|
domestic misery. — Abroad, and at home, Lady Delacour wasi^y
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 evchaustcd 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 firolic : 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 mag-
nificent 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
Deiacour's apartments.' — The first time Belinda ever saw his
lordship, he was dead drunk in the arms of two footmen, who
. were carrying him upstairs to his bedchamber : his lady, who
I 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 o-ain way.
Don't look so shocked and amazed, Belinda — don't look so
new, child : this fimeral of my lord's intellects is to nie a
nightly, or,' added her ladyship, looking at her walch and
yawning, ' I believe I should say a daily ceremony — six o'clock,
I protest 1 '
The next morning, as her ladyship and Miss Portman were
sitting at the breakfast table, after a very late breakfast. Lord
Delacour znteted the room. ^^
' Lord Oelacour, sober, my dear,' — said her ladyship to
Miss I'ortman, by way of inlrxiducing him, Piejudiced by her
ladyship, Belinda Has inclined lo think that Lord Delacour
sobfr would not be more agreeable or more rational than Lord
Delacour dninlc 'How old do you late my lord to be?'
whispered her ladyship, as she saw Belinda's eye fixed upon
the trembling hand which carried his teacup to bis 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'
' 1 hope you don't think of going to this birthnight, 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 looldng 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 lady-
ship (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 I '
'As well! — how fiat:'
' 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
.f your ladyship would attend more lo your own conduct, and
leino others I '
,i,i.' ^'° «" °' °"''"-i-'" '"rf'liip n..ans, if he means .ny.
Ihms. Apropo., Belmda, d,d ™i ,™ tell me Clarence Hen-ey
I. eoirnng lo lom f_Voe ha.e never ,een hin.-Well 111
deecnbe h.m to you by negatives. He is no/ a man who ever
l-y "y"'"" *"- »» i. ".' a man who „„„ be wound i
CHARACTERS
If a dozen bottles of champagne before he can ^ — be ii
fiol a man who, when he does go, goes wrong, and won't be si
right — he is not a man, whose whole consequence, if he w
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 Ihal 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 tea-
cup during the whole of this speech, which was delivered with
the most animated desire to provoke — ' Go on, Lady Delacour
— all 1 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
l^ady Delacour — go on, and you'll oblige me.'
' 1 never will oblige you, my lord, that you may depend
upon,' cried her ladyship, with a look of indignant contenipt.
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 pastF' 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 ate you dreaming of, Clarence ? VVhy looks your grace
so heavily to-day ?'
' Oh 1 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 prny you, tell me, '
said her ladyship in a similar tone, — Clarence w
' O Lord, methought what pain it was lo daj
What dreadful noise of fiddles in my ears I
What sights of ugly belUs within my eyes 1
Then came wandering by,
A shadow like a devil, with red hair,
'Diien'd with Sowers ; and she bawl'd out
^^^^^^^oience is come ; false, fleeting, perjured C\Mmw.V^
CHARACTERS
•Oh, Mrs, Luttridge to the life I' cried Lady Delacour: 'I
ow where you have been now, and I piiy 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. Hervcy ihrew himself on the sofa j Lord Delacour
■whistled as before, and left the room without uttering a
sj-Ilable.
' But my dream lias made me forget myself strangely,' said
". Hervey, turning to Belinda, and producing her bracelet ;
' Mrs. Stanhope promised me that if I delivered ic safely, I
should be rewarded with the honour of putting it on the
owner's fair arm.' A conversation now look place on the
ture of ladies' promises — on fashionable bracelels^ — on the
e 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
md 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
ost uncommonly pleasant young man.
Hervey might have been more than a pleasant
jroUDg man, if he had not been smitten with the desire of being
thought superior in everything, 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
'us. He had considerable literary talents, by which he
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
aS things lo all men — and to all women. He was supposed
to be 3 favourite with the fair sex ; and of all his various excel-
Encies and defects, there was none on which he valued himself
o much as on his gallantry. He was not profligate ; he had
istrong sense of honour, and quick feelings of humanity ; but
e was so easily led, or rather so easily exciwi ^j-j Vxs ^
BELINDA
panions, andnis companions were now of such a sort, that it
was probable he would soon become vicious. As to "
connection with Lady Delacour, he would have started v
horror at the idea of disturbing the peace of a family ; but ia
her femily, he said, there was no peace lo disturb ; he wa>
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 i
incumbent on him to be more scrupulous or more attentive U
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 m
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 calck-match-maker^ the name by which
Mrs, Stanhope was known amongst the men of his acquaint-
ance. Young ladies who liave the misfortune to be conductti
by these artful dames, are always supposed to be partners i:
all the speculations, though their names may not appear in th
firm. If he had not been prejudiced by the character of her
aunt, Mr. Her\*ey would have thought Belinda an undesigninft
unaffected girl ; but now he suspected her of artifice in every
word, look, and motion ; and even when he felt himself r
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 ol'her attraction ; but, frequently, when he
found himself within it, he cursed his folly, and drew back with, i
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, i
the most edifying manner, her indignation against coquetry i
general, and against her ladyship's in particular : she became
\ wonderfully clear-sighted to all the improprieties of her lady-
I ship's conduct. Belinda's newly acquired moral sense wat
I much shocked, that she actually wrote a fiill statement of her
Observations and her scruples to her aunt Stanhope ; conclud-
I ship s condu
much shocki
i:'
CHARACTERS
by a request, that she might not remain under
■teclion of a lady, of whose character she could not approve,
ind whose intimacy might perhaps be injurious to her reput;
if not to her principles.
rs. Stanhope answered Belinda's letter in a very guarded
; she rebuked her niece severely for her imprudence in
nentioning names in such a manner, in a letter sent by the
^^^ post ; assured her that her reputation was in no
langer ; that she hoped no niece of hers would set up for a
)rude-— a character more suspected by men of the world than
sven that of a coquette [ that the person alluded to was a
lerfectly fit chaperon for any young lady to appear with in
public, as long as she was visited by the first people in town ;
]iat as to anything in t\i& privaie conduct of that person, and
IS to any prii'ate breuillicries between her and her lord,
Jelinda should observe on these dangerous topics a profound
alence, both in her Setters and her conversation ; that as long
S the lady continued under the protection of her husband, the
rorld might whisper, but would not speak out ; that as to
Belinda's own principles, she would be utterly inexcusable if,
ifter the education she had received, they could he hurt by
my bad examples ; that she could not be too cautious in
ler management of a man of 's character ; that she could
Bve no serioui cause for jealousy in the quarter she appre-
lended, as marriage there could not be the object ; and there
5 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 lo 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 jnaa-oLgal^ntryjather than of sentiment, and who
was known to play his cards well, anH~t6Tiave" good"lnek when-
ever hearts were trumps.
Belinda's fears of Lady Delacour, as a dangerous rival, were
much quieted by the artful insinuations of Mrs. Stanhope, with
tlespect to her age, etc. ; and in proportion as her fears sub-
ided, she blamed herself for having written too harshly of her
idyship's conduct. The idea that whilst she appeared as
uly Delacour's friend she ought not to piopaga.Ve an-j at.^ '
1
BELINDA
j to her disadvantage, operated powerfully upon Belinda's mind,
I and she reproached herself for having told even her aunt what
i 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 bum 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 lovt-
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 mus^, but don't read my aunt Stanhope's — Oh I I
beg, I entreat, I conjure you I ' 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 I '
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
12
BELINDA
blank, but an attorney-general ? ' pointing to a blank in Mis.
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,' pur-
sued 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 aimt's, I
declare,' said she, patting Belinda's cheek, *What a treasure
to meet with' anything like a new heart! — all hearts, nowa-
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 resiune an air of gaiety — * Oh, 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
14
are making speeches to one another, poor Marriott
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 (he other.
' 1 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 cotild
be disputed.
• Your ladyship's taller than Miss Portman by half a head,'
said Marriott, 'and to be sure will best become tragedy with
this long train ; besides, I had settled all the rest of your lady-
ship'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 — 111 say no more,* cried she, throwing down the
' 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 those /urt'es about nothing ? Have patience with
OS, and you shall be satisfied.'
•That's another affair,' said Marriott.
'Miss Portman,' continued her ladyship, 'don't talk of not
Jiaving spirits, you that are all life ! — What say you, Belinda ?
—Oh yes, you must be the comic muse ; and 1, it seems, must
e tragedy, because Marriott has a passion for seeing me " come
'sweeping by." And because Marriott must have her own way
^erything — she rules me with a rod of iron, my dear, so
tragedy 1 needs must be. — Marriott knows her power.'
There was an air of extreme vexation in Lady Delacour's
Dunlenance 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
iJespotic authority over her mistress; andshe\\aii seravi'^^i
'.'5
BELINDA
I of powwlo
yield an iota of poww t
■ ery caprice of the mos
e time, Belinda imagined'
ir, as she had seen some
be governed by a favouritCi
surprise, that a lady, who would n
her husband, submitted herself to
insolent of waiting- women. For si
that this submission was merely ai
other fine ladies proud of appearing'
maid ; but she was soon convinced that Marriott was no favourite
with Lady Delacour ; that her ladyship's was yio\. proud humility,
but fear. It seemed certain that a woman, extravagantly fond
of ber own ■!w7/, 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 anybody but
Marriott to obtain admission. Miss Portman at first imagined
that Lady Delacour dreaded the discovery of her
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 stiffer
Belinda to follow her into the boudoir. All these things Belinda
recollected in the space of a few seconds, as she stood con-
templating 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
MASKS
Miss Portman regretted that it was too late lo change.
' Not at all too late, my dear,' said Lady Uclacour ; 't.
I late for women to change their minds, their dress, or their
ers. Seriously, you know, we are to call at my friet)d Lady
igleton's — she sees masks to-night : I'm quite intimate there ;
make her let me step up to her own room, where no soul
I interrupt us, and there we can change our dresses, and
irriott will know nothing of the matter. Marriott's a faithful
eature, and very fond of me ; fond of power loo — but who is
M ? — we must all have our faults : one would not quarrel with
ich a good creature as Marriott for a trifie.' Then suddenly
said, ' Not a human being will find us
at the masquerade ; for no one but Mrs. Freke knows that
; the two muses, Clarence Hervey swears he should know
any disguise — but I defy him — I shall lake special delight
puzzling him. Harriot Freke has told him, in confidence,
at I'm to be the widow Brady, in man's clothes : now that's
be Harriot's own character ; so Hervey will make fine
infusion, '
! soon as they got lo Lady Singleton's, Lady Delacoiir and
Portman immediately went upstairs to exchange dresses,
BOr Belinda, now thai she felt herself in spirits lo undertake
rather vexed to be obliged to give up her
scorning character ; but there was no resisting the polite energy
Lady Delacour's vanity. Her ladyship ran as quick as light-
ig into a closet within the dressing-room, saying to Lady
bgleton's woman, who attempted to follow with — ' Can I do
Ijrthing for your ladyship?' — 'No, no, no — nothing, nothing
•thank ye, thank ye, — I want no assistance — I never let any-
dy do anything for me but Marriott ; ' and she boiled her-
f in the closet, in a few minutes she lialf opened the door,
Kw out her tragic robes, and cried, 'Here, Miss Portman,
m me yours — quick — and let's see whether comedy or tragedy
II be ready first.'
' Lord biess and forgive me,' said Lady Singleton's woman,
ten Lady Delacour at last threw open the door, when she was
mpletely dressed — ' but if your la'ship has not been dressing
this time in that den, without anything in the shape of a
)king-glas5, and not to let me help I I ihat should have been
Lady Delacour put half a guinea into the vr3.\tin%-va&v'^%
n
1
BELINDA
hand, laughed afTectedly at her own lohimsicalitifs, and declarei
that she could al«-ays dress herself belter without
with one. All this went off admirably well with everybody bi
Miss Ponman ; she could not help thinking^ it extraordinary tbat '
a person who was obviously fond of being waited upon would
never suffer any person to assist her at her toilette except
Marriott, a woman of whom she was evidently afraid. Ladf
DelacouHs quick eye saw curiosity painted in Belinda's counte-
nance, 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 lone, of throwing Belinda
into confusion.
The first person Ihey 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-knouu picture. For
this purpose he had exerted much ingenuity in tl
and execution of a length of coiled skin, which he
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 ;
mtises and harlequins, gipsies and Cleopatras, began to talk
1
latV
.ildl
;pt I
A,
of their private affairs, and of the r
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
iwhispered, ' Lady Delacour, why this unnatural reserve ? Do
you imagine that, ihrough this tragical disguise, I have not
Ibund you out ? '
The tragic muse, apparently absorbed in meditation, vouch-
safed 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 ilirt as your heart could wish forf
' There's danger in flirting,' said Clarence, ' with an arrant
flirt of Mrs. Stanhope's training. There's a kind of electricity
sdMut that girl. I have a sort of cobweb feeling, an imaginary
t coming al! over me.'
* Fore-warned is fore-armed,' replied his companion ; ' a man
mist be a novice indeed that could be taken in at this time of
day by a niece of Mrs. Sunhope's.'
'That Mrs, Stanhope must be a good, clever dame, faith,'
d a third gentleman ; ' there's no less than six of her nieces
whom she has £vi ii^ within these four winters — not one of 'em
II that has not made a catch-match. — There's the eldest 6f
the set, Mrs. Tollemache, what had she, in the devil's name,
t up with in the world but a pair of good eyes ? — her aimt,
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
rf my senses ; hut you see they did ToUemache's business.
;ver, they are going to part now, I hear : Tollemache was
tired of her before the honeymoon 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 3 connoisseur in music ; and Mrs. Stanhope flattered
" im that he was one.'
TTie gentlemen joined in the general laugh : the tragic n
sighed.
"Even were she at the Si
BELINDA
niuse^re not laugh, except behind her mask,' said Claroicei
' Far be it from lier 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 1 The victims
are sacrificed before they have sense enough to avoid their
fate.'
Clarence Hervey imagined thai 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, Rochforl, 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 en-
compassed so that she could not retreat.
'As to Jenny Mason, the fifth of tlie meces,' continued the
witty gentieman, ' she was as brown as m^ogany, 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 hereelf
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 nan 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 liawked about everywhere, and the
atuit 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
no match for dame Stanhope. Many of my
MASKS
suxjoaintance were tempted to go and look at the premtaes,
but not one, you may be sure, had a thought of becoming a
tenant for life.'
•That's an honour reserved for you, Clarence Heney,' said
another, tapping him upon the shoulder. — 'Give ye joy, Her\-ey ;
give ye joy ! '
' Me ! ' said CUrence, 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 1 ' cried Clarence ; ' but the
devil's in it if I don't know my own mind belter than any of
you. You don't imagine I go to Lady Delacour's to look for
a wifef — Belinda Portman's a good, pretty girl, but what
then ? Do you think I'm an idtot ? — 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 ! wy Hervey ! moat favoured of my votaries, why
do you forsake me
Though you have lost your serpent's form, yet you may please
any of the fair daughters of Eve in your o^vn.'
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 mote persuBsive sighs,'
said Qarence Hervey.
'A good bold Stanhope cast of the net, faith,' whispered
■lais companions. ' Melpomene, hasl. thou fet^W. ■Ow^^^fiil
BELINDA
to marble ? ' pursued Lady Delacour. ' I am rot v«y well,'
whispered Miss Foreman to her ladyship : 'could we get
' Gel away from Clarence Hervey, do you meao ? ' replied
her ladyship, in a whisper j "lis 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, with-
out 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 1 committed, that I was not favoured with
one word?' said Clarence Hervey, who had followed them
downstairs, 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.
' I-et 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. Oh, I did not mean to
tell j'OM to stay,' said she to Hervey, who involuntarily followed
' I'm perfectly well, now — perfectly well,' said Belinda.
' Perfectly a simpleton, I think,' said Lady Delacour. 'Nay,
roy 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.'
'hen Lady Delacour pulled off Belinda's mask, her face
^^^V^hen
MASKS
mas, during ihe first instant, pale ; the next momeiit, crimsoned
over with a burning blush.
' What is the matter with ye both ?
Lady Delacour, turning to Mr. Hervey. 'Did you n
a woman blush before f — or did you never say or do anything
make a woman blush before ? Will you give Miss Portman
jlass of water ? — there's some behind you on thai sideboard,
m !— but he has neither eyes, ears, nor understanding. — Do
go about your business,' said her ladyship, pushing him to-
wards the door — MDo go about your business, for I haven't
patience with you : on my conscience I believe the
love — and not with me ! That's sal-voiatile Jbr you,
child, I perceive,' continued she to Belinda. 'Oh, you can walk
" Br you are on slippery ground ; remember
Clarence Her\'ey is not a marrying man, and you are not a
married woman.'
perfectly indifTerent to me, madam,' lieliada 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 1 absolutely dumb I I protest,' said her ladyship, as
he banded 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 1 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
liave 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
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 a!! this ?
r'd best trust me — for I know as much of meti anitt
"3
Stanhope at least ; and in one word, you have
lofting to fear from me, and everything to hope from yourself,
if jflu will only dry up your tears, keep on your mask, and lake
ffly sdiice i youll find it as good as your auni Stanhope's,'
'My aunt Stanhope's! Oh,' cried Belinda, 'never, never
mate will I take such advice ; never more will 1 expose myself
obe insulted as a female adventurer. — Little did I know in what
. light 1 appeared i httle did I know what ^i^w/Zt-wifa thought
of my aimt Stanhope, of my cousins, of myself!'
Gentlemen / 1 presume Clarence Hervey stands at this
instant, in your imagination, as the representative of all the
gentlemen in England ; and he, instead of Anacharais Cloots,
', to be sure, Poraleur du ginre humain. Pray let me
have a specimen of the eloquence, which, to judge by its effects,
St be powerful indeed.'
Mbs Portman, not without some reluctance, repeated the
iversation 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,
sod your cousins, and your friends, from generation to genera-
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, 1 have in my
writing-desk, and on my mantelpiece, 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 ihey would care the hundredth part of
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
keep it up — keep it op 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 didrit hurl ye^
you will be trod under foot. Now you'll meet those youngs
itinually who took the liberty of laughing at your aunt,
and your cousins, and yourself ; they are men of fashion.
Ihow them you've no feeling, and theyil a.cknowVed'jftiai^
g_l|^^^
^37
lOi^j^^l
BELINDA ^
a woman of fashion. Vouil marry belter than any of yi
cousins, — Clarence Hervey if )-ou can; and then it will
your turn to laugh about nets and cages. As to love and
that—'
'v- The carriage stopped at the Pantheon just as her ladyship
came to the words ■ love and all that.' Her thoughts took %.
different turn, and during the remainder of the night she
exhibited, in such a manner as to attract universal admiratitm,
all the ease, and grace, and gaiety, of Euphrosyne.
To Belinda the night appeared long and dull ; the
place *it of chimney-sweepers and gipsies, the antics of harle-
quins, the graces of tlower-girls and Cleopatras, had not power
to amuse her ; for her thoughts still recurred to that conversa-
tion which had given her so much pain — a pain which Lady'
Delacour's raillery had foiled to obliterate.
' How happy you aje, Lady Delacour,' said she, when they
got into the carriage to go home ; ' how happy you are to have
such an amazing flow of spi '
'Amazing you might well say, if you knew all,' said Lady
Delacour ; and she heaved a deep sigh, threw herself back u»
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 mor^
nor had Miss Portman the courage to interrupt her medi
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 wiU'
leave me at the last, like all the rest, — 'tis no matter.' Her
ladyship sunk back into her former attitude ; but at^er she
had remained silent for some minutes, she started up and
exclaimed-
'If i had served myself with half the zeal that I have
I served the world, I should rot now be thus forsaken ! I have
I sacrificed reputation, happiness, everything to the love of frolit
— all frolic will soon be at an end with me — I am dying — an
I I shall die unlamented by any human being. If I were to li\
my life over again, what a different life it should be ! — What a
I different person / would be
I dying.'
' Tbis declaration was taken from llio lips of a ceiebratcd
26
MASKS
t's astonishment at these words, and at the solemn
1 which they were pronounced, was inexpressible ;
she gued ai Lady Delacour, and then repeated the word,. —
'dyingl' — 'Yes, dying!' said Lady Delacour.
'But you seem to me, and to all llie world, in perfect heallli ;
and but half an hour ago in perfect spirits,' sajd lielinda.
I '! seem to you and to all the world, what I am not — t tell
you I am dying,' said her ladyship, in an emphatic tone.
Not a word more passed till they got home. Ijidy Dela-
onit harried upstairs, bidding Belinda follow her to her dress-
ing-room. Marriott w-as lighting the six wax candles on the
dressing.iabie. — 'As 1 live, they have changed dresses after
an,' said Marriott to herself, as she fixed her eyes upon Lady
Delacour and Miss Portman. ' I'll be bmnt, if I don't make
iiy 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
tsbie, she passed on hastily with Miss Porlman through her
dressing-room, through her bedchamber, and to the door of
^t mysterious cabinet.
'Harriott, the key of this door,' cried she impatiently, after
ilie 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 Dela-
jr, 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 (Ae //tings to rights, my lady ?' said
Marriott, catching fast hold of the opening door.
' I'll ring when you are wanted, Marriott,' said Lady Dela-
ur ; and pushing open the door with violence she rushed
■fcrward to the middle of the room, and turning back, she
I beckoned to Belinda to follow her — ' Come in ; what is it you
are afraid of?' said she. Belinda went on, and the moment
sha 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
1h*iid, and which burned but dimly. Belinda, as she looked
V nothing but a confusion of hnen rags ; vials, some
prnpty, some full, and she perceived that [here was a strong
■nell of medicines.
27
J
L
BELINDA
Lady Delacour, whose motions were all precipitate, Ifl
those of a person whose mind is in great agitation, 1
from side to side of the room, without seeming to know v
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 o,
beauty remained on her death-like countenance, which fonnet
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 '
she revealed a hideous spectacle.
Belinda sunk back into a chair ; Lady Delacour flung her-
self 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 h
seen, and a thousand times more for that which you cannot
see :— my mind is eaten away like my body by inctirable
disease — inveterate remorse — remorse for a life of folly— of
folly which has brought on me all the punishments of g
' My husband,' continued she, and her voice suddenly
altered from the lone of grief to that of anger — ' my husband
hales me — no matter — I despise him. His relations hate me
— no matter — I despise them. My own relations hate n
no matter, 1 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 enduie
than their insulting pity. I will die, as 1 have lived, the envy
and admiration of the worid. When I am gone, let them find
out their mistake ; and moralise, if they will, over my grave.'
She paused, Belinda had no power to speak.
' Promise, swear lo 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 nal friend, to whom I trusted every secret of i
life, every thought of my heart. Fool ! idiot ! dupe that I v
to trust to the friendship of a woman whom 1 knew to ^^
without principle : but 1 thought she had honour ; 1 thought
she could never betray /«?.— O Harriot! Harriot I you 1
28
]
'Trust to one,' said Belinda, pressing her hand, with
the tenderness which humanity could dictate, ' uho will ncv^s
leave ywt at the mercy of an insolent waiting- worn an — trust ^tj
' Trust to you ! ' said Lady Delacour, looking up eagerly s.x
Belinda's face ; ' yes — I think — I may trust to you ; for thougrJ^
I a niece of Mrs. Stanhope's, I have seen this day, and haw*
seen with surprise, symptoms of artless feeling about yo*J(>
' This was what temptKl me to open my mind to you when I
found that I had lost the only friend — but I u'ill think no nior'*
of that — if you have a heart, you must feel for me. — Leave irx*
now — to-morrow you shall hear my whole history — now I atrf
quite exhausted — ring for Marriott.' Marriott appeared witli
a face of constrained civility and latent rage. ' Put me to bedj
Marriott,' said Lady Delacour, with a subdued voice; 'htJ'
first tight Miss Portman to her room — she need not — yet— se^
the horrid business of my toilette.'
Belinda, when she was left aione, immediately opened he«
shutters, and threw up the sash, to refresh herself with dt^
morning air. She felt excessively fatigued, and ii
of her mind she could not think of anything distinctly. She |
took off her masquerade dress, and went to bed in hopes 01 I
forgetting, for a few hours, what she felt indelibly impressed*
upon her imagination. But it was in vain that she endeavoun
to compose herself to sleep ; her ideas were in loo great a
painful confusion. For some time, whenever she closed li
eyes, the face and form of Lady Deiacour, such s
just beheld them, seemed to haunt her ; afterwards, the idei
of Clarence Hervey, and the painful recollection of the collj
versation she had overheard, recurred to her : the words, '
you think 1 don't know that Belinda Portman is a composition
of art and affectation ? ' were fixed in her memory,
collected 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 mi
however, was not yet sufficiently calm to reflect ; she seen
only to live over again the preceding night. At last,
strange motley figures which she had seen at the masqueratfl
flitted before her eyes, and she sunk into an uneasy slumber.
p
LADY DELACOUR'S IMSTORV
CHAPTER m
-, HISTORV
1
Miss PORTMAN was awakened by the riiiginB of Lady Dela-
cour's bedchamber bell. She opened her eyes wiih the con-
fused 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 11!! is to have to-day what Garricic
sed to call a. gander feast — will you dine with me tite-A-t(ie, and
11 write an excuse^ alias a lie, to Lady Singleton, in the form
f a charming note — I pique myself lur FMoguence du billet
— then we shall have the evening to ourselves. I have much
s people usually have when they begin to talk of
Biemselves.
' I have taken a double dose of opium, and am not so
horribly out of spirits as 1 was last night i so you need not be
afraid of another scene.
' Let me see you in my dressing-room, dear Belinda, as soon
B you have adored
' With head uncover'd tlic coEmetic powere.
iut you don't paint — no matter — you will — you must — every-
lody must, sooner or later. In the meantime, whenever you
fant to send a note that shall not be opened by the bearer, put
our trust neither in wafer nor wax, but twist it as I twist
nine. You see I wish to put you in possession of some valu-
ble secrets before I leave this world — this, by the bye, I don't,
pon second thoughts, which arc always best, mean to do yet.
rhere certainly were such people as Amazons — I hope you
dn[iire them — for who could live without the admiration of
lelinda Portman f — not Clarence Hervey assuredly — nor yet
' T. C. H. Delacour.'
Belinda obeyed the summons to her ladyship's dressing-
t foand Lady Delacour with her face completely
repaired with paint, .inil her spirits with opium. She was in
high consultation iviih Marriott and Mrs. Franks, the inilliner,
about the crape petticoat of her birthnight liress, which wM
extended over a large hoop in full stale. Mrs. Franks des-
canted long and learnedly upon festoons and loops, knots
fi-iDges, submitting all the time everything to her ladyship^
better judgment.
Marriott was sulky and silent. She opened her lips bat
once upon the question of laburnum or no laburnum flowers.
Against them she quoted the memoirs and authority of thi
celebrated Mrs. Bellamy, who has a case in point to prov^-
that ' straw colour must ever look like dirty white by candle-
light.' Mrs. Franks, to compromise ibe matter, proposed
gold laburnums, ' because nothing can look better by candle-
light, or any light, than gold ;' and Lady Deiacour, who was
afraid that the milliner's imagination, now that it had
touched upon gold, might be led to the mlgar idea of readf
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 tako
into consideration your court dress, my dear Belinda — " Misa
Portman presented by Lady Deiacour " — Mrs. Franks, let
dress, for heaven's sake, be something that will make a. fine
paragraph :^I give you four-and-twenty hours to think of IL.
I have done a horrid act this day,' continued she, after Mis..
Franks had left the room — ' absolutely written a twisted
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 Deiacour 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 lifft
and opinions in the following manner ; —
' I do nothing by halves, my dear. 1 shall not lell you my-
adventures as Gil Bias told his to the Count d'Olivarez —
■7 skipping over the usefitl 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 daresay you arc not impatient to anticipate.
LADY DELACOUR'S HISTORY
|V 1 never read or listened to a moral at the end of a story in my
ilife;— majiners for me, and morals for those that like them.
I ' My dear, you will be woefully disappointed rf in my story you
expect anything like a novel. I once beai'd a };eneral say that
nollung was less like a review than a battle ; and I can tell /
yw Ihit nnthlnj^ i-i jiiore unlikea_novel than real life. Of all V
lives, mine has been the least romantic, "No" love "in it, but a
great deal of hate. 1 was a rich heiress — ^1 had, I believe, a
Imndred thousand pounds, or more, and twice as many caprices;
' was handsome and witty — or, to speak with that kind of
circumlocution which is called humility, the world, the partial
"O'ld, thought me a beauty and a bd esprit. Having lold you
■"jfortune, need I add, that 1, or it, had lovers in abundance —
rf all sorts and degrees— not to reckon those, it may be pre-
sumed, who died of concealed passions for me ? I had sixteen
il'darations and proposals in form ; then what in the name of
*Onder, or of common sense — which by the bye is the greatest
iders — what, in the name of common sense, made me
■nany Lord Delacour ? Why, my dear, you^no, not you, but
My girl who is not used to have a parcel of admirers, would
'hinl; it the easiest thing in the world to make her choice ; hut
fel her judge by what she feels when a dexterous mercer or
linen-draper produces pretty thing after pretty thing — and this
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
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
; and my lovers, and just so —
' Snd was the hour, and luckless was die day,
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
jnost convenient thing in the world to a man in his condition.
•Dzenges are of sovereign use in some complaints. The heiress
specific in some consumptions. You are surprised
I can laugh and jest about such a melancholy thing as my
':th Lord Delacour ; and so am I, especially when 1
lleci all the circumstances ; for though. I bragged q1 \\ik».
BELINDA
n my history, there was when 1 was a goose or'
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 1 married in hnpes of provoking the man I
loved. The worst of it was, 1 did not provoke him as much
as I expected. Six months afterwards 1 heard of his marriage
with a very amiable woman. I hate those very amiable ivomtn.
Poor Percival 1 I should have been a very happy woman, I
fimcy, if I had married you — for I believe you were the only
man who ever really loved me ; but all that is over now 1^
Where were we? Oh, 1 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 lo 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 1.
During the first year of our marriage, I had always the upper
hand in these disputes, and the last word ; and 1 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 e\'en 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 1 unluckily told his man
Cbampfort that he knew no niore 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 intt
fiord's head, that the world thought — "J/f lady governec
34
LADY DELACOUK'S HISTORY
\im." My lord took fire. They say the torpedo, the coldefl
f cold creatures, sometimes gives out a spark — I suppose
rhen electrified with anger. The next time that innocent I
isisted upon my Lord Dclacour's doing or not doing — 1
forget which— the inost reasonable thing in the world, my lord
turns short round, and answers — "My Lady Delacotir, 1 am
t a man to be governed by a wife." — And from that time to
s the words, " I am not a man to be governed by a wife,"
Iiave been written in his obstinate face, as all the world who
1 read the human countenance may see. My dear, I laugh ;
t even in the midst of laughter there is sadness. But you
n't know what it is — 1 hope you never may — to have an
stinate fool for a bosom friend.
' 1 at first flattered myself that my lord's was not an in-
veterate, 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
lutnane or prudent maxim. 1 determined to try the poison of
Icalousy, by way of au alternative. I had long kept it in fielto
s my ultimate remedy. I fixed upon a proper subjcct^a man
vilh whom 1 thought that I could coquette lo all eternity,
ritlioat any danger to myself — a certain Colonel Lawless, as
ily a coxcomb as you would wish to see. The world, said
I myself, can never be so absurd as lo suspect Lady
>eUcaur with such a man as this, though her lord may, and
' ; for nothing is too absurd for him to beheve. Half my
y proved just ; that is saying a great deal for any theory.
ly lord swallovred the remedy that I had prepared for him
I avidity and a bonhomie which it did me good to
iehold; my remedy operated beyond my most sanguine especta-
K>ns. The poor man was cured of his obstinacy, and became
tark mad with jealousy. Then indeed I had some hopes of
am; fiat a madman can be managed, a fool cannot. In a month's
Ime I made him quite docile. With a face longer than the
reeping philosopher's, he came to me one morning, and assured
ne, " he would do everything I pleased, provided I would con-
|ilt my own honour and his, and give up Colonel Lawless."
'"Give up 1 " — I could hardly forbear laughing at the
1 replied, " that as long as my lord treated me
ming respect, I had never in thought or deed given
35
olde^^^^
1
fflP
L
^ffm
^^M__* J i^MMjUi
M
^l^&J
1
M|
1
o^ti--^
MZ
LADV DELACOUR'S HISTOKV
^aim just cause of complaint ; but that I \
be insulted, or to be kept, as I had hitherto been, in leading-
strings by a husband." My lord, flattered s
should be with the idea that it was possible he should be
I suspected of keeping a wife in leading-strings, fell to making
■ protestations — " He hoped his future conduct would prove,"
^ etc Upon this hint I gave the reins to my imaginatiotj, and
^LfiiU drive I went into a fresh career of extravagance : if I were
^■checked, it was an insull, and I began directly to talk of
^^^eading- strings. This ridiculous game 1 played successfully
^Hntough for some time, till at length, though naturally rather
^Blow at calculation, he actually discovered that if we lived at
^Htie rate of twenty thousand a year, and had only ten thousand
^^h year to spend, we should in due lime have nothing left.
^^Bliis DOtable discovery he communicated to nie one morning,
^KAer a long preamble. When he had finished prosing, I
^Kgreed that it was demonstrably just that he should retrench
^■b'j expenses ; but that it was equally unjust and impossible
^^piat I could make any reformation in my civil list : that
^KcoDOmy was a word which I had never heard of in my life
^^ml I married his lordship ; that, upon second recollection, II
^Kras true I had heard of such a thing as national economy,
^Knd that it would be a very pretty, though rather hackneyed
^■Dpic of declamation for a maiden speech in the House of
^^Lorda. I therefore advised him to reserve all he had to say
^^feon the subject for the noble lord upon the woolsack ; nay, I
^■Kry graciously added, that upon this condition I would go to
^^Bie house myself to give his arguments and eloquence a fair
^^Btaiing, and that I would do my best to keep myself awake.
^B%is was all mighty playfii! and witty j but it happened that
^^ky Lord Delacour, who never had any great taste for wit,
^Hpuld not this unlucky morning at all relish it. Of course 1
^Brew angry, and reminded him, with an indelicacy which his
^^Bant of generosity justified, that an heiress, who had brought
^^Bhundred thousand pounds into his family, had some right to
^^bui£e herself, and that it was not my fault if elegant amuse-
^^bents were more expensive than others.
^B 'Then came a long criminating and recriminating chapter,
^Ht was " My lord, your Newmarket blunders " — " My lady,
^^Kur cursed theatricals "■ — " My lord, 1 have surely a right " —
^^temd^rWyi J httfg aarrfy as good a T^sht."
BELINDA
' But, my dear Belinda, however wc ttiighi pay one another,.
we could not pay all the world with words. In short, after
running tlirough thousands and tens of thousands, we wo^
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, 1 never troubld
myself to inquire ; it might have hten the black art, fo'
anything I know to the contrary. I know nothing of business-
So I signed all the papers they brought to me ; and I »vas
mighty well pleased to find, that by so easy an expedient ^
writing "T. C. H, Delacour," I could command money at W**
I signed, and signed, till at last I was with all due civilW'
infonned that my signature was no longer worth a farthii**!
and when I came to inquire into the cause of this phenomenc:^*'^
I could nowise understand what my Lord Delacour's lawy'
said to me : he was a prig, and I had not patience either
listen lo him or to look at him. I sent for an old uncle ^
mine, who used to manage all my money matters before I vr^
married : I put the uncle and the lawyer into a room, togetli.*^
with their parchments, lo fight the matter out, or to come i
right understanding if they could. The last, it seems, was
I quite impossible. In the course of half an hour, out comes
, my uncle in such a rage ! I never shall forget his face — aW
' the bile in his body had gotten into it ; he had literally r
^whites to his eyes. " My dear uncle," said I, " what is th
inatter ? Why, you are absolutely gold stick in waiting."
' ' " No matter what I ain, 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 j
and that 1 had been swindled out of my senses, and out of my
dower. I repeated all that my uncle said, very faithfully, to
LADY DliLACOUR-S HISTORY
dOtd Delacour; and all that either he or his lawyer coul3"
[t by way of answer was, thai " Necessity had n
, it must be allowed, though it might be the mother
vas never with my lord the mother of invention,
faving now found out that I had a good right to complain, I
idulged myself in it most gloriously ; in short, my dear, we
ad a comfortable family quarrel. Love quarrels are easily
lade up, but of money quarrels there is no end. From the
t these money quarrels commenced, I began to hale
Drd Delacour ; before, I had only despised him. Yon can
ive no notion to what meanness extravagance reduces men.
have known Lord Delacour shirk, and look so shabby, and
1 so many hes to people about a hundred guineas — a hundred
ineas I — what do I say ? — about twenty, ten, five I Oh, my
ir, I cannot bear the thoughts of it I
' But I was going on to tell you, that my good uncle and all
f relations quarrelled with me for having ruined myself, as
y said j but I said they quarrelled with me for fear I should
: them for some of their "viVe iraiA." Accordingly, I
)used and ridiculed them, one and all ; and for my pains,
1 my acquaintance said, that " Lady Delacour was a woman
K vast deal of spirit."
"ieved from our money embarrassments by the '
inely death of a rich nobleman, to whose large estate my
", Delacour was heir-at-law. I was intoxicated with the
He compliments of all my acquaintance, and 1 endeavoured
I console myself for misery at home by gaiety abroad.
nbitious of pleasing universally, I became the worst of
ivea — a slave to the world. Not a moment of my time was
my own disposal — not one of my actions ; I may say, not
B of my thoughts was my own ; 1 was obliged to find things
banning" every hour, which tired me to death ; and every
f it was Ihe same dull round of hypocrisy and dissipationi
nt wonder to hear me speak in this manner, Belinda — hut
e must speak the truth sometimes ; and this is what I have
en saying to Harriot Freke continually, for these ten years
SI. Then why persist in the same kind of life? you say.
hy, my dear, because 1 could not stop ; I was fit for this
id of life and for no other : 1 could not be happy at hotiiej
r what sort of a companion could I have made of Lord
~ By this time lie was lired of his horse Potatoe,
39 ,
W and
and his horse Highflyer, and his horse Eclipse, and Goliah,
and Jenny Grey, etc. ; and he had taken to hard drinking,
which soon turned him, as you see, quite into a beasL
' 1 forgot to tell you that I had three children during the
first five years of my marriage. The first was a boy ; he was
bom dead ; and my loid, 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 bom alive.
My second child was a girl ; but a poor diminutive, sickly
thing. It was the fashion at this lime 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 ihe noveliy 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 rclalions 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 sulfered 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, 1 would not have the barbarity to
nurse it myself. Accordingly when my third child, a girl, was
l)om, I sent it off immediately to the country, to a stout,
healthy, broad-faced nurse, under whose care it grew and
nourished ; so that at three years old, when it was brought
hack 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, i\ plus forte
riu'son, not to undertake its education. Lord Delacour could
i]ot bear the child, because it was not a boy. Tlic girl was
put under the care of a governess, who plagued my heart out
her airs and tntcassen'cs for three or four years; at the
LADV DELACOUR'S HISTORY
end of which time, as she turned out to be Lord Delacoui's
1 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 rale, be better instructed than she could be at home. I
beg yoar pardon, my dear, for this digression on nursing and
schooling ; but 1 wanted only to explain to you why it was
that, ivhen I was weary of the business, I still went on in a i
coarse of dissipation. You see I had nothing at home, either
in [he shape of husband or children, to engage my affections.
I believe it was this "aching void" in my heart which made
ne, after looking abroad some time for a bosom friend, take
such a prodigious fancy to Mrs. Freke. She was jusi then
coming into fashion ; she struck me, the first lime I met her,
M being downright ugly ; but there was a wild oddity in her
counienance which made one stare at her, and she was de-
lighted to be stared at, especially by me ; so we were mutually
^eable to each other — 1 as starer, and she as slaree.
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 1 call hariint scarum manners into fashion.
j I told you that she had assurance — impudence I should have
called it, for no other vrord is strong enough. Such things as
!l have heard Harriot Freke say I — You will not believe it^
,bul her conversation at first absolutely made me, like an old-
ipshioned fool, wish J had a fan to play with. But, to my
jBstonishment, ail this look surprisingly with a set of fashionable
I young men. I found it necessary to reform my manners. If
I had not taken heart of grace, and publicly abjured the ,
heresies oi false delicacy, I should have been excommunicated, l/
Lady Delacour's spnghtly elegance — allow me to speak of
Biyself 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
: hollow ; it was therefore good policy to make her my
&iend : we joined forces, and nothing could stand against us.
3ut I have no right to give myself credit for good policy in
Ibmiing' this intimacy; 1 really followed thi
my imagination. There was a frantness in Hmib
Hiui:i^|^^
BELINDA
manner vhkh I mistook for artlessness of characler: i
spoke with such unbounded freedoni on certain subjects,
1 gave tier credit for unbounded sincerity on all subjects :
had the talent of making the world believe tlutt virtue ti
invulnerable by nature which disdained the common ouiw
of art for its defence. 1, amongst others, took it for granted^
that the woman who could make it her sport to " touch iha
brink of all we hate," must have a stronger head than o "
people. I have since been convinced, however, of my mistakei^
I am persuaded that few can touch the brink without tumblii^
headlong down the precipice. Don't apply this, my dearj .
literally, to the person of whom we were speaking ; I am
base enough lo betray her secrets, however 1 may have b
provoked by her treachery. Of her character and history yoa
shall hear nothing but what is necessary for my own justifica-
tion. 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 honon
and his," Like the cosmogony-man in The Vicar of IVakefield,
ho came out over and over with this cant phrase, which had
once stood him in siead. " Do you think, my lord," said 1,
*' 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 everybody 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, d
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
m pleading guilty in the Lawless cause, that 1 was downright
ashamed of myself, and, purely to prove my innocence, I deter-
mined, upon the first convenient opportunity, to renew n
intimacy with the colonel. The opportunity which I ;
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 jusl at
^titne from the continent, where he had been with I'
42
LADY DELACOUR'S HISTORY
fegimeni ; lie retumed with a wound across his forehead and
a black fillet, which made him took something n
hero, and ten times more like a coxcomb, than ever. He was
at all events ; and amongst other ladies, Mrs.
odious Mrs, Luttridge ! smiled upon him. The
iwe\'er, had taste enough to know the difference
Dile and smile : he laid himself and his laurels at
. I^ and I carried him and them about in triumph,
^erever I went, especially to Mrs. Luttridge's, envy and
^ndal joined hands to attack me, and 1 heard wondering
^d whispering wherever 1 went. I had no object in view but
'o provoke my husband ; therefore, conscious of the purity of
"*!■ intentions, it was my delight to brave the opinion of the
'I'Ondering world. I gave myself no concern about the effect
^y coquetry might have upon the object of this flirtation.
**oor Lawless ! Heart, I took it for granted, he had none ;
*lOw should a coxcomb come by a heart ? Vanity I knew he
'^ad in abundance, but this gave me no alarm, as I thought
ttiat if it should ever make him forget himself, I mean forget
■Vhat 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 losewith as much gaiety as anybody else could win ;
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
as 1 thought, came up close to the coach door, and stared
ill 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
IfeUow jtmiped into the carriage after me; 1 thought he was
mad : 1 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 >'ou ? My name's Lawless :
who the devil are you ? " The answer to this was a convulsion
cf laughter. By the laugh I knew it to be Harriot Freke,
Who am 1? only a Freke!" cried she: "shake hands." I
gave her my hand, into the carriage she sprang, and desired
43 i
BELINDA
the colonel to follow her : Lawless laughed, we all laugl
and drove away. "Where do you think I've been?"
Harriot ; " in the gallery of the House of Commons
squeezed to death these four hours ; but I swore
Sheridan's speech to-night, and I did ; betted Jifiy guineas I
would with Mrs. Luttridge, and have won. Fun and Frekt
for ever, huzza ! " Harriot was mad with spirits, and so noisy
and unmanageable, that, as 1 told her, I was sure she wis
drunk. Lawless, in his silly way, laughed incessantly, and 1
was so taken up with her oddities, that, for some time, I did
not perceive we were going the Lord knows where ; liU, at
last, when the 'lanim of Harriot's voice ceased for an instant,
I was struck with the strange sound of the carriage. " When
are we ? not upon the stones, I'm sure," said I ; and putting
my head out of the window, 1 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 U
unnecessary nowadays, thank God ! " To this 1 agreed, and
laughed for fear of being ridiculous. " Guess where you are
going," said Harriot, I guessed and guessed, but cotild 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'i
flambeau was out ; I could only just see by the lamps that we
were at the door of a lone, odd-looking house. Tlie house
door opened, and an old woman appeared with a lantern in her
' " Where is this farce, or freak, or whatever you call it, to
end ? " said I, as Harriot pulled me into the dark passage alonj
with her.
'Alas ! my dear Belinda,' said Lady Delacour, pausing,
little foresaw where or how it was to end. But 1 am not cc
yet to the tragical part of my story, and as long as I can Liugb
I will. As the old woman and her miserable light
before us, I could almost have thought of Sir Berlrand, or of
r» horrificaiions, J but I heard Lawless, who
44
I
"1
1
LADY DELACOUR'S HISTORY
old help laughing at Ihe wrong time, bursting behind me,
3 sense of his own superiority.
" Now you will learn your destiny. Lady Deiacour ! " said
riol, in a solensn lone.
" Ves I from the celebrated Mrs. W , ihe modern
2r in art magic," said I, laughing, "for, now I guess
lercabouts 1 am. Colonel Lawless's laugh broke the spell
t Freke, never whilst you live expect to succeed in the
Mime." Harriot swore at the colonel for the veriest s^oit-
irt she had ever seen, and she whispered lo me — "The
ison he laughs is because he is afraid of our suspecting the
ith of him, that he believes tout de bon in conjuration, and
! devil, and all that." The old woman, whose cue I found
£ to be dumb, opened a door at (he top of a narrow stair-
se, and pointing to a tall figure, completely enveloped in fur,
t us to our fate, I will not trouble you with a pompous d&
ription of all the mummery of the scene, my deur, as 1
spair of being able to frighten you out of your wits. I should
ve been downright angry with Harriot Freke for bringing me
such a place, but that 1 knew women of the first fashion had
with Mrs. W before us— some in sober sadness,
: by way of frolic. So as there was no fear of being
jculous, there was no shame, you know, and my conscience
i quite at ease. Harriot had no conscience, so she was
rays at ease ; and never more so than in male attire, which
! had been told became her particularly. She supported
t character of a young rake with such spirit and truths that
am sure no common conjuror could have discovered any-
ng feminine about her. She rattled on with a set of
Qsensical questions ; and among other things she asked,
n will Lady Deiacour marry again after her lord's
ath?"
' " She wiE never marry after her lord's death," answered
) oracle. " Then she will marry during his lifetime," said
trtioL "True," answered the oracle. Colonel Lawless
ighed ; I was angry ; and the colonel would have been
iel, for he was a gentleman, but there was no such thing as
uioging Mrs. Freke, who, though she had laid aside the
tdesty of her own sex, had not acquired the decency of the
ler. "Who is to be Lady Delacour's second husband?"
' I oflend any of the present company by
45
BELINDA
1
tphedH
ughll
naming the man." "Her second husband I cannot name,*«
replied ihe oracle, "but let her beware of a Lawless lovef.'j
Mrs. Freke and Colonel Lawless, encouraged by her, triumphw
over me without mercy — 1 may say, without shanie I
my dear, 1 am in a hurry to have done with all this : though t
" dated upon folly," yet I was terrified at the thoughts of any-
thing worse. The idea of a divorce, the public brand of A
shamefiil life, shocked me in spite of all my real and ail my
assumed levity. Oh that I had, at this instant, dared to iti
myself.' But my fear of ridicule was greater than my fear of
vice. " Bless me, my dear Lady Delacout," 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 verilj
believe you are afraid to trust yourself with us. Which of us'
are you afraid of. Lawless, or me, or yourself ?" There was »
tone of contempt in the last words which piqued me to th?'
quick ; and however strange it may seem, I was now anxioiS
only to convince Harriot that I was not afraid of myselt^
False shame made me act as if I had no shame. You would
not suspect me of knowing anything of false shame, but depend
upon it, my dear, many, who appear to have as much assui^
ance as I have, are secretly its slaves. I moralise, because I
am come to a part of my story which 1 should almost be glad
to omit ; but I promised you that there should be no sins (^
omission. It was light, but not broad daylight, when we got
to Knightsbridge. Lawless, encouraged (for I cannot deny ilj
by the levity of my manner, as well as of Harriot's, was in
higher and more familiar spirits than I ever saw him. Mrst,
Freke desired me to set her down at her sister's, who lived i»
Grosveaor Place t I did so, and I beg you to believe that I'
was in an agony to get rid of my colonel at the same timej.
but you know I could not, before Harriot Freke, absolutely say-
to him, " Get out 1 " 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 ol
her sister's house ; " There I " 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 I" answered 1: "youp
46 I
LAUY DELACOUR'S HISTORY
nd Ihe colonel is much obliged to you for inakiog nobcidy
lim." "My friend the colonel," whispered Harriot, leaning
I her bold masculine aims on the coach door — " my friend
colonel is much obliged to me, I'm sure, for remembering
t the cunning or the knowing woman told us just now ;
when I said I left you alone, I was not guilty of a bull, was
I had the grace to be heaitlly ashamed of this speech,
d called out, in utter confusion, " To Berkley Square. But
re shall I set you down, colonel ? Harriot, good-morning :
't forget you are in man's clothes." I did not dare to repeat
question of " where shall 1 set you down, colonel ? " at ihis
;, because Harriot gave me such an arch, sneering look,
much as to say, "Still afraid of yourself!" We drove on ;
1 persuaded that the confusion which, in spite of all my
I, broke through my affected levity, encouraged Lawless,
was naturally a coxcomb and a fool, to believe that I was
lily his, else he never could have been so insolent. In
trt, my dear, before we had got through the turnpike gate, I
B downright obliged to say to him, " Get out 1 " which 1 did
"i a degree of indignation that quite astonished him. He
ttercd something about ladies knowing their minds ; and I
I, though I went off with flying colours, I secretly blamed
:e]f as much as 1 did him, and I blamed Harriot more than
d either. I sent for her the next day, as soon as 1 could,
uinsult her. Slie expressed such astonishment, and so
■it concern at this catastrophe of our night's frolic, and
med herself with so many oaths, and execrated Lawless for
comb, BO much to the ease and satisfaction of my con-
;e, that I was confirmed in my good opinion of her, and
i felt for her the most lively affection and esteem [ for .
ft, with me esteem ever followed affection, instead of / l/
ction following esteem. Woe be lo all who in morals pre-
lerously put the cart before the horse 1 But to proceed
. my history : all fashionable historians stop to make
cttons, supposing that no one else can have the sense to
« any. My eslsemed friend agreed with me that it would
liestfor al! parties concerned to hush up this business ; that
^wless was going out of town in a few days, to be elected
R borough, we should get rid of him in the best way possible,
"more last words;" that lie had been punished
jr«n the spot, and tiiat to punish twice for the a
47
BELINDA
offence, once in private and once in public, would be contraiy
10 the laws of Englishmen and Englishwomen, and in my caM
would be contrary to the evident dictates of prudence, bccanse
1 could not complain without calling upon Lord Dclacour ti
call Lawless out ; this I could not do without acknowledginfr
that his lordship had been in the right, in warning me abcwt
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, thou^
unluckily he was my lord ; besides, all things considered, f
thought the whole story might not tell so well in the world tet
me, tell it which way I would ; we therefore agreed that it
would be most expedient to hold our tongues. We took it
granted that Lawless would hold his, and as for my people, the^
knew nothing, 1 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 everywhere the next day, and the story
was told especially al odious Mrs. Lullridge's, with such e
gerations as dro\e me almost mad. 1 was enraged, inconc
ably enraged with Lawless, from whom 1 imagined the reports
originated.
' 1 was venting my indignation against him in a roon
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 coinpan}C
all crowded to the windows immediately, and I was lefl stand-
/ ing alone till 1 could stand no longer. What was said c
^ I done afier this I do not remember ; I only know that when t
came to myself, the most dreadful sensation 1 ever experienced
_ was the certainty that 1 had the blood of a fellow-creature IS
L imswer for.^ — I wonder,' said Lady Delacour, breaking ofT at
H this part of her history, and rising suddenly, ' I wonder what is
I become of Marriott I — surely it is time for me to have my dropsJ
I Miss Portman, have the goodness to ring, for I must have
H something immediately.' Belinda was terrified at the wildnessf
H of her manner. Lady Delacour became more composed, t
H put more constraint upon herself, at the sight of Marriot
■
BELINDA
Marriott brought from the closet in her lady's room the drops,
which Lady Delacour swallowed with precipitation. Then ^
ordered coffee, and afterward chasse-cafiy 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 weak-
ness 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 j but very fortunately for me, she
roused my pride, which was always stronger than my reason;
land I behaved myself upon the occasion as became a fine
I 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 chaige
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 oar
way to the park? That was Lady Lawless: I believe I
didn't answer you at the time. I meet her every now and th^
— to me a spectre of dismay. But, as Harriot Freke said,
certainly such a man as poor Lawless was a useless being- in
SO
LADY DELACOUR'S HISTORY CONTINUED
, however he may be regretied by a doling mother.
; things in a philosophical light, if we can. > I
Bnot have suffered half as much as I did if he had been
bof a stronger understanding ; but he was a, poor, vain, wealc
I ottlure, 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 lord-
ship doubly gave himself, upon the strength of his valour and
tis judgment — they roused me completely ; and I blamed him
W'th all my mighi, and got an enonnous party of my friends, I
mean my acquaintance, to run him down full cry, for having
foug-ht for me. It was absurd — it was rash — it was want of
proper confidence in his wife ; tAus we said. Lord Delacour
had his partisans, it is true ; amongst whom the loudest was
odious Mrs. Lutlridge. I embraced the first opportunity I
;t with of retaliation. You must know that Mrs. Luttridge,
1 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, parly by relationship, connected herself with
(ome of the leading men in parliament. There was to be a
contested election in our county : Mr. Luttridge had a good
; there next to Lord Delacour's, and being of an ancient
&mily, and keeping a good table, the Luttridges were popular
At the first news of an election, out comes a flaming
advertisement from Mr. Luttridge; away posted Mrs. Lutt-
ridge to begin her canvass, and away posted Lady Delacour
after her, to canvass for a cousin of Harriot Frcke. This
icene for me ; but I piqued myself on the
rersalility of my talents, and 1 laid myself out to please all the
Iquires, and, what was more difllicult, all the squires' ladies, in
was ambitious to have it said of me, " that
[ was the finest figure that ever appeared upon a i
Oh, ye shiroians, how hard did I work to obtain your
All that the combined force of vanity and hatred
X)uld inspire I performed, and with success. You have but
isily, I presume, to know how many hogsheads of port
rent down the throat of John Bull, or how many hecatombs
■ere offered up to the genius of English liberty. My hatred
) Mrs. Ltitiridge was, of course, called love of my country.
I.ady Delacour was deified by all true patriots ■, a.wd, UcWlVj, a.
J
BELINDA
Iianctsome legacy left me for my spirit, by an uncle who died I
six weeks before the election, enabled us to sustain the expense I
of my apotheosis. The day of election came ; Harriot Freka |
and 1 made our appearance on the hustings, dressed it
splendid party uniforms ; and before us our knights and squitts I
held two enormous panniers full of ribands and cockadec^
which we distributed with a grace that won all hearts, if not al
votes. Mrs. Luttridge thought the panniers would carry t
election j and forthwith she sent off an express for a pair
panniers twice as large as ours. I took out my pencil, ant
LADV DELACOUR'S HISTORY CONTINUED
a caricature of tin ass and fur panniers; wrote an
ligram at the bottom of it j and the epigram and the carica-
: were soon in the hands of half sliire. The verges
e as bad as impromptus usually are, and the drawing
not much better than the writing ; but the goodwill of
critics supplied all my deficiencies ; and never was more
bestowed upon the pen of Burke, or the pencil of
;ynolds, than was lavished upon me by my honest friends.
y dear Belinda, if you will not quarrel with the quality, you
ly have what quantity of praise you please,^ Mrs. Luttridge,
I hoped and expected, was beyond me&sure enraged at the
h; of the caricature and epigram. She was, besides being
gamester and a politician — what do you think f — an excellent
I I She wished, she said, to be a man, that she might be
lified to take proper notice of my conduct. The same kind
lends who showed her my epigram repeated to me her
n upon it. Harriot Freke was at my elbow, and
Fered to take any message I might think proper to Mis.
ittridge. I scarcely thought her in earnest till she added, ,
It the only way left nowadays for a -voman to distinguish jl
irseif was by spirit ; as everything else was grown " cheaprt'
d vulgar in the eyes of men ; " that she knew one of the
iverest young men in England, and a man of fashion into
E bargain, who was just going to publish a treatise " Upon
E Propriety and Necessity of Female Duelling;" and that he
id demonstrated, beyond a possibility of doubt, that civilised
;iety could not exist half a century longer without this
icessary improvement. 1 had prodigious deference for the
;sculine superiority, as I thought it, of Harriot's under-
iiding, She was a philosopher, and a fine lady — 1 was
ly a fine lady ; I had never fired a pistol in my life, and 1
s a little inclined to cowardice ; but Harriot offered to bet
ly wager upon the steadiness of my hand, and assured me
It I should charm all beholders in male attire In short, as
' second, if I would furnish her with proper credentials, she
ore she would undertake to fiimish me with clothes, and
tols, and courage, and everything 1 wanted. I sat dowii to
a my challenge. When 1 was writing it, my hand did not
mblc much—-nxiX. more than my Lord Delacour's always
Bs. The challenge was very prettily worded ; I believe 1
'"Lady Delacour presenls her compliments lo Mrs. Luit-
ridge — she is informed that Mrs. L wishes she were a man,
Ihat she might be qualified to take proper notice of Lady
U 's conduct. Lady Uclacour begs leave to assure Mrs.
Luttridge, that though she has the misfortune to be a woman,
she b willing to account for her conduct in any niaoner Mrs.
L may think proper, and at any hour and place she may
appoint. Lady D leaves the choice of the weapons lo
Mrs. L . Mrs. H. Freke, who has the honour of present-
ing this note, is Lady Delacour's_yWs«rfupon this occasion." j
' I cannot repeat Mrs. Luttridge's answer ; all I know is W
was not half as neatly worded as my note ; but the essential
part of it was, that she accepted my challenge luith pUasun,
and should do herself the honour of meeting me at six o'clock
ihe 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
bam, 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 1 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
RochefoQcauIt, I believe, said tmly, that " many would be
I 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 ray 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 tha
ground in the morning in good spirits, and with a safe
conscience. Harriot was in admiration of my "hon-port"j
and, to do her justice, she conducted herself with great cool-
ness upon the occasion ; but then it may be observed, thai it
was 1 who was lo stand fire, and not she. I thought of poor
Lawless a billion of times, at least, as we were going to
ground ; and I had my presentiments, and my confused not
of poetic justice : but poetic justice, and all other sorts of
justice, went clear out of my head, when I saw my antagonisl
S4
LADV DELACOUR'S IIISTORV CONTINUED
id her friend, actually pistol in hand, waiting for as]
e both in men's clothes. I secretly called upon Ihe
. f Marriott with fervency, and 1 looked round with more
j inxiety than ever Bluebeard's wife, or " Anne, sister Anne 1 "
y looked to see if anybody was coming : nothing was to be seen
n hit the grass blown by the wind^no Marriolt to throw herself
I m/e i^iore'e between the combatants— no peace-officers to bind
I over to our good behaviour — no deliverance at hand ; and
Irs. Luttridge, by all the laws of honour, as challenged, was
I have the lirsc shot. Oh, those laws of honour 1 I was upon
ie point of making an apology, in spite of them all, when, to
ly inexpressible joy, I was relieved from the dreadful alterna-
tive 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 1
can recollect it ; as -well — for those who for the first lime go
iolo a field of battle do not, as I am credibly informed and in-
tamally persuaded, always find the clearness of their memories
improved by the novelty of their situation. Mrs. Luttridge,
irhen we came up, was leaning, with a truly martial negligence,
Igainst the wall of the barn, with her pistol, as I told you, in
iwr hand. She spoke not a word; but her second, Miss
Honour O'Crady, advanced towards us immediately, and,
taking off her hat very manfully, addressed herself to my
lecond, — "Mistress Harriot Freke, 1 presume, if I mistake
Wt." Harriot bowed slightly, and answered, "Miss Honour
O'Crady, I presume, if I mistake not." "The same, at your
iervice," replied Miss Honour. " I have a few words to
iuggest that may save a great deal of noise, and bloodshed,
and ill-will." "As to noise," said Harriot, "it is a thing in
irbich I delight, therefore I beg that mayn't be spared on my
bccouni ; as to bloodshed, I beg that may not be spared on
jLady Delacour's account, for her honour, I am sure, is dearer
io 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
loise, or Lady Delacour in blood ; but pray proceed, Miss
9onour CGrady ; you have a few words to suggest." " Yes,
[ would willingly observe, as it is my duly to my principal,"
■dd Honour, " that one who is compelled to fire her pistol with
BT left hand, though ever so good a shot naturally,
I 55
i^^
byn^l
BELINDA
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 CGrady, "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 magna-
nimity, 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
1 and loading : my pistol was overcharged : when I fired, it re-
.' coiled, 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
S6
LADY DELACOUR'S HISTORY CONTINUED
e beard a loud shout on the other side of the barn,
■1 crowd of town's people, country people, and haymakers, •
fCuring down the lane towards us, with rakes and pitchforks
I their hands. An English mob is really a formidable thi
Marriott had mismanaged her business most strangely
liad, indeed, spread a report of a duel — a female duel ; but the
atulored sense of propriety amongst these rustics was so
bocked at Ihe idea of a duel fought by women in mot's i/a/Aes,
irily believe they would have thrown us into the river
rhh all their hearts. Stupid blockheads I I am convinced that
}ey would not have been half so much scandalised if we had
Dxed in petticoats. The want of these petticoats had nearly
hjved our destruction, or at least our disgrace : a peeress after
Bing ducked, could never have held her head above water
) with any grace. The mob had just closed round us,
rying, " Shame I shame ! shame ! — duck 'em — duck 'em—
atle or simple — duck 'em — duck 'em "—when iheir attention
s suddenly turned towards a pierson who was driving up the
le a large herd of squeaking, grunting pigs. The person
s clad in splendid regimentals, and he was aimed with a
ig pole, to the end of which hung a bladder, and his pigs
re frightened, and they ran squeaking from one side of the
id to the other ; and the pig-driver in regimentals, in the
lidst of the noise, could not without difficulty make his voice
>3rd ; but at last he was understood to say, that a bet of a
nndred guineas depended upon his being able to keep these
igs ahead of a flock of turkeys that were following them ; and
e begged the mob to give him and his pigs fair play. At the
s of this wager, and at the sight of the gentleman turned
ig-driver, the mob were in raptures ; and at the sound of his
pice, Harriot Freke immediately exclaimed, "Clarence Hervey!
y all that's lucky I " '
'Clarence Herveyl' interrupted Belinda. 'Clarence Hervey,
y dear,' said Lady Delacour, coolly : ' he can do everything,
Du know, even drive pigs, better than anybody else 1 — but let
e go on.
' Harriot Frcke shouted in a stentorian voice, which actually
ide your pig-driver start : she explained to him in French
J distress, and the cause of it. Clarence was, as I suppose
I have discovered long ago, " thai cleverest young man in
(gland who bad written on the propriety and necessity of
57 ~
forks
liing. I
■^^
^^SsS
^ ^ 1
si
1 ^^P
^^nw^l
\m
^m
^^
-'M^r^ J
H ^*™.^„,^^i,„,
■Ac la«: « &,ye ^-i^-Z./waimj, ^uHlmsfi^ H
1
Bfind
LADY DELACOUR'S IIISTOKV CONTINUED
female duelling." He answered Harriot in French — "To at-
tempt 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, " Huiza, 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,
'As he spoke, Ihe French officer, with whom Clarence
Hcrvey had laid the wager, appeared at the turn of the lane —
his turkeys half flying— half hobbling up the road before him.
Frenchman waved a red streamer over the heads of his
— ^Clarence shook a pole, from the top of which hung a
idder full of beans. The pigs grunted, the turkeys gobbled,
id the mob shouted t eager for the fame of Old England, the
crowd followed Clarence with !oud acclamations. The French
officer was followed with groans and hisses. So great was
tlie 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 horscpond, I
heard one man cry, " Don't forget the ducking." How !
trembled I but our knight shouted to his followers — " For the
love of Old England, my brave boys, keep between my pigs
and Ihe pond ; — if our pigs see the water, they'll run lo it, and
England's undone."
'The whole fury of the mob was by this speech conducted
iway from us. " On, on, my boys, into town, to the market-
itace : whoever gains the market-place first wins the day."
general shook the rattling bladder in triumph over the
leads of " the swinish multitude," and we followed in perfect
;urity in his train into the town.
Men, women, and children, crowded to the windows and
Retreat into the first place you can," whispered
ilarence to us : we were close to him. Harriot Ferke pushed
way into a milliner's shop : I could not get in after her,
a frightened pig turned back suddenly, and almost threw
down. Clarence Hervey caught me, and favoured my
the shop. But poor Clarence lost his bet by his
"WMst hx was mancctivring in my favonr, tha
J
BELINDA
rkvyt got several yards ahead of the pigs, and rekching
markei-place first, won tbe race.
'The French oiRcer found great difficulty in getting
out of the town ; but Clarence represented to the mob ihat
was a prisoner on his parole, and that it would be
Englishmen to insult a prisoner. So he got ofT n-ithout
pelted, and they both returned in safety to the house
General Y , where they were to dine, and where
entertained a large party of officers with tbe account of this
adventure.
' Mrs. Freke and I rejoiced in our escape, and we thougbt
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 /ifw^-hut. 1 need not repeat all the
platitudes that they said. In short, neither ribands nor braDdf
could bring them to reason. With true English pigheadednes\
they went every man of them and polled for an independent
candidate of their own choosing, whose wife, forsooth, was
proper behaved woman.
' The only thing I had to console me for all this wi
Clarence Herve/s opinion that I looked better in m;
than my friend Harriot Freke. Clarence was charmed wit
my spirit and grace ; but he had not leisure at that time I
attach himself seriously to me, or to anything. He was the
/about nineteen or twenty: he was all vivacity, presumptira
{ and paradox ; he was enthusiastic in support of his opiniona'':
but he was at the same time the most candid man ir
■ for there was no set of tenets which could be called exclusively
his ; he adopted in liberal rotation every possible absun^ty
and, to do him justice, defended each in its turn with the mos
ingenious arguments that could be devised, and with a flow
words which charmed the ear, if not the sense. His essay i
female duelling was a most extraordinary performance j it w
handed about in manuscript tjli it was worn out ; he talked
publishing it, and dedicating it to me. However, this schema
amongst a million of others, he talked of, but never put ii
Luckily for him, many of his follies evaporated
60
LADY DELACOUR'S HISTORY CONTINUED
1
Mds. I saw but little either of him or hh follies at this time.
P I know about him is, that after he had lost his bet of a
Irdred gtiineas, as a pig-driver, by his knight- errantry in
bcuing the female duellists from a mob, he wrote a very
larming copy of verses upon the occasion ; and that he was
) much provoked by the stupidity of some of his brother
fficers who could not understand the verses, that he took a
pisgust to the army, and sold his commission. He set out upon
; continent, and I returned with Harriot Freke lo
lOadon, and forgot the existence of such a person as Clarence^
lervey for three or four years. Unless people can be of some,
5^ or unless they are actually present, let them be ever sti
reeable or meritorious, we are very apt lo forget them. One
jws strangely selfish by living in the world ; 'tis a perfect
re for romantic notions of gratitude, and love, and so forth.
r I had lived in the country in an old manor-house, Clarence
lervey would have doubtless reigned paramount in my i
nagioation as the deliverer of my life, etc. But in London I
r«ne has no time for thinking of deliverers. And yet what I
did with my time I cannot lell 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
I eyes out before this time. If I had enjoyed any amusement in
" e midst of this dissipation, it would all have been very well ;
t I declare to you in confidence 1 have been tired to death.
Nothing can be more monotonous than the life of a hackneyed
Be lady ; — I question whether a dray-horse, or a horse in a '
lull, would willingly exchange places with one, if they could I
i much of the matter as I do. You are surprised at
earing all this from me. My dear Belinda, how I envy you ! i
I yet tired of everything. T/ie world has still the
_„.. ^velty for you ; but don't expect that can last above
R season. My first winter was certainly entertaining enough.
me begins with being charmed with the bustle and glare, '
lad what the French call spectacle; this is over, I think, in six '
lonths. I can but just recollect having been amused at the I
itres, and the Opera, and the Pantheon, and RanelaghT^
all those places, for their own sakes. Soon, very soon, we 1 ^Jt
lUt to see people, not things ; then we grow tired of seeing 1 .
wple J then we grow tired of being seen by people ; and then I ]|
e %a out merely because we can't stay at home. A dismal \
f., ■ ^
BELINDA
story, and a true one. Excuse me for showing you the simple
truth ; well-dressed falsehood is a personage much more pre-
sentable. 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 — Oh 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 ex-
travagant 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 sh^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
62
LADV DELACOUR'S HISTORY CONTINUED
15. VoEir aunt Stanhope's maid got it from him for n
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 difhcuiiy was to make Mrs. Luttridge fix upon
the very day we wanted ; for you know we could not possibly
^ I off the blowing of our aloe. Your aunt Stanhope managed
lie thing admirably by means of a common Jritnii, who was
1 a suspected person with the Lutlridges ; in short, my dear,
[ gained my point — everybody came from Mrs. Luttridge's lo
0 my aloe. She had a prodigiously fine supper, but
scarcely a soul stayed with her ; tliey all came to see what
cotdd be seen but once in a hundred years. Now the aloe, you
, is of a cumbersome height for a supper ornament. My
a luckily has a dome, and under the dome we placed it.
^ound the huge china vase in which it was planted we placed
,t beautiful, or rather the most expensive hothouse plants
»e could procure. After all, the aloe was an ugly thing ; hut
't answered my purpose — it made Mrs, Luttridge, as I am
credibly informed, absolutely weep with vexation. I was
Bccessively obliged to your aunt Stanhope ; and I assured her
vere in my power, she might depend upon my
jratitude. Pray, when you write, repeat the same thing lo her,
knd tell her that since she has introduced BeUnda Portman to
[ne, I am a hundred times more obliged to her lian ever I was
o proceed with my important history, — 1 will not tire
a with fighting over again all my battles in my seven years'
r with Mrs. Luttridge. 1 believe love is more to your taste
1 hatred ; therefore I will go on as fast as possible to
Harence Hervey's return from his travels. He was much
mproved by them, or at least 1 thought so ; for he was heard
0 declare, that after all he had seen in France and Italy, Lady
Pelacour appeared to him the most charming woman, ofherage,
' s Europe. The words, of her age, piqued me ; and I spared
jlo pains to make him forget Iheni. A stupid n
icadily be persuaded out of his senses— what he se
ind neither more nor less ; but 'tis the easiest thing in
ttorld to catch hold of a man of genius : you have nothing tc
but to appeal from his senses to his imagination, and then he si
dm the eyes of his imagination, and hears with the ears of his
~°""imtion ; and then no matter what the age, beauty, oryrtt
63
1
I
fclSTORV CONTINUED
~
Bpation 10 me to aei my part in
lonsense, if they do not amuse or
reflection. May you never know
I Tlie idea of ihat poor wrelcli,
urdercd as much as if I had shot
I am alone. It is now between
e died, and I have lived ever since
ation ; but it won't do-^ conscience.
iince my health has been weakened.
ore conscience. I really think that
;ither ideas nor sensations, except
hundred times happier than I am.
a ; I promised that you should not
) my word. It is, however, a great
me who has some feeling ; Harriot
inced that she has no more feeling
j'et told you how she has used me.
-'->
ho led or rather dragged me into
^
for that I never reproached her.
=s
ightened me into fighting that duel
g
i I never reproached her. She has
my health, my life ; she knows it,
^
suits, and leaves me to die. I can-
f._
iufliciently to be coherent when I
?3B
press in words what 1 feel. How
S
of beings, for ten years, make me
end ? Whilst 1 thought she really
f^
U her faults — all — what a compre-
SW
r^ave i and continualSy said—" but
jood heart ! — she has no heart I —
Aa.% creature but herself. I always
no one but for me ; but now I find
iily as she would her glove. And
Is a frolic ; or, in iier own vulgar
ilieve it ?— What do you think she's
as gone over at last to odious Mrs. i . .
5 gone down with the Luttridges '
indent member having taken the
•^^^^^^^^H
his seat : a new election comes on
to bring in Freke — not Harriot's
—but her husband, who is now to _
^^^H^^IHH
t m
m
BELINDA
of the charmer may be — no mailer whether it be Lady
Delacour or Belinda Porlman. I think I know Clarence
Hervey's character au Jin 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, ;
you don't well know which way to look. Vou are surpris
perhaps, after ail that passed, all that I felt, and all that I :
feel about poor Lawless, I should not be cured of coquetij
So am I surprised ; but habit, fashion, the devil, I beli<
lead us on : and then, Lord Delacour is so obstinate i
jealous — you can't have forgotten the polite conversation I
passed one moniitig at breakfiist between his lordship and
about Clarence Hervey ; but neither does his lordship know,
nor does Clarence Her\-ey suspect, that my object with him is
to conceal from the world what I cannot conceal irom mysdf—
that I am a dying woman. 1 am, and I see you tliink me,
I strange, weak, inconsistent creature. I was intended for
thing better, but now it is too late ; a coquette I have livedi
jand a coquette I shall die : I speak frankly to you. Let nK
have the glory of leading Clarence Hervey about with me
public for a few months longer, then I must quit the sta(
As to love, you know with me that is out of the question ; aU
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,
terrible pain. For two years after I gave myself that blo*
with the pistol, I neglected the warning twinges that I iUI
from lime to time ; at last I was terrified. Marriott was
only person to whom I mentioned my fears, and she was _
foundly ignorant : she flattered me with false hopes, till, alast
J doubt of the nature of my complain
3 consult a physician ; that I would no
could not — 1 never will consult a physician, — I would
e have my situation known. You stare — you cannnf
I my feelings. Why, my dear, if 1 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
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. 1 hat
^^'fartitude ; I should despise myself if I had no species of
64
I LADV DELACOUR'S HISTORY CONTINUED
besides, it is still some occupation to me to act my part in
public; and bustle, noise, nonsense, if they do not amuse or
I interest me, yet they stifle reflection. May you never know
what it is to feel remorse ! The idea of that poor wretch,
^awless, whom 1 actually murdered as much as if [ had shot
I Hiin, haunts me whenever I am alone. It is now between
I .Pight and nine years since he died, and I have lived ever since
"se of dissipation ; but it won't do — conscience,
E will be heard 1 Since my health has been weakened,
I I believe I have acquired more conscience. I really think that
tupid lord, who has neither ideas nor sensations, except
when he is intoxicated, is a hundred times happier than 1 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
I relief to open my mind to one who has some feehng ; Harriot
^Freke has none; 1 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
phat scrape with Lawless ; for that I never reproached her.
u know it was she who frightened me into fighting that duel
Urith Mrs. Luttridge ; for this I never reproached her. She has
^€ost me my peace of mind, my health, my life ; she knows it,
md she forsakes, betrays, insults, and leaves me to die. I can-
t command my temper sufficiently to be coherent when I
B'speak of her ; 1 cannot express in words what I feel. How
Miuld that most treacherous of beings, for ten years, make me
jelieve that she was my friend ? Whilst 1 thought she really
floved me, I pardoned her all her faults — a// — what a compre-
e word 1 — All, all I forgave j and continually said^" 5ut
flie has a good heart." A good heart I — she has no heart 1 —
a feeling for any living creature but herself. I always
Aought that she cared for no one but for me ; but now I find
ti throw me off as easily as she would her glove. And
this, too, I suppose she calls a froUc ; or, in her own vulgar
' mguage, fun, Can you believe it f— What do you think sheN i
done, my dear f She has gone over at last to odious Mrs, \^
E,uliridge — actually she has gone down with the Luttridges ,'
The independent member having taken the '
^hiltern Hundreds, vacates his seat : a new election comes on
Qirectly : the Luttridges are to bring in Freke — rot Hartiofa
Wnsin — they have cut him, — but her husband, who is now tO
BELINDA
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 dearly 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 anybody who did not know les dessaus 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
everybody, that she went so far, that if it had not been for me, not
a soul would have visited her : she swam in the sea of folly out
of her depth — the tide of fashion ebbed, and there was she left
sticking knee deep in the mud — a ridiculous, scandalous figure.
I had the courage and foolish good nature to hazard myself for
her, and actually dragged her to terra firma : — how she has
gone on since I cannot tell you precisely, because I am in the
secret ; but the catastrophe is public : to make her peace with
her husband, she gives up her friend. Well, that I could have
pardoned, if she had not been so base as to go over to Mrs.
Luttridge. Mrs. Luttridge offered (IVe 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 connection 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 death-bed declaration of my innocence was very
generous. Oh, the treachery, the baseness of this woman ! And
it was my fate to hear all this last night at the masquerade. I
waited, and waited, and looked everywhere for 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
66
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
ie of this sudden loss of speech. The widow took n
to another apartment, unmasked, and there I beheld Mr.
«ke, the husband. 1 was astonished — had no idea of Ihe
"Where is Harriot?" I believe, were the first words
said. " Gone to the country." " To the country ! '
-shire, with Mrs. Luttridge." — Mrs. Luttridge— odio
[rs, Luttridge ! I could scarcely believe ray senses. But
reke, who always hated me, believing that 1 led his wife,
stead of her leading me into mischief, would have enjoyed
astonishment and my rage ; so I concealed both, with all
iible presence of mind. He went on ovenvhelming me
Itb explanations and copies of letters ; and declared it was ai
s. Freke's request he did and said all this, and that he was
fallow her early the next morning to shtre. I broke
m him, simply wishing him a good journey, and as much
lily peace as his patience merited. He knows that I know
wife's history, and though sAe has no shame, he has some.
had the satisfaction to leave him blushing with anger, and I
ipported the character of the comic muse a full hour after-
to convince him that all their combined malice would
break my spirit in public : what I suffer in private is
town only to my own heart.'
As she finished these words, Lady Delacour rose abruptly,
hummed a new opera air, Then she retired to her
idoir, saying, with an air of levity, to Belinda as she left
' Good-bye, my dear Belinda ; I leave you
t and bitter thoughts ; to think of the last speech and
I of Lady Delacour, or what will interest you much
i, the first speech and confession of — Clarence Hervey.
CHAPTER V
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
r DelaCOUr'S history, and the manner in which i
lated, excited in Belinda's mind astonishment, pity, admira-
, and contempt : astonishment at her inconsistency, pity
a
J
/
BEUNPA
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 leav'
last illness at the mercy of an insolent attendant. This promise
Belinda thought of with terror : she dreaded the sight of suffer-
ings 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 con-
duct 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 Deiacour^s history must have been
known to Mrs. Stanhope i 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
itself, what a multitude of deductions it makes in a shoil
Belinda saw things in a new light ; and for the first
in her life she reasoned for herself upon what she saw
ind felt. It is sometimes safer for young people to see thaa
Ito hear of certain characters. At a distance. Lady Delacour
ihad appeared to Miss Portnian 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 im-
aginable ; 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 im-
prudences which had ruined her health, and destroyed hei
peace of mind. ' If Lady Delacour, with all the advantaE^a
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
I expect to be more fortunate ? '
It is singular, that the very means which Mrs. Stanhope
6» J
opt I
ha I
lise I
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
had taken lo make a fine lady of her niece tended to produce
1 an effect diametrically oppiosite to what might have been
I expected. The result of Belinda's reflections upon Lady
I Delacour's history was a resolution to benefit by her bad
I 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
itic powers of wit, and the fond lone of persuasion, to
accomplish her purposes. It was Belinda's intention, in
pursuance of her new plans of life, to spend, whilst she re-
mained in London, as little money as possible upon super-
fluities and dress. She had, at her own disposal, only /loo
per annum, the interest of her fortune ; but besides this, her
aunt, who was desirous that she should go to court, and make
a splendid figure there, had sent her a draft on her banker
for two hundred guineas. ' You will, I trust,' said her aunt,
at the conclusion of the letter, ' repay me when you are estab-
lished 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 ^^ 10,000 a year.'
Belinda resolved neither to go to court, nor lo touch her
int's two hundred guineas ; and she wrote a long letter lo
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
L Lady Delacour's beautiful dress : it was not the sight of this,
I however, which changed Belinda's mind ; but she could not
I TesLst Lady Delacour's raillery.
' Why, my dear,' said her ladyship, after having listened
a all Miss Portman could say about her love of independence,
I and the necessity of economy to preserve that independence,
'all this is prodigiously fine — but shall I translate it into
r plain English ? You were mortally wounded the other night
I by some random reflections of a set of foolish young men—
L Clarence Hervey amongst the number ; and instead of punish-
69
BELINDA
ing 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 fimn
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 ! " Depoid
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 I 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 anything —
< 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
70
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
* thinking thai you are like Camilla, and I like Mrs. Mitten.
Novel reading — as I daresay you have been told by your
l^ovcmess, as 1 was told by mine, and she by hers, I suppose,
^novel reading for young ladies is the most dangerous
' Oh, Clarence Hervey, I protest 1 ' 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 1
tegret that we had not the charming serpent at the mas-
Ijuerade the other night ! '
The moment her ladyaliip mentioned the masquerade, the
Mnversation which had passed at Lady Singleton's came full
o Clarence Herve/s recollection, and his embarrassment
3 evident— not indeed to Belinda, who had turned away to
jok over some new music that lay upon a stand at the farthest
!nd of the room ; and she found this such a wonderfully
bteresting occupation, that she did not for some minutes hear,
r appear to hear, one word of the conversation which was
[oing on between Mr. Hervey and Lady Delacour. At last,
r ladyship tapped her upon the shoulder, saying, in a playful
le, ' Miss Porlman, I arrest your attention at the suit of
Clarence Hervey : this gentleman is passionately fond of
— to my curse — for he never sees my harp but he worries
ne with reproaches for having left off playing upon it. Now
s has just given me his word that he will not reproach me
"or a month to come if you will favour us with one air.
e you, Clarence, that Belinda touches a harp divinely —
die would absolutely charm ' ' Your ladyship should not
iraste such valuable praise,' interrupted Belinda. ' Do you
DTget that Belinda Portman and her accomplishments have
Iready been as well advertised as Packwood's raior-strops ? '
The manner in which these words were pronounced made
t great impression upon Clarence Hen'ey, and he began to
wlieve it was possible that a niece of the match-making Mrs.
Itanhope might not be 'a compound of art and affectation.'
Though her aunt has advertised her,' said he to himself,
,he seems to have too much dignity to advertise herself, and
would be very unjust to blame her for the faults of another
will see more of her,'
Some morning visitors were announced, vbo tor the time
^^^v
^
r ,j^ -^
1 -SI 11 ,j —
!
1 Tl |i '
ua '
L ^ .-* |««
i'' ''
^^B 1k^ »^»-^ «^
%
/Twi^^^N
^
V
1 ^1
HI
wj
^mr
F
W" 'f
~ ^
A"
(t'Xi^f
•neyov/cvgil lh>t Bclii-Ja Porlman >.itdherace
om^tUhmmU kajn alrpoh
^^^^
^^^^V^^^
^^^
BIRTHDAY DRESSKS
suspended Clarence Hervey's reflections : tlie effect of ihcm,
however, immediately appeared ; for as his good opinion of
lieJinda increased, his ambition to please her was strongly
Cxciled. He displayed all his powers of wit and humour ; and
nol only Lady Delacour but everybody present obser\*ed, ' tbal
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,
ithsianding ; for he distinctly perceived, that whilst
Belinda joined with ease and dignity in the general con-
tion, 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
luckily dressing to go to court: he inquired whether Miss
Portman would accompany her ladyship, and he learned from
his friend Marriott that she was not to be presented this day,
because Mrs. Franks had not brought home her dress. Mr.
Hervey called again two hours afterwards. — Lady Delacour
was gone to court. He asked for Miss Portman. ' Not at
home,' was the mo4ifi?ing answer ; though, as he had passed -
by the windows, he had heard the ddightful sound of her harp.
He walked up and down 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 nol 1 the most virtuous of virtuous women,' said Lady
flacour, ' to go to court such a day as this ? Bui,' whispered
:, as she went upstairs, ' like all other amazingly good
iple, I have amazingly good reasons for being good. The
xn is soon to give a charming breakfast at Frogmore, and I
paying my court with all my might, in hopes of being asked ;
for Belinda must see one of their galas before we leave town,
fiat 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 1 '
cried Lady Delacour, opening the library door. ' Here she is
— what doing I know not — studying Hervey's Meditations on
the Tomdi, 1 should guess, by the sanctilicalion of her looks.
U you be not tolally 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 i
73
BELINDA
sequence, upon hoops. Everybody wears hoops, but how fn
— 'tis a melancholy consideration — -how very few can manage
them I There's my friend Lady C ; in an elegant undress
she passes for very gcnieel, but pui her into a hoop and she
looks as pitiable a fit,'ure, as much a prisoner, and as little able
to walk, as a child in a go-eart. She gets on, 1 grant you, and
so does the poor child ; but getting on, you know, i
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
magniticent diamond labels round their necks I '
Encouraged hy Clarence Herve/s laughter, Lady DelacouT
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 Her\'ey 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 shC'
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 Delacqur.
'They have let the purblind dowager in; I hear her o
stairs. Here — through this way you can go ; as you do every-
thing quicker than anybody else in the world, you will cei"
tainly be full dressed in a quarter of an hour ; I'll engage to
keep the dowager in scandal for that time. Go I Marriott h
old hoops and old finery of mine, and you have all-powerfiil in-
fluence, I know, with Marriott ; so go and use it, and let u
you in all your glory — though I vow I tremble for my fiftj
guineas.'
Lady Delacour kept the dowager in scandal, according to
her engagement, for a good quarter of an hour ; then thtt
dresses at the drawing-room took up another quarter ;
at last, the dowager began to give an account of sundry
wonderful cures that had been performed, to her certaifl
knowledge, by her favourite concentrated extract or anii
She entered into the history of the negro sla'ri
" 1
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
i, who discovered this medical wood, which he kept '
a close secret till Mr. Daghlberg, a magistrate of Surinam,
wonned it out of him, brought a branch of the tree to Europe,
and communicated it to the great Linnxus— when Clarence
Hervey was announced by the title of 'The Couriess dc
Pomenars.'
An ^migrdc — a charming woman ! ' whispered Lady
Delacour j ' she was to have been ai the drawing-room to-day
but for a blunder of mine : ready dressed she wa£, and 1
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 enMe
with very composed assurance and grace. He managed his
'loop with such skill and dexterity, that he well deserved the
ipraise of being a universal genius. The Countess de Pomenars
ispoke French and broken English incomparably well, and she
that she was descended from the Pomenars of the
.time of Mad. de Sevign^ ; she said Ihat she had in her
ossession several original letters of Mad. de Sevigne, and a
>ck of Mad. de Grignan's fine hair.
' I have sometimes fancied, but I believe it is only my fancy,'
lid Lady Delacour, ' that this young lady,' turning to Belinda,
is not unlike your Mad, de Grignan. I have seen a picture
f her at Strawberry Hill.'
Mad. de Pomenars acknowledged that there was a rcsem-
lance, but added, that it was flattery in the extreme to Mad.
B Grignan to say so.
' It would be a sin, undoubtedly, to waste flattery upon the
ead, my dear countess,' said Lady Delacour ; ' but Jiere,
itbout flattery to the living, as you have a lock of Mad. de
irignan's hair, you can tell us whether la belle chevelure, of
rhicb Mad. de Sevigne talked so much, was anything to be
ampared to my Belinda's.' As she spoke, Lady Delacour,
efore Belinda was aware of her intentions, dexterously let
own her beautifiil tresses ; and the Countess de Pomenars
as so much struck at the sight, that she was incapable of
i^ng the necessary compliments. ' Nay, touch it,' said
ady Delacour — ' it is so fine and so soft,'
At this dangerous moment her ladyship artfully let drop the
wnb. Clarence Hervey suddenly stooped to pick it up,
iially foi^tting his hoop and his chaiaclet. H.ft fatwi towR
75
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
IE-Stand with his hoop. Lady Delacour exclaimed
al' and burst out a-laughing. LnHv Po^-Vic- in
. . ,., : .•■ .T,-, .. -li- i.'.i,l ^At. ^'..'^M
■. , •^■u.v,.It,ij:.-,l lit l.a>l
L, . d lUl filly ^UT.r:,i
... :.i.i:^( tiaic that he had
■ beheld. * 1 dccLiic he deserves a Jock of /a belle
ehevelure 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 lielinda, 'the glittering forfex' was not
immediately produced, as line ladies do not now, as in former
), carry any such useless implements about with them,
modest, graceful dignity of Miss Portman's
iaers, that she escaped without even the charge of prudery,
i retired to her oivn apartment as soon as she coiild. "
PShc passes on in unblcnched majesty,' said Lady
■She is really a charming woman,' said Clarence Hen-ey, in
f voice, to Lady Delacour, drawing her into a recessed
: 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 anything 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. Wail
fjaliently in the music-room, and perhaps I may grant you a
'Kite audience, as you had the grace not to call it a IHe-i-
itime, my dear Countess de Pomenars, had
Eliot better take off our hoops ? '
n the evening, Clarence Hervey was in the music-room a
buderable time before Lady Delacour appeared : how
iently he waited is not known to any one but himself.
b Have not I given you time to compose a charming speech ?'
1 Lady Delacour as she entered the room \ 'but make it as
m, unless you wish that Miss Portman should
't it, for she will be downstairs in three minutes.'
i word, then, my dear Lady Delacour, can you, and
I you, make my peace with Miss Portman ■( — \ ai
77
BELINDA
■w .r-Af**^ about that foolish razor-strop dialogue whicV: i^i.^
■ -.'iiu ','f: .'X.;. -I. i-T,;.; ,}ml >1k ovi:rhcanl it, no doubt'
iu.ir'i ■'. sin«.c it ha>'. i-ctii ;hc.iiu:ins of --^iivir.cii ,:e of my
mistake; but 1 .n i concc: ■ ] v m 1 V.tI ihc pre- .iptidn ind
injustice to judge of Misb ±s,i -^t .■-» so h.ijtily. I ■■-. convir .»d
that, though she is a niece of Mrs. Staimcpr>'s. sL^ iias 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 ang'ei is so expressive,
so comprehensive, so comprehensible, it contains, believe me,
all that can be said or imagined on these occasions, de part et
^ autre J
* 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 pianoforte, played —
There was a young man in Ballinacrasy,
Who wanted a wife to make him \xaasy^
And thus in gentle strains he spoke her,
Arrah, wll 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
1%
1
0^' ■
.
S"^ V
|R!rLl
ipK. ^
j^^3fe.— ='-—■ ^^^
^^M
^Hlwi^, -'j^ggBagJ^MB^^^^^Bf-
HHPI^^ ---^s^^SS^^^^^^hBj^ 1
■ ^^^^^^^v<^^ j0 Ka « ^■z'^'^^vl^l^^gi^^ ^^^^1
V '-f"/0^"" ^ ■
VilKOi I",' txclalmed CUrrnce, laag/ilng, ' il U ml loiiu la Ihat -Blili mryil, ^^^^^|
BELINDA
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 I ' 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 protec-
tion, that a young gentleman, who is a professed achnirer of
mine, is in love with her, but has no thoughts, and wishes to
suggest no thoughts, of marriage.'
* In love I ' 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 oif 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 1 ' said Lady Delacour ; * for you know a
married man is lost to the world of fashion and gallantry.'
80
BIRTHDAY DRESSES
,' sffl^^^
I, 1 should hope, than a married
Hervey. Here a loud knocking at Uie door
nounced the arrival of company to the concert. 'You will
Bke my peace, you promi"; me, with Miss Portman,' cried
irence eagerly.
'Yes, I will make your peace, and you shall see Behnda
Dtle upon you once more, upon condition,' continued Lady
lelacour, speaking' very quickly, as if she was hurried hy the
of people coming upstairs — 'but we'll talk of that
BotbeT time.'
'Nay, nay, my dear Lady Delacour, now, now,' said
irence, seizing her hand. — ' Upon condition I upon what
mdition ?'
' Upon condition that you do a little job for me — indeed for
elinda. She is to go with me to the birthnighi, and she has
n hinted to me that our horses are shockingly shabby for
Bople of our condition. I know she wishes that upon such
—her first appearance at court, you know — we
ilould go in style. Now my dear positive lord has sai'ii he
ill not let us have a pair of the handsomest horses I ever
w, which are at Tattersall's, and on which Belinda, I know,
s secretly set her heart, as I have openly, in vain.'
* Your ladyship and Miss Portman cannot possibly set your
arts on anything in vain— especially on anything that it is
I the power of Clarence Hervey to procure. Then,' added he,
ftllantly kissing her hand, 'may I thus seal my treaty of peace?'
'What audacity! — don't you see these people coming in?'
lied Lady Delacour ; and she withdrew her hand, but with no
t precipitation. She was evidently, ' at this moment, as
I all the past,' neither afraid nor ashamed that Mr. Hervey's
o her should be paid in public. With much address
isfied herself as to his views with respect to Belinda.
lie was convinced that he had no immediate thoughts of
lalrimony ; but that if he were condemned to marry, Miss
lortman would be his wife. As this did not interfere with
r plans, Lady Delacour was content.
r
CHAPTER VI
WAVS AND MEANS
When Lady Delacour repeated to Miss Portman the message
about ' simplicity of mind and dignity of character,' she frankly
' Behnda, notwithstanding all this, observe, I'm determined
to retain Clarence Hervey among the number of my pubhc wor-
shippers during my hfe — 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 posthur
jealousy detestable.'
There was one part of the conversation between Mr. Hervey
and her ladyship which she, in her great discretion, did r
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, Hen-ey,
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 ai 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.
in proportion as his manners became more familiar, here
grew more reserved. Lady Delacour rallied her upon Aer
mdety, but in vain. Clarence Hervey seemed to think that
I her ladyship had not fulfilled her part of the bargain. — ' Is not
I stHtling,' said he, ' the epithet always applied to peace ? yet I
V have not been able to obtain one smile from Miss Portman
I since I have been promised peace.' Embarrassed by Mr.
J Hervey's reproaches, and provoked to find that Belinda was
I proof against all her raillery, Lady Delacour g^rew qui^
H
WAYS AND MEANS
r
I lnunoured 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 ajn sensible 1 was downright rude and cross to
you one day, and ever since 1 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.'
Ii was not difficult to obtain Belinda's forgiveness.
' Indeed,' continued Lady Delacour, ' you are loo 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 — 1 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 ih.\s job for me, you
would for^ve 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 kmu 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
I 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
I oiatch- making with Mrs. Stanhope's nieces, I should degrade
(.jnyself by any attempts to attract his attention. No wit, no
leloquence, can change my opinion upon this subject — I cannot
Vendure contempt.' /•tj-wa "l,^ ■■''
BELINDA
' Very likeiy — no doubt ' — interrupted Lady Delacour ; ' but
If you would only open your eyes, which heioines 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 j'ou are afraid of Iiis
contempt, he is a hundred times more afraid of youi-s ; and as
long as you are each of you in such fear of you know not what,
you niust excuse me if I indulge myself in a little wholesoine
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 1 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. 1 am not a matdi
for Mr. Hervey in any respect. He is a man of wit and gallantry
— 1 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 meantime I do think any fair appraiser
of delicate distresses would decide that I am, a!I the circum-
stances considered, more to be pitied at this present moment
than you are : for the catastrophe of the business evidently isi
that I must pay two hundred guineas for the horses somehow
' I can pay for them,' exclaimed Belinda, 'and ™11 with tbe
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
Stanhope, if you don't appear on the birthnight ? That
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 i.'
Then,' said Belinda, ' I will not go to the drawing-rooin.'
84
WAYS AND ME.\NS
;as for f
.'Not go, my dear! Whatl throw away fifty guineas f
ithing I Really I never saw any one so lavish of her money,
d so economic of her smiles.'
' Surely,' said Miss Portman, ' it is betier for mc lo throw
way fifty guineas, poor as I am, than to hazard the happiness ^y^
t my life. Your ladyship knows that if I say a to Mr. Hervey,
must say d. No, no, my dear Lady Delacour ; here is the
"or two hundred guineas : pay Mr. Hervey, for Heaven's
^e, and there is an end of the business.'
'What a positive child it is ! Well, then, it shall not be
iced to say the a, b, c, of Cupid's alphabet to that terrible
edagogue, Clarence Hervey, till it pleases : but seriously. Miss
rtman, I am concerned that you will make me take this
ift : it is absolutely robbing you. But Lord Delacour's
i person you must blame — it is all his obstinacy : having
ce said he would not pay for the horses, he would see them
i me and the whole human race expire before he would
bange his silly mind. — Next month I shall have it in my
er, my dear, to repay you with a thousand thanks ; ajid in
few months more we shall have another birthday, and a new
I shall appear in the firmament of fashion, and it shall be
ailed Belinda. In the meantime, my dear, upon second
loughts, perhaps we can get Mrs. Franks to dispose of your
rawing-room dress to some person of taste, and you may keep
r fifty guineas for the next occasion. I'll see what can be
,e. — Adieu ! a thousand thanks, silly child as you are.'
Mrs. Franks at first declared that it would be an impossi-
Hity to dispose of Miss Portman's dress, though she would do
pything upon earth to oblige Lady Delacour ; however, ten
s made everything possible. Belinda rejoiced at having,
1 she thought, extricated herself at so cheap a rate ; and well
ased with her own conduct, she wrote to her aunt Stanhope,
I inform her of as much of the transaction as she could dis-
without betraying Lady Delacour. ' Her ladyship,' she
lid, 'had immediate occasion for two hundred guineas, and
^ accommodate her with this sum she had given up the idea of
'ing to court.'
The tenor of Miss Portman's letter will be sufficiently ap-
rent from Mrs. Stanhope's answer.
RS. STANHOPE TO MISS PORTMAN,
' Bath, zndj'un
' I cannot but feel some astonishment, Belinda, ai your very
ettraordinary conduct, and more extraordinary letter. What
' you can mean by principles and jelicacy I (
tend to understand, when I see you not only forget the respect
that is due to the opinions and advice of the aunt to whom
I you owe everything ; 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
f mine, you add, differ in many points. Then I must say that
you are as ungrateful as you are presumptuous ; for 1 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
1 j she is determined to act for herself — and then it is all oyer
[ / with her; and all the money, etc,, that has been spent upon
yl her education is so much dead loss to her friends.
' f ' ' Now I look upon it that a young girl who has been brought
I up, and brought forward in the world as you have been by
\ connections, 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 disappointedf
Hi
WAYS AND MEANS
displeased (as I most truly am) at your inieniion of missing ihis
■opportunity of appearing at court ; it is ten to one but his lord-
Ship — who has not made it a point to rciuse your request, I
soppose^will pay you your two hundred guineas. You of
; will make proper acknowledgments; hut at the same
entreat that his lordship will not commit you with his
as she might be otfended 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. — -Vours affectionately (if you follow my advice),
' S EL IN A Stanhope.'
Belinda, though she could not, consistently with what she
Uiought right, follow the advice so artfully given to her in this
epistle, was yet extremely concerned to find that she had in-
curred 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
|he two hundred guineas lo 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
ter court-dress ; but this had not distinctly been expressed when\
;. 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. Vet 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
jnt, Belinda was both vexed and mortified to perceive
1 Clarence Hervey's manner towards her there was not
; change which she had expected that her conduct would
laturally produce.
One day she was surprised at his reproaching her for caprice
\A
J
BELINDA
in having given up her intentions of going to court. Lady
Delacour's embarrassment whilst Mr. Hen'ey spoke, Belinda
attributed to her ladyship's desire that Clarence should m
that she had been obliged to borrow the money to pay hira for
the horses. Belinda thought that this was a species of meat
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 we!! acquainted with the female sex
should be surprised at any instance of caprice from a worn
The conversation then took another turn, and whilst they v
talking of indifferent subjects, in came Lord Delacour's n
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 1 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
It of his yard without two hundred guineas in ready money.
Now you know 1 had the horses, and what could I do with
the horses without the carriage ? Clarence Hervey, 1 knew,
could wait for his money better than a poor devil of a coach-
maker J so I paid the coachmaker, and a few months sooner
r 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 1 ' said Belinda.
' Nay, what will he think of »/c, child ! '
' Lady Delacotu",' said Belinda, in a firmer tone than she
had ever before spoken, ' J 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 T
THE SERPENTINE RIVER
be undone. But come, since I kno\
will make you easy, I will take this mighty favi
, Hen'ey entirely upon my own conscience :
I to that, for yon are not ihe keeper of my
tell Clarence the whole husiaess, and do you honour due, my
dear : so endorse the cheque, whilst I t'o and sound both the
praises of your dignity of mind, and simplicity of character,
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 lime as she
coiUd piossibly 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
I worthy of his esteem. Now he felt in its fullest extent all the
I power she had over his heart, and he was upon the point of
■ 'declaring his attachment to her, when malheureusenient Sir
" Philip Baddely and Mr, Rochfort announced themselves by
flie 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
I nieces. Mr, Hervey was anxious that they should not
■ penetrate into the state of his heart, and lie concealed his
I by instantly assuming that kind of rattling gaiety
I which always delighted his companions, who were ever in
ne one to set their stagnant ideas in motion. At
I last they insisted upon carrying Clarence away with them to
I taste some wines for Sir Philip Baddely.
CHAPTER VII
THE SEKPENTINE RIVER
to St. James's Street, where the wine-merchant
Ffived, 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 Hervg
p^
BELINDA
Amongst his other accomplishments our hero piqued himself
J upon the exquisite accuracy of his organs of taste. He neither
loveii wine, nor was he fond of eating ; but at fine dinneis,
with young men who were real epicures, Hcrvey 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 fog
muck, he presumed, elate as he was with the applauses of the
company, to assert, that no man in England had a
correct taste than himself. — Sir Philip Baddely could not
-■"^ssively submit lo this arrogance | he loudly proclaii
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 I^ndon, and to some common fiiend.
of acknowledged taste and experience, — Mr. Rochfort was
chosen as the common friend of acknowledged
perience ; and a fashionable wine-merchant was pitched upon
to decide with him the merits of these candidates for baccha^
nalian 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, Tb*
wine-merchant evidently, as Mr. Hervey thought, leaned to-
wards Sir Philip. ' Upon my word, Sir Philip, you
I that wine is the best I have — you certainly have a most dis*
criminating taste,' said the complaisant wine-merchant.
' I'll tell you what,' cried Sir Philip, ' the thing is this : by
Jove I now, there's no possibility now — no possibility now, by
Jove t of imposing upon me."
'Then,' said Clarence Heney, 'would you engage to teU
the differences between these two wines ten times running,
blindfold?'
'Ten times I that's nothing,' replied Sir Philip: 'yes, fifty
times, I would, by Jove I '
But when it came to the trial, Sir Philip had nothing left
but oaths in his own favour. Clarence Hervey
and his sense of the importance of this victory was much
THE SERPENTINE RIVER
J erased by the fumes of ihe w-ine, which began to operate
F upon his brain. His triumph was, as he said it ought to be,
J bacchanalian : he laughed and sang with anacreontic spirit,
I and finished by declaring that he deserved to be crowned
vine-leaves.
' Dine with mc, Clarence,' said Rochfort, ' and we'll
you with three times three ; and,' whispered he to Sir Philip,
'U 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 rnuch affected by the wine, and
Rochforl proposed that they should take a turn in Ihe park to
cool Herve/s head. To Hyde Park they repaired ; Sir Philip
boasting, all the way they walked, of the superior strength of
bis head.
Clarence protested that his own was stronger than any
lan'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
iny money he pleased. 'Done,' said Clarence, 'for ten
guineas^ — for any money you please:' and instantly Ihey set
I walk, as Rochfort cried 'one,ltwo, three, and away;
keep the path, and whichever reappfes that elm tree first
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 d.iy,' Sir
Philip came up with his companions, and coolly informed him
that he had lost his wager — ' Lost I lost ! lost I 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 /,' said Sir Philip, ' dashed f.iirly through them —
kept the path, and won my bet.'
' But,' said Hervey, ' would you have had me run over that
^e child, who was stooping down just in my way ? '
91
BELINDA
' not I,' said Sir Philip; 'but 1 would have you (
through with your dvilily : if a man will be polite, he mu
I pay for his politeness sometimes.— You said you'd lay me any
money I pleased, recollect — now I'm very moderaie — 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 ; Til pay ten guineas for having
better manners than any of you,' cried Hervey, laughing ;
'but remember, though I've lost this beij 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
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'vi
mind for a swim — here's the Serpentine river, Clarence — hey ?
damn il ! — hey?'
Sir Philip and all his companions knew that Clarence had
never learned lo swim.
'You may wink at one another, as wisely as you please,'
said Clarence, ' but come on, my boys— 1 am your man for a
swim — a hundred guineas upon it I
■Dai
Leap in with
Ands' '
Ihou, Rochfoit, uow
nto this weedy flood,
yonder point ? '
' and i
ostantly Hervey, who had in his confused head f
recollection of an essay of Dr. Frani.lin on swimming, by
which he fancied that he could ensure at once his safety and
I his fame, threw off his coat and jumped into the river — luckily
■ 1 boots. Rochfort, and all the other young e
stood laughing by the river-side.
' Who the devil are these two that seem to be making up
us ? ' said Sir Philip, looking at two gentlemen who i
1 coming towards them ; ' SL George, hey ? you know ev
tbodv.'
THE SERPENTINE RIVER
' TTie foremost is Percival, of Oakly Park, I tliink, 'pon n^
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 lo the
spot where Sir Philip was standing.
The child for whose sake Clarence Hervey had lost his bet
was Mr. Perdvai's, and he came to thank him for his civility. —
The gentleman who accompanied Mr. Percival was an old
friend of Clarence Herveys ; 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 anywhere ? 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 Pll 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
t this instant leaped into the river, and seized hold of the
; drowning Clarence. It was with great difficulty that he
ragged 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."
Whibt Sir Philip was damning himself, Mr. Percival ran to
.&ie boat-house for assistance, and they carried the body into
' The manners, if not the raorals, of genllemen, have improved Eince
! first pablitation of this work. .Swearing has gone out of fashion.
iBut Sir Philip Badiiely's oaths ore retained, as marks in a portrail of the
" liekl up lo the public, touched by ridicule, the Ijeat reproliatiQi
93
BELINDA
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.
Herve/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 'd
he was a doctor,' said Rochfort.
*Ton 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, danm 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 anything 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,
rd sport my Random against all the books that ever were read
or written, damn me ! But what are we doing here ? '
* Herve/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 I 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
94
THE SERPENTINE RIVER
them. Failh, Clary, you've had a squeak for your life ! Ton
my honour, we thought at one time it was all over with you —
but you're 3 tough one: we shan't have to "pour over your
grave a full bottle or red" as yet, my boy — you'll do as well as
ever. So I'll step and caD a coach for you, Clary, and we
shall be at dinner as soon as the best of 'cm after all, by
jingo ! I leave you in good haitds with the doctor here, that
brought you to life, and the gentleman that dragged you out
of Ihe water. Here's a note for you,' whispered Mr. St.
George, as he leaned over Clarence Hervoy — 'here's a note
for you from Sir Philip and Rochfort : read it, do you mind, to
yeurseip
'If I can,' said Clarence; 'but Sir Phi hp writes a bloody
6ad hand' ^
' Oh, he's a baronet^ said St. George, ' ha I ha ! ha ! ' and,
tharmed with his own wit, he left the boat-house.
Clarence with some difficulty deciphered the note, which
3>ntained these words :
' Quiz the doctor, Clary, as soon as you are up to it — he's
an author — so fair game — qui^ the doctor, and we'll drink your
health with three times three in Rochfort's burgundy. — Yours,
tc. Phil. Daddelv.
'P.S.— Bm'n this when read.'
With the request contained in the postscript Clarence
nmediately 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,
the strongest terms, his gratitude for his benevolence.
But he stopped short in the midst of his acknowledgments,
irhen he discovered to whom he was speaking.
'Dr. X— — -!' cried he. 'Is it possible? How rejoiced
itn to see you, and how rejoiced I am to be obliged to you !
There is not a man in England to whom 1 would rather be
obliged.'
' You are not acquainted with Mr. Percival, I believe,' said
. X ; ' give me leave, Mr. Percival, to introduce to you
he young gentleman whose life you have saved, and whose
-though, by the company in which you found him, ^ou.
"" IP heraldic desigiialion ol Vtie'
THE SERPENTINE RIVER
Kmiglit not think so — is worth saving. This, sir, is no less a
■Itiaji than Mr. Clarence Hervey, of whose universal genius you
Fhave just had a specimen ; foe which he was crowned with
nsedges, as he well deserved, by the god of the Serpentine river,
IPo not be so unjust as to imagine that he has any of the
■presumption which is sometimes the chief characteristic of a
Btnan of universal genius. Mr. Clarence Her\'ey is, without
I 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
I with Mr. Rodifort and Sir Philip Baddely."
P ' 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
I unjust charge of humility, will you tell me whei'c you are to be
Vibund in town, and to-morrow— — '
■^ 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,' said Dr.
B ■ 1 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 1 am to be at Lady
KDelacoiu's.'
H ' Lady Delacour I Not the same Lady Delacour whom four
Hyeais ago, when we met at Florence, you compared to the
VVenus dei Medici — no, no, it cannot be the same — a goddess
■of four years' standing I — ^Incredible !'
■ ' Incredible as it seems,' said Clarence, ' it is true ; I admire
Bter ladyship more than ever I did.'
I 'Like a true connoisseur,' said Dr. X , 'you admire a
V^e fiictufe the older it grows ; I hear that her ladyship's face
■Is teally one of the finest pieces of painting extant, with the
■ftdvantage of
■ 1 Ev'ry grace which time alone can grant. '
■ ' Come, come. Dr. X ,' cried Mr. Percival, ' no more
W wit at Lady Delacout's expense ; I have a fellow-feeling for
■ Mr. Hervey.'
I 'Why, you are not in love with her ladyship, are you?"
Bsaid Dr. X . 'I am not in love with Lady Delacour's
B|picture of herself,' replied Mr. Percival, ' but I was once in
fcryi^Mi the origin^'
BELINDA
* 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 satisfection,
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 — thaf s a famous fellow, feith ! — why, you look
the better for being drowned. 'Pon honour, if I were you, I
would jump into the Serpentine river once a day.'
nf 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 ex-
tremely 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 com-
panions ; 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
98
■r
moan just
A FAMILY PARTY
just recovered from drowning:, and Mr. Rochfott
Iceeps too good a lable, 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, 1
ill do my friend Rochfort the justice to say that no one lives
I well as he does.'
' If to live well mean nDttiing bul to ent,'
id Clarence.
'Now,' said Dr. X , looking at his watch, 'it will be
sight o'clock by the time we get lo Upper Grosvenor Street,
and Lady Anne will probably have waited dinner for us about
'o hours, which I apprehend is sufficient to try the patience
■ any woman but Griselda. ' Do not,' continued he, turning
to Clarence Hervey, 'expect to see an old-fashioned, spiritless,
patient Griselda, in Lady Anne Perci^'al : I can assure you
that she is — but I will neither tell you what she is, nor what
Every man who has any abilities, likes to have
tiie pleasure and honour of finding out a character by his own
penetration, instead of having it forced upon him at full length
capital letters of gold, finely emblazoned and illuminated by
the hand of some injudicious friend ; every child thinks the
iolct of his own finding the sweetesL I spare you any farther
illusion and illustrations,' concluded Dr. X , ' for here we
:, thank God, in Upper Grosvenor Street.'
CHAPTER Vm
A FAMILY PARTY
[Ev found Lady Anne Percival in the midst of her children,
'ho all turned their healthy, rosy, intelligent feces towards the
jdoor, the moment that they heard their father's voice. Clarence
rlervey was so much struck with the expression of happiness 1/
" Lady Anne's countenance, that he absolutely forgot to com-
ber beauty with Lady Delacoui's. VJ\\tt\\et Vw t-i^*
99 .^-
i
BELINDA
w
l^wera tai^e or small, blue or liazel, he could not tel
j might have been puzzled if he had been asked the colour of
I 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. Everybody was at ease
in her company, and none thought themselves called upon lo
admire her. To Clarence Hervey, who had been used lo ihe
brilliant and exigeanle Lady Delacour, this respite from the
fatigue of admiration was peculiarly agreeable. The un-
constrained 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 fa%'ourite 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 yeais
old took him prisoner by the flap of the coat, whilst two of her
brothers assailed him with questions about the ears, eyes, and
(rf fishes. One of the little boys filliped the glass globe,
[Observed that the fish immediately came to the surface of
:er, and seemed to hear the noise very quickly ; but his
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 obsen'ed that this was a very learned dispute,
and that the question had been discussed by no less a person
than the Abb^ NoUet i and he related some of the ingenious
experiments tried by that gentleman, to decide whether fishes
can or cannot hear. Whibt the doctor was speaking.
f, Clarja^J
A FAMILY PARTY
m
.ervey was struck with the intelligent
the little auditors, a girl of about ten or twelve years old
was surprised lo discover in her features, (hough not in their
expression, a singular resemblance to Lady Delacoiu". He
remarked this to Mr. Percival, and the child, who overheard
him, blushed as red as scarlet Dinner was announceil at this
instant, and Clarence Hervey thought no more of the circum-
stance, attributing the girl's blush lo confusion at being looked
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
loom for us, instead of running over us as the other man did.'
The children agreed that Clarence Hervey certainly was /A«
good-natured gaUleman, and upon the strength of this observa-
tion, one of the boys posted himself next to Clarence at dinner,
and by all the little playful manceuvres in his power endeavoured
to show his gratitude, and to cultivate a friendship which had
been thus auspiciously commenced. Mr. Hervey, who piqued
'tiiinself upon being able always to suit his conversation to his
companions, distinguished himself at dinner by an account of
ttie Chinese fishing-bird, from which he passed to the various
ingenious methods of fishing practised by the Russian Cossacks.
From modem 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
ttie 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
ind them of their former liberty.' — From birds he was
going on to beasts, when he was nearly struck dumb by the
fcrbidding severity with which an elderly lady, who sat opposite
'to him, fixed her eyes upon him. He had not, till this instant,
j>aid the smallest attention to her ; but her stem 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
Chat she never drank more than one glass of wine at dinner,
BELINDA
and that she had just taken one wiih Mr. Percival,
manner was well-bred, but haughty in the extreme ; and she
was so passionate, that her anger sometimes contiuered 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, 1 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. Heri'ey 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 c
bounds. He talked next of the unicorn ; and addressing
himself to Dr. X and Mr. Percival, he declared that tn 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
' 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 1 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 inter-
rupting himself, Clarence said in an inquiring tone — 'A niece
of Lady Delacour's ? '
' Her ladyship's daughter, sir,' said the severe old lady, in
& 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?'
A FAMILY PARTY
' Her ladyship's daughter!' exclaimed Clarence Hervey, ii
tone of surprise,
' Some cherries, sir?' said Helena; but her voice faltered ..
D much, thai she could hardly utter llie words.
Clareoce perceived that he had been the cause of her agila-
I though he knew not precisely by what means ; and he
ow applied himself in silence to the picking of his strawberries
imh great diligence.
The ladies soon afterwards withdrew, and as Mr. Pcrcival
lid not touch upon the subject again, Clarence forebore to ask
iny further questions, though he was considerably surprised
ly this sudden discovery. When he went into the drawing-
) tea, he found hjs friend, the stern old lady, speaking
1 a high declamatory tone. The words which he heard as be
ame into the room were —
' If there were no Clarence Hen'eys, there would be no
^dy Delacours.'^ Clarence bowed as if he had received a
tigh compliment — the old lady walked away to an antechamber,
~ inning herself with great energy.
' Mrs. Margaret Delacour,' said Lady Atme, in a low voice
J Hervey, ' is an aunt of Lord Delacour's. A woman whose
pieart is warmer than her temper.'
' And that is never cool^ said a young lady, who sat next to
JLady Anne. ' 1 call Mrs. Margaret Delacour the volcano ;
e 1 am never in her company without dreading an
■uption. Every now and then out comes with a tremendous
ise, fire, smoke, and rubbish.'
'And precious minerals,' said Lady Anne, 'amongst the
EUbbish.'
' But the best of it is,' continued the young lady, ' that she
g seldom in a passion without making a hundred mistakes, for
^hich she is usually obliged afterwards to ask a thousand
' By that account,' said Lady Anne, ' which I believe to
^ just, her contrition is always ten times as great as her
' Now you talk of contrition, Lady Anne,' said Mr. Hervey,
0 I should think of my own offences ; I am very sorry that my
Indiscreet questions gave Miss Delacour any pain — my head
I full of the mammoth, that I blundered on without
idng what I was about til! it was too late.'
103
A FAMILY PARTY
' Pray, sir,' said Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who now returned,
pud. took her seat upon a sofa, with the solemnity of a person
Who was going to sit in judgment upon a criminal, ' pray, sir,
daay I ask how long you have been acquainted with my Lady
(Deiacour f '
1 Clarence Hen-ey took up a book, and with great gravity
Jdssed it, as if he had been upon his oath in a court of justice,
land answered — ■
' To the best of my recollection, madam, it is now four
'years since I had first the pleasure and honour of seeing l^ady
Pelacour.'
' And in that time, intimately as you have had the pleasure
of being acquainted with her ladyship, you have never dis-
■ covered that she had a daughter ? '
' Never,' said Mr. Hervey.
' There, Lady Anne I — There ! ' cried Mrs. Delacour, ' will
you tell me after this, that Lady Delacour is not a monster?'
' Everybody says that she's a prodigy,' said Lady Anne ;
'and prodigies and monsters are sometimes thought synonymous
' Such a mother was never heard of,' continued Mrs. Dela-
cour, ' since the days of Savage and Lady Macclesfield. I am
■convinced that she /laUs her daughter. Why, she never speaks
rf her — she never sees her — she never thinks of her t '
' 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
,ao sensibility, sir — ^none — none. She who lives in a constant
lound of dissipation, who performs no one duty, who exists
lOnly for herself ; how does she show her sensibility ? — Has she
aensibility for her husband — for her daughter — for any one
Refill purpose upon earth? — Oh, how I hate the cambric
iandkerchief sensibility that is brought out only to weep at a
toagedy ! — Yes ; Lady Delacour has sensibility enough, I grant
ye, when sensibility is the fashion. I remember well her per-
frrming the part of a nurse with vast applause ; and I remem-
^r, too, the scmiiility she showed, when the child that she
■ursed fell a sacrifice to her dissipation. The second o"
^ildren that she killed ^ '
! 105
BEMNDA
' Killed ! — Oh 1 surely, my dear Mrs, Delacour, thai 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.
' 1 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 belter evidence than I have yet heard.'
' Why, my dear, dear Lady Anne,' cried Mrs. Delacour —
'bless me, 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 anything be stronger evidence than her ladyship's
conduct to my poor Helen — to your Helen, 1 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 lime 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 bad
his share in turning that head by his flattery.'
' I am sure her ladyship has tmried 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 safes
of her family, and for the sake of her reputation, that
Delacour had fewer admirers, and mote f
io6
lat my La^
A FAMILY PARTY /T-V,.
'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 aJl things, but especially of friends,
by experience,' said Lady Anne ; ' and it is no wonder, there-
fore, that those who have little experience of the pleasures of
(nendship should not be wise enough to know their value.'
' This is very good-natured sophistry ; but Lady Delacour
is loo 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 her-
self, I think,' said Mrs. Delacour : ' but I give her up — I give
■ Oh no,' said Lady Anne, ' you must not give her up yet,
I have been informed, and upon the best autfiority, that Lady
Delacour was not always the unfeeling, dissipated fine lady
that she now appears to be. This is only one of the Irarisfor-
maiions 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
'Or la bonne mkref said Mrs, Delacour, sarcastically,
•after thus leaving her daughter '
' Pour bonne boucke,' interrupted Lady Anne, ' when she is
tired of the insipid taste of other pleasures, she will have a
higher relish for those of domestic hfe, which wili be new and
fresh to her.'
' And HO 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 iXi'
107
"-4
BELINDA
Here the conversation was interrupted by llie c
one of Lady Anne's little boys, who ca.iiie running eagerly up
to his mother, to ask whether he might have < the sulphur
show to Helena Delacour. I want to show her Vertmnnus 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 garden
Charles?' said the young lady who sat beside Lady Anne:
' come here and tell nie the whole story.'
■ 1 will, but 1 should tell it you a great deal better another
time,' said the boy, ' because now Helena's waiting for Ver-
tumnus and Pomona.'
'Go then to Helena,' said Lady Anne, 'and I will tell tia
story for you.'
Then turning to the young lady she began — ' Once iqxm
a time there lived an old gardener at Kensington ; and ibis
old gardener had an aloe, which was older than himself; for it
was very near a hundred years of age, and it w '
blossom, and the old gardener calculated how much he might
make by showing his aloe, when it should be in full blow, t
the generous public — and he calculated that he might make
^loo; and with this j^ioo he deiemiined to do more than
was ever done with ^loo before: but, unluckily, as he was
thus reckoning his blossonis 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
' But I always understood that she paid fifty guineas for it,'
s^d 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 i 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, ' everything that \
108
A FAMILY PARTY
husband — ran away from him^and left hii
said Clarence Hervey.
id Lady Anne, 'let's come to the best part
story — mark how good comes out of evil. If this poor
nan had not lost his aloe and his wife, 1 probably should
ever have been acquainted with Mrs. Delacour, or with my
tUe Helena. About the time that the old gardener was left
1 beggar, as I happened to be walking one fine evening in
Hoane Street, I met a procession of schoolgirls — an old man
legged from them in a most moving voice; and as they passed,
«veral of the young ladies threw halfpence to him. One little
jiri, who observed that the old man could not stoop without
;reat difficulty, stayed behind ihe rest of her companions, and
Allected the halfpence which they had thrown to him, and put
hem into his hat. He began to tell his story over again to her,
pd she stayed so long listening to it, that her companions had
Btned the comer of the street, and were out of sight. She
Soked about in great distress i and I never shall forget the
athetic voice with which she said, " Oh I what will become of
le ? everybody will be angry with me." 1 assured her that
Dbody should be angry with her, and she gave me her little
and with the utmost innocent confidence. I took her home
a her schoolmistress, and I was so pleased with the beginning
f this acquaintance, that I was determined to cultivate it. One
Ood acquaintance I have heard always leads to another.
lelena introduced me to her aunt Delacour as her best
riend. Mrs. Margaret Delacour has had the goodness to let
jer little niece spend the holidays and all her leisure time
rith 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
iCe she has been so much with you,' cried Mrs. Delacour ;
spirits were quite broken by her mother's neglect of her ;
g as she is, she has a great deal of real sensibility ; but as
her mother's sensibility '
At the recollection of Lady Delacour's neglect of her
Id, Mrs. Delacour was going again to launch forth into
ignant invective, but Lady Anne stopped her, by whisper-
; what you say of the mother, for here is the
J
dauf^ter conung, and she has, indeed, a great deal ofjjaL
sensibility.'
- Helena and her young companions now came into ihe
room, bringing with them the sulphurs at which they had
been looking.
'Mamma,' said little Charles Percival, 'we have brou^.
the sulphurs to you, because there are some of them that /
don't know.'
' Wonderful I ' said Lady Anne ; ' and what is not quite so
wonderful, there are some of them that / don't know.'
The children spread the sulphurs upon a Utile 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 Hen-ey 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 belter tlian the comic muse, do yoa?'
Clarence Hervey made no answer, for he was at that instant
recollecting how Belinda looked in the character of the tragic
' 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
' I sat near her one nigbt 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 b 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 upstairs 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, etc. ; and be made
several blunders, which showed his absence of mind.
ADVICE
['What have you there, Mr. Hervey?' said Dr.
king over his shoulder — 'the tragic muse f This tragic
tnuse seems to rival Lady Delacour in your admiration.'
I ' Oh,' said Clarence, smiling, ' you know 1 was always a
yotary of the muses.'
'And a favoured votary,' said Dr. X . 'I wish, for
ttie interests of literature, that poets may always be lovers,
iQiough 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
he miserable. You know Petrarch tells us, he would not have
^een happy if he could ; he would not have married his mistress
jf it had been in his power ; because then there would have been
ta end of his beautiful sonnets.'
'Every one to his taste,' said Clarence ; 'for my part I have
geven less ambition to imitate the heroism than hope of being
spired with the poetic genius of Petrarch. I have no wish to
^ass whole nights composing sonnets. I would (am 1 not
jight, 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
^rs. Margaret Deiacour said, the moment he had left the room,
' Quite a different sort of young man from what I had expected
■ CHAPTER IX
P ADVICE
The next morning Mr. Hervey called on Dr. X , and
b^ged 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.'
H ' My opinion ! but of whom ? — Of Lady Delacour ? '
I ' No ; but of a young lady whom you will see with her.'
I ' Is she handsome ? '
I- ' Beautiful I '
I ' And young ? '
L
BELINDA
' And young.'
'And graceful ?'
y' The most graceful person you ever beheld.'
'Young, beautiful, graceful ; then the deuce take me,' i
Dr. X , ' if I give you my opinion of her ; for the o
are, that she has a thousand faults, at least, to balance these
■ 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 ai 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 I
flatterer.'
' And perhaps you think too much to make a good fnend,'
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, tny dear doctor, 1
hope you will not be prejudiced against Belinda, merely because
she is with Lady Delacour ; for to my certain knowledge, she
is not under her ladyship's influence. She judges and acts for
herself, of which 1 have had an instance.'
'Very possibly I' interrupted Dr. X . 'But before we
go any farther, will you please to tell me of what Belinda you
' Belinda Portman. I forgot that I had not told you.'
' Miss Portman, a niece of Mrs. Stanhopie's ?'
' Yes, but do not be prejudiced against her on that accotmt,' ,
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
' ^had long desired to converse. Dr.
b
AD Vice
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 r/j
taste to avoid a display of her abilities and accomplishments.
A sensible man, \vho 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
rei 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 daziled by glaring colours.
' She yields her charms of mind with sweet dclsy.'
•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 tnust not entirely trust to analogies
and allusions taken from the vegetable creation.'
'Whatl' cried Clarence Hervey, looking eagerly in the
doctor's eyes, ' what do you mean f I am afraid you do not
approve of Belinda.'
' Your fears are almost as precipitate as your hopes, my good
: 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. 1 must see nowi Bctoda.
BELINDA
act, I must study her, before 1 can give you my linal judgmeot.
Lady Delaeour has honoured me with her command;
her as often as possible. For your sake, my dear Hervey,
shall obey her ladyship most punclually, 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 ■
tertained by Dr. X 's conversation during the 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
pohteness 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 Delacoui'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 doubtfij]
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 Mai; for that an abb^, 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
r Don would have taken some hours to go regularly over,
1T4
\
ADVICE
DT hero traversed in a. few minutes. From Twiss to Vida,
Xiin Irwin lo Sir William Jones, from Spain to India, he
Ksed with admirable celerity, and seized all that could adorn |
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 jn everything 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 chessman
shall be his prize. Was it not Queen Elizabeth who gave a
alver chessman to one of her courtiers as a mark of her royal (/
fevour ? 1 am ashamed to imitate such a pedantic coquette —
but since 1 have said it, how can I retract ? '
'Impossible! impossible!' cried Clarence Hervey : 'a
silver chessman 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 contemptu-
'WIS opinion of his opponent — -Belinda changed her place —
Clarence recovered his presence of mind, and convinced him
Ihat he was not a man to be despised. The combat was long
^ubtful, 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
ikft the room, but soon she returned, dressed in the character
6f Qaeen Elizabeth, in which she had once appeared at a
masquerade, with a large ruff, and al! the costume of the
times.
Clarence Hervey, throwing himself at her feet, addressed
^r in that high-flown style which her majesty was wont to
hear from the gallant Raleigh, or the accomplished Essex.
115
ClariMi llii-pcy Ihrtw kimid/allicr-ficL
ioon ihe coquetry of the queen entirely conquered her
I PlTidery; and the favoured courtier, evidently elated by his
1 ^'tuarion, was as enthusiastic as her majesty's most insatiable
Canity could desire. The characters were well supported ;
Mth the actor and actress were highly animated, and seemed
io fiilly possessed by their parts as to be insensible to ihe
comments that were made upon the scene, Clarence Hervcy
' Was first recalled to himself by the deep blush which he saw
I Belinda's cheek, when Queen Elizabeth addressed her as
le of her maids of honour, of whom she affected to be jealous,
e 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.
' Vour 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 spirils, 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
—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
ilervcy ; ' they inspire everybody with gaiety.'
* Everybody I they incline me more to melancholy than
teirth,' said Dr. X . ' These high spirits do not seem
; natural The vivacity of youth and of health, Miss
Tortman, always charms me ; but this gaiety of Lady Dela-
coar'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
Betting up the fallen castles, and bishops, and kings, with
expeditious diligence.
'
BELINDA
' You are putting the bishop inlo the place of the knigb^
said Clarence.
' Lady Delacour,' continued the doctor, ' seems to be in *
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 in-
stantly 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 reMon •
' 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 usefid
secret in my profession ; pray impart it lo me — you who excd.
in everything,'
'Are you in earnest, Mr. Hen-ey?' said Belinda.
' Perfectly in eamesl^ — 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 puis
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 carmot hear what we a
saying, I believe ? '
' Oh no,' said Belinda, ' they are intent upon themselves.'
Doctor X fixed his eyes mildly upon Clarence Harvey,
and exclaimed in an earnest fHendly tone — 'What a pity, Mr,
Hervey, that a young man of your talents and acquirements, a
man who might be anything, should— pardon the expression — ■
, choose to be — nothing ; should waste upon petty obji
powers suited to the greatest ; should lend his soul to every
contest for frivolous superiority, when the same energy
centrated might ensure honourable pre-eminence among the
I first men in his country. Shall he who might not only dis-
tinguish himself in any science or situation, who might not
only acquire personal fame, but, oh, far more noble motive I'
who might be permanently useful to his fellow-creatures, con-
tent himself with being the evanescent amusement
drawing-room ? — Shall one, who might be great in public, ov
happy in private life, waste in rtus AcpWabXe nrnTmcx the beat
rf^^s of his existence — lime that can ne\er be recalled? —
Tliis 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 T have a sincere
Kgsrd for you, Mr, Hervey, and if I have been impertinent,
you must foi^ve 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 1 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 1 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 jimip 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, lo save the life of your friend.'
' Oh, pooh 1 damn it,' said Sir Philip, ' what signifies who
pulled you out, now yon are safe and sound ? By the bye,
Clary, did you ever qui? that doctor, as 1 desired you ? No,
that I'm sure you didn't i but I think he has made a quiz of
you ; for, damme, I believe you have taken such a fancj to the
ABVICE
BELINDA
old quizzical fellow, that you can't live without him. Miss
Portman, don't you admire Herve/s taste ! '
< In this instance I certainly do admire Mr. Herve/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 as to pot
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 f '
* 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
1 20
ADVICE
!l. Clary. Is black-ball your last word ?
f will you ihink better on't, and give up the doctor ? '
can never give up Dr. X 's friendship — I would
...r be black-balled by every club in London. The good
M«sson you g:ave me, Sir Philip, the day I was fool enough lo
Ijomp into the Serpentine river, has made me wiser for life. I
Ijinow, for I have fell, the difference between real friends and
J fashionable acquaintance. Give up Dr. X ! Never !
' Then fare you well, Clary,' said Sir Philip, ' you're tio
Jonger one of us.'
' Then fare ye well, Clary, you're no longer the man for me,'
$aid Rochfort.
' Tant pis, and iant 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, ani-
mated countenance, full approbation of his conduct.
'Hist! are they gone ? quite gonef 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 multi-
!|rficity of business, that 1 have scarcely a moment even for wit
'and Clarence Hervey. Belinda, my dear, will you have the
diarity 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 pimished for our indolence, as
your friend Dr. X said the other day : if we suffer business
ito 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
igecured my pardon from you by remembering your friend's wit
- — wisdom, 1 should say : how seldom are wit and wisdom
foined ! They might have been joined in Lady Delacour,
perhaps — there's vanity I— if she had early met with such a
jviend as Dr. X ; but it's too late now,' said she, with a
Aeep sigh.
e Her\-ey heard it, and it made a great impresna^
<J
BELINDA
y upon his benevolent imagination. * Why too late ^ ' said li' ''^ |
biniseir. ' Mrs. Margaret Delacour is mistaken if she thinks
this woman wants sensibility.'
' What have you got there. Miss Portman ? ' said Ladj
Delacour, taking from Belinda's hand one of the letters v
she had begged ber to look aver : ' something wondrous
pathetic, I should guess, by your countenance. " Helena
Delacour." Oh I read it to yourself, my dear — a schoolgitVs
letter is a thing I abominate — I make it a rule never lo read
Helena's epistles.'
' Let me prevail upon your ladyship lo make an exception
to the general rule then, ' said Belinda ; ' I can assure you this
is not a common schoolgirl's letter: Miss Delacour seen
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
anything 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 suramer^the sist of June — well, after the birthday, I
shall have time lo think about it. But then, we shall be going
out of town, and at Harrowgate I should not know what to do
/ith her : she had better, much better, go to her humdrum
Aunt Margare
Grosvenor Squai
zoophile friends,
Margaret Delacour i
She has, i
> she always does
These stationary good people, these
sometimes very convenient ; and Mrs.
s the most unexceptionable zoophile in the
intipathy 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 nie. Now I
provoke her in my turn, by never being provoked, and she
\ 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 sur-
r ladyship. She looked immediately with a signili-
J
'^l smile at Belinda. 'Why do not you echo evils, Miss
^ortraan ? '
'Pray, Lady Delacour,' interrupted Clarence Hervey, 'when
do you go to Harrowgate ? '
'What a sudden transition !' said Lady Delacour. 'What
assoriation of ideas could Just at that instant take you to
Harrowgate? When do I go to Harrowgate? Immediately
r the birthday, 1 believe we shaU^I advise you to be of
ihe parly.'
' 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 1 was afraid I
i 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 L What lady? her aunt Mat^aret?'
'No; Mrs. Margaret Delacour, she says, has been so ill
some time past, that she goes nowhere 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
Tied her to the Leverian Museum ? '
' Lady Anne Perciva! ; of whom she speaks with so much
gratitude and affection, that I quite long '
' Lord bless me ! ' interrupted Lady Delacour, ' Lady Anne
Fercival I Helena has mentioned this Lady Anne Percival to
nie 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 deliglit in making yourself appear less good
u
) you arc, my dear Lady Delacour?'
her hand.
' Because I hale to be hke other people,
' who delight in making themselves appear i
are. But 1 was going lo tell you, that 1
voke Percival by marrying Lord Delacour :
how much this idea delights me — I am sure that the r
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, ' Ihat
a, wife is a being whose actions are necessarily governed by a
husband.'
' Not necessarily — but accidentally. When a lady accident-
ally 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 " I hate pattern women. I hope I
may never see Lady Anne ; for I'm sure I should detest her
beyond ail things living — Mrs. Luttridge not excepted.'
Belinda was surprised and shocked at the malignant vehe-
mence with which her ladyship uttered these words ; it was in
vain, however, that she remonstrated on the injustice of pre-
determining to detest Lady Anne, merely because she had
shown kindness lo 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 j
' 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
; you may suppose that you have said everything
I that is wise, and good, and proper, and sublime, and that you
1 deserve to be called the best of friends ; you shall enjoy the
ADVICE
f 'office of censor lo Lady Delacour, and welcome ; but remember,
sinecure place, though I will pay you with my love and
Weem to any exlenl you please. You sigh^for my folly.
Alas ! my dear, 'tis hardly worth while — my follies will soon
in end. Of what use could even the wisdom of Solomon
be to me now .' If y(m have any humanity, you wii! not force
o reflect : whilst 1 yet lii'e, 1 must ketp 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
lo-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 htcle Helena, who
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 J
away the tear which she had let fall ; ' can you wonder that I
should talk of detesting Lady Anne Percival ? Vou 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 lo go, if I please." Yes, let her g
her go as far from me as possible ; let her never, never s
wretched mother more 1 — Write,' said Lady Delacour, turning
hastily to Belinda, ' write in my name, and tell her i
Oakly Park, and to be happy.'
' But why should you take it for granted that she cannot be i
happy with you ? ' said Belinda. ' Let us see ber-
ths exfjeriment.'
' No,' said Lady Delacour ; ■ no. — it is too late ;
BELINDA
condescend in my last moments to beg for that affection to
wiiich it may be thought I have forfeited my natural dainL'
Pride, anger, and sorrow, struggled in her countenance as
she spoke. She turned her fsice 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
Mrt/ influence to be considerable : not that he was either cox-
comb 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 in-
genuous young man of four-and- twenty can reform a veteran
coquette 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
126
^
THE MYSTERIOUS BOUDOIR
'ercival— discover that she has mistaken the road lo happiness.
.11 the difficulty will be to make them fairly acquainted with
[ch other ; for this, my dear doctor, 1 must trust to you. Do
lu prepare Lady Anne to tolerate Lady Delacour's faults, and
will prepare Lady Delacour to tolerate Lady Anne's virtues.'
You have generously taken the more diffictalt task of the
' 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 wasJifirruUng 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 Dela-
' cour loved admiration, the highest possible degree of positive
praise was insipid lo her taste, if it did not imply some
superiority over the woman whom she considered as a perpetual
iw it had been said by the coachmaker that Mrs. Luttridge
would sport a most elegant new vis-A-vh on the king's birthday.
Lady Delacour was immediately ambitious to outshine her in
equipage ; and it was this paltry ambition that made her con-
descend to all the meanness of the transaction by which she
.obtained Miss Porlman's draft and Clarence Hervey's two
lltmdred guineas. The great, the important day, at length
12;
^
DELINnA
9 arrived — her ladyship's triumph in the morning at the drawing-
room was complete. Mrs. Luttridge'a dress, Mrs. Luttridge's
vis-d-vis, Mrs. Lultridge's horses were nothing, absolutely
nothing, in comparison with Lady Delacour's : her ladyship
enjoyed the fijil exultation of vanity ; and at night she went in
high spirits to the ball.
' O my dearest Belinda,' said she, as she left her dressing-
room, 'how terrible a thing it is that you cannot go with me I —
None of the joys of this life are without alloy '.■ — 'T would be
too much to see in one night Mrs. Luttridge's mortification, and
my Belinda's triumph. Adieu 1 my love : we shall live to
another birthday, it is to be hoped. Marriott, my drops.
1 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.
I ' Is it possible,' thought she, ' that I have spent two hours
I by myself in a library without being tired of my e
How different are my feelings now from what they would have
been in the same circumstances six months ago I — 1 should
then have thought the loss of a birthnight bal! 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,
D my imagination might have misled me to the end of my hfe ;
I but now I can judge from my own experience, and I am con-
L vinced that the life of a fine lady would never make me
\ happy. Dr. X told me, the other day, that he thinlra
me formed for something better, and he is incapable of
'v 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 lo reflect
II upon the manner in which Clarence looked, whilst he declared
I to Sir Philip Baddely that he would never give up Dr. X ,
B when she was startled by the entrance of Marriott.
^t 'O Miss Portman, what shall we do? what shall we do? — i
B My lady 1 my poor lady 1 ' cried she,
B ' What is the matter ? ' said Belinda.
^h 'The horses — the young horses ! — Oh, 1 wiali my lady'b
ti
BELINDA
ne^'er seen them. O my lady, my poor lady, what will become
of her ? '
It was some minutes before Belinda could obtain froni
Marriott any intelligible account of what had happened.
'All 1 know, ma'am, is what Jame5 has just told me,' said
Marriott. 'My lady gave the coachman orders upon no ac-
count 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. O ma'am,' continued Marriott, ' if it had not been
for Mr. Hervey, ihey 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 I '
' 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 anything j 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 I' cried Behnda, 'here they are.' She ran down-
stairs instantly. The first object that she saw was Lady Dela-
cour 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 im.
mediately be brought to her own dressing-room, and that she
should there be left to Marriott's care and hers. Mr. Hervey
assisted in carrying Lady Delacour — she came to her senses as
they were taking her upstairs. ' Set me down, set me down,'
she exclaimed ; ' I am not hurt — I am quite well — Where's.
Marriott? Where's Miss Portman?' i
'Here we are — you shall be carried quite safely — trust to
/ said Belinda, in a firm tone, ' and do not struggle.'
Lady Delacour submitted : she was in agonising pain, but
:r fortitude was so great that she never uttered a
which she had put upon herself, by endeavoor- ,
I JO
THE ItVSTERIorS' BOUDOIR
cam, 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 Uelacour^' lay me on this sofa, and leave me to
Belinda.'
'What's all this?' cried Lord Delacour, staggering into the
room 1 he was much intoxicated, and in this condition had just
: home, as they were carrying Lady Delacour upstairs ;
he could not be made to understand the truth, but as soon as
he heard Clareoce Hervey's voice, he insisted upon going up to
wifis dress lag-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 i 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 liis
Inind, 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, catch-
g Lord Delacour's arm, Just as he was going to strike Clarence
Hervey. She led him to the sofa where Lady Delacour lay,
i 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,
er hands moved with convulsive twitches— she was perfectly
lent. Marriott was in a great bustle, running backwards and
fcrwards for she knew not what, and continually repeating, ' I
Irish nobody would come in here but Miss Portman and me.
My lady says nobody must come in. Lord bless me ! my lord
' Have you any arquebusade, Marriott ? Arquebusade, for
Lir lady, direcdy I ' cried his lordship, following her to the
or of the boudoir, where she was going for some drops.
' Oh, my lord, you can't corae in, I assure you, my lord,
Ihere's nothing here, my lord, nothing of the sort,' said
'larriott, setting her back against the door. Her terror and
mbarrassment instantly recalled all the jealous suspicions of
jxA Delacour. ' Woman ! ' cried he, ' 1 ■mili aee ■wVofa. ^«ii.
BELINDA
ive in this room ! — You have some one concealed there, and
1 iifiU 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 i '
'No! — No! — No I' 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 immedi-
ately 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 xaach JUiltered,
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 t ' 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 pajn now,' said Lady Delacour, 'but I have suffered
terribly If I could get rid of all this finery, if you could pnt
me to bed, 1 could sleep perhaps.'
Whilst Belinda was undressing Lady Delacour, she shrieked
several times ; but between every inten'ai 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 Port-
man, 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
THE MYSTERIOUS BOUDOIR
^1
As she spoke, she look Marriott into the adjoining dressing' 1
jom. 'O dear Miss Poitman,' said Marriott, who was
ncerely atlached to her lady, and who at this instant forgot
all her jealousies, and all her love of power, 'I'll do anything
you ask me ; but pray lei me stay in the room, though I know
n quite helpless. It will be too much for you lo be here all
night by yourself. The convulsions may take tny lady. What
shrieks she gives every now and then ! — and nobody knows
what's the matter but ourselves ; and everybody in the house
asking me why a surgeon is not sent for, if my lady is so
much hurt. Oh, I can't answer for it lo 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
n save her ! ' And here Marriott burst into tears.
' Why don't you give me the laudanum ? ' cried Lady Dela-
jr, in a loud peremptory voice ; ' Give it to me instantly.'
' No,' said Miss Portman firmly.—' Hear me. Lady Dela-
iir^^you must allow me to judge, for you know that you are
t 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 ivill 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 ha.ve been hurt by the overturn of your
carriage ; if you do not let either a surgeon or physician see
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 l.ady Delacour ; ' tell him my
ankle is sprained — tell him I am bruised all over — tell him
mything you will— he will not trouble himself any more about
me — he will forget all that passed to-night by the
133
BELINDA
saber. Oh I give me the laudanun), 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 Dela-
cour,' 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.'
' Thea,' 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 anything less than the power of magic could have brought
her lady to such a determination.
Belinda had scarcely despatched a sei-vant for Dr. X ,
when Lady Delacour repented of the permission she had given,
and all that could be said lo 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, continu-
ally came to her door with offers of assistance.
About four o'clock the doctor arrived, and Miss Portman
THE MYSTERIOUS BOUDOIR
was relieved from some of her anxiety. He assured her 'i
there was no immediale danger, and he promised that the
secret which she had eninisted to him should be faithfully
kept. He remained with her some hours, till Lady Delacour
becaine 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 y.
entirely for myself, and I shall be most grateful if you will ^
assist me with your advice. 1 hale 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,
Ihat 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. Her\'ey,' 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 lo preserve her own vanity from mortifica-
' 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 I^dy
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 smiie, ' that I am not afraid to let you unlock either of
US
BELINDA
' As a polite man,' said Dr. X , ' 1 believe thai I should
absolutely refuse to lake any external evidence of a lady's truth ;
but demonstration is unanswerable even by enemies, and 1 wil!
not sacrifice your interests to the foppery of my politi
I am ready to follow you. The curiosity of the s
have been excited by last night's disturbance, and I see r
method so certain as that which you propose of preventing
busy rumour. That goddess (let Ovid say what he pleases)
was bom 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 a
Aleast, might be written on this subject, if you would only con-
aldBScend to act like almost all other heroines, that i
f 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.
got home ; he found Clarence Hervey waiting for him. Clarence
seemed to be in great agiiation, though he endeavoured, with
all the power which he possessed over himself, to suppress his
' You have been to see Lady Delacour,' said he calmly ;
' is she much hurt ? — It was a terrible accident.'
' She has been much hurt,' said Dr. X , ' and she has
been for some hours delirious ; but ask me no more questions
now, for I am asleep, and must go to bed, unless you have
anything to say that can waken me ; you look as if some great
misfortune had befallen you ; what is the matter?'
'O my dear friend,' said Hervey, taking his hand, '
not jest with me ; 1 am not able to bear your raillery in
present temper— in one word, 1 fear that Belinda is unworthy
of my esteem : I can tell you no more, except that I a
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
I granted, and, stretched out upon that sofa,
.distracted lover vastly well — and (o complete the matter, you
cannot tell me why you are more miserable than ever man at-
136
THE MYSTERIOUS BOUDOIR
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 nian is less
disposed to jealousy than 1 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 musl be innocent.'
' Admirable reasoning ! — I was going to have told you just
now, if you would have suffered me to spealc connectedly, that
you have more reason for jealousy than you suspect, for Miss
Portman has actually unlocked for me — for me t 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 ovra mind for jealousy, expect no pity from me.'
' 1 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 — -1 am so much charmed with her, thai I wish '
' When can 1 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^
Jhat Lady Delacour is extremely ill — and that this would be
. |he 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
lt>egan a letter to Belinda. The doctor threw himself upon the
saying, ' Waken rae when you want me,' and in a few
tes he was fast asleep.
Doctor, upon second thoughts,' slid Clarence, rising
iaUft Bud tearing his letter down the middle, ' I cannot
137
)
BELINDA
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, ano^er
mistress.'
* Another mistress, indeed ! ' cried Dr. X , trjring to
waken himsel£
* Good Heavens 1 I do believe youVe been asleep.'
* I do believe I have.'
* But is it possible that you could fall soimd asleep in that
time ? '
* Very possible,' said the doctor : * what is there so extra-
ordinary in a man's falling asleep ? Men are apt to sleep some
time within the four-and-twenty hours, unless they have half-a-
dozen mistresses to keep them awake, as you seem to have, my
good friend.'
A servant now came into the room with a letter, that had
ju»t 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 meantime, as
far as general rules go, I can give you my advice gratis, in the
formula of an old Scotch song
* 'Tis good to be merry and wise,
*Tis good to be honest and true,
Tis good to be off with the old love
Before you be on with the new.'
138
^^^^B DIFFICULTIES '^^^^^^^^|
^^^P CKAPTEK XI ^^^1
■ DIFFICULTIES
I
TOFORE 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
I sent for to attend Mr, Horton, an intimate friend of his, a
fleman of great talents, and of the most active benevolence,
k had just been seized with a. violent fever, in consequence
lis exertions in saving the poor inhabitants of a village in
neighbourhood from tlie effects of a dreadful fire, which
ke out in the middle of the night.
Lady Delacour, who heard Dr. X . giving this account
Belinda, drew back her curtain, and said, ' Go this instant,
tor — I am out of all immediate danger, you say ; but if I
e not — -I must die in the course of a few months, you know
nd what is my Life, compared with the chance of saving
IT excellent friend 1 He is of some use in the world— I am
one — go this instant, doctor.'
'What a pity,' said Dr. X , as he left the room, 'that a
Dan who is capable of so much magnanimity should have
ted her life on petty objects ! '
Her life is not yet at an end — oh, sir, if you a>u^d save
I ' cried Belinda.
Doctor X shook his head ; but returning to Belinda,
t going half-way downstairs, he added, ' When you read
paper, you will know all that I can tell you upon the
set.'
letinda, the moment the doctor was gone, shut herself up
;r own room to read the paper which he had given to her.
X- first stated that he was by no means certain that
ly Delacour really had the complaint which she so much
;d ; but it was impossible for him to decide without
r examination, to which her ladyship could not be pre-
upon to submit. Then he mentioned all that he thought
be most efficacious in mitigating the paVtv Oaa.^ \ja&-j
139 jM
BEUNDA
Delacour might feel, and all that could be done, with the
greatest probability of prolonging her life. And he condaded
with the following words : ' These are all temporising ex-
pedients : 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 skilfid
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 £unt hopes
that Lady Delacour's life might be saved ; but she determined I
to wait till Dr. X should return to town, before she men-
tioned 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 Studle/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 beauti-
ful 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
140
BELINDA
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 he in a great measure the cause, his
manner and language were animated and unaffected ; but the
moment that this subject was exhausted, he became embar-
rassed ; 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 pro-
priety, 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 takings
leave of Miss Portman, which threw him into utter confusion.;
It surprised, if it did not confound, Behnda. She had forgotten
to ask Dr. X for his direction! and as she thought it,
might be necessary to write to him concerning Lady Delacourt
health, she begged of Mr. Hervey to give it to her. He took
a letter out of his pocket, and wrote the direction
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
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 lo whom the hair belonged, and the species of alarm,
which she had felt at this discovery opened her eyes effectually
to the state of lier own heart. She was sensible that the sightk
of a lock of hair, however long, or however beautiful,
hands of any man but Clarence Hervey, could not possiblyi
have excited any emotion in her mind. 'Fortunately,' thought
I she, ' 1 have discovered that he is attached lo another, whilst.
it is yet in my power to command my affections ; and he shall,
I see that I am not so weak as to form any false expectations.
■ from what I must now consider as mere commonplace flattery/
< Belinda was glad that Lady Delacour was not present at tho
discovery of the lock of hair, as she was aware that she wouM
1^2
DIFFICULTIES
lave rallied her immercifully upon the occasion J
rejoiced that she had not been prevailed upon to give Mitdame
't Cotntesse de Pomcnars a lock of her belle chevelurc. She
BiUitda,
\ could not help thinking, from the recollection of several
I. circumstances, that Clarence Hervey had endeavoured to gain
■ on interest in her affections, and she felt that there would be
I great impropriety In receiving his ambiguous visits during Lady
'43
r
BELINDA
Delacout's conRnement to her room. She therefore gave
orders that Mr. Herve>- should not in future be admi tied, till
her ladyship should again see company. This precauiiM
proved totally superfiuous, for Mr. Hcrvey 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 enniu
I she could not endure.
One morning as she was sitting up in bed, looking over i
large collection of notes, and cards of inquiry after her health,
she exclaimed —
'These people will soon be tired of^ bidding their footman
put it into their heads to inquire whether 1 am alive or dead —
I must appear amongst them again, if it be only for a
minutes, or they will forget me. When I am fatigued, I will
retire, and you, my dear Belinda, shall represent me, sc
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. Ztmmermann 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 hoiv 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 soflly 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
paal that ever thundering footman gave at my door, than
hear Marriott lock that boudoir, as if my life depended oi
not hearing the key turned.'
' Dear me t I never knew any lady that was ill, exccp
lady, complain of one's not making a noise to disturb her,'
Marriott.
' Then to please you, Marriott, I will complain of the only
ise that does, or ever did disturb me — the screaming of your
ious macaw.'
' Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead,
DIFFICULTIES
V Marriott had a prodigious affection for this
land she defended it with as much eagerness as if it had been
%beT child.
' Odious '. oh dear, my lady ! to call my poor macaw odious I
— I didn't expect it would ever have come to this — I am sure
1 don't deserve it — I'm sure I don't deserve that my lady
should have taken such a dislike lo me,'
And here Marriott actually burst into tears, ' But, my
dear Marriott,' said Lady Delacour, ' I only object to your
macaw — may not 1 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 Porlmau, 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 shut-
ting 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
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, how-
ever, did not prevent her from attending her lady as usual ; she
performed all her customary offices with the most officious
' 1 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 I '
r lady, who perfectly understood the language of sighs, and
fclt the force of Marriott's, forebore to touch again on the
tender subject of the macaw, hoping that when her house was
more filled with company, she should be relieved by
more agreeable noises from continually hearing this pertina-
Lpous tormentor.
t 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
3 go on as usual at her house, her ' troops of
bends' appeared to congratulate lier, and to amuse them-
/
id Lady Delacout Vi
BELINDA
Klatory speeches from people, who would not care
the black hole at Calcutta this minute ; but "'
; lake the world as it goes — dirt and precious ston's
mixed together. Clarence Hervey, however, n'a pas une aiiti
de bout; he, I am sure, has been really concerned for me: be
ihinlcs that his young horses were the sole cause of the whole
evil, and he blames himself so sincerely, and so unjusdy, ibat
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 fait sex. Seriously,
Belinda, is it my fimcy, or is not Clarence wonderfully changed?
Is not he grown pale, and ihin, and serious, not to say melan-
choly ? What have you done to him since I have been ill?'
' Nothing — 1 have never seen him.'
' No 1 then the thing is accounted for very naturally — he
in despair because he lias 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 Lad]r
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 Delacout had herself a
daily part to perform, which occupied almost her whole atten-
tion. 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 everybody, complained of
a nervous headache, left Belinda to do the honours for her,
and retired.
146
DIFFICULTIES
Miss Porlman was now really placed in a difficult and
iangerous situation, and she bad ample oppoit unities of
'earning and practising prudence. All the fashionable dissi-
pated young men in London frequented Lady Deiacour's house,
' it was said that they were dravm thither by the attractions
of her fair representative. The gentlemen considered a niece
of Mrs. Stanhope as their lawful prize. The ladies wondered
Chat the men could think Belinda Portman a beauty ; but
whilst they affected to scorn, they sincerely feared her charms.
, left entirely to her own discretion, she was exposed at
to the malignant eye of envy, and the insidious voice of
flattery — she had no friend, no guide, and scarcely a protector ;
aunt Stanhope's letters, indeed, continually supplied her
mth advice, but with advice which she could not follow consist-
;ntly with her own feelings and principles. Lady Delacour,
;ven if she had been well, was not a person on whose couns^. -,
(he 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 i
resolution not to be ied e*'en by timidity into follies which the '.
Example of Lady Deiacour had taught her to despise. '
Belinda's prudence seemed to increase with the necessity for I
tertion. It was not the mercenary wily prudence of aT
young lady, who has been taught to think it virtue to sacrifice
, the afieclions of her heart to the interests of her fortune — it
lot the prudence of a cold and selfish, but of a modesty i
and generous woman. She found it most difficult to satisfy "
herself in her conduct towards Clarence Hervey : he seemed
rtified and miserable if she treated him merely as a common
acquaintance, yet she felt the danger of admitting him to the
bmiliarity 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
ntirely divest herself of the idea that she was beloved,
when she observed the extreme eagerness with which Cfarcncc
'Hervey watched all her motions, and followed her with his eye
i 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 ;
lanner towards her every day became more distant and,
"47
BELINDA
respectful, more constrained and embarrassed ; but now and
then a diflferent look and expression escaped. She had often
heard of Mr. Herve/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, Mamma, 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 Til 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 Herve/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 gouvemante. 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
14S
DIFFICULTIES
"M necessary lo go warily to work, lest they should betray
'nemselves. Accordingly they began by dropping distant
"■yswrious hints about Clarence Hervey lo 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
II is not fashion, nor wit, nor elegance, and all that, that he
Jooks for always,'
These obsen'ations were accompanied with the most signi-
ficant looks. Belinda heard and saw all this in painful silence,
bat Lady Delacour often used her address to draw some farther
Mplanation 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 reser^'e 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 l^dy 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 \a,stJS/e ckatnpitre at Frograore.
' What a cursed unlucky overturn that was of yours. Lady
Delacour, with those famous young horses I 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 ail 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 fliej 1 regret it more on Miss Portman's
account than on my own,' said her ladyship. Belinda assured
ber that she felt no mortification from the disappointment.
' Oh, damme 1 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 ojj — ■
149 i
BELINDA
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 oiihe Staffordshire playing at
dinner, and we had some &mous glees — and Fawcett gave us
his laughing song, and then we had the launching oi 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
musket and bayonet with the point of the bayonet on his
chin — faith ! that was really famous ! But I forgot the Pyrrhic
dance. Miss Portman, which was damned fine too — danced in
boots and spurs by those Hungarian fellows — they jump and
turn about, and dap 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 drunmier of the Staffordshire dressed as a
gipsy girl, gave us TAe 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 ballroom 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
150
DIFFICULTIES
human gravity to withstand the sight — Rochfort laughed first,
Wy Delacour followed him, and Clarence Hervey and Belinda
(^Ouid no longer restrain themselves.
'Damme, now I believe you've all been quiizing me,' cried
(lie baronet, and he fell into a sulky silence, eyeing Clarence
Kervey and Miss Portman from time to time with what he
meant for a ^wo^w'n^ look. His silence and sulkiness lasted
tifl Clarence took his leave. Soon afterward Belinda retired to
the music-room. Sir Philip tiien begged to speak a few words
lo Lady Delacour, with a face of much importanct : and after
a preamble of nonsensical expletives, he said that his regard for
her ladyship and Miss Portman made him wish to explain hints
M-hich had been dropped from him at times, and which he could
not explain to her satisfaction, without a promise of inviolable
secrecy. ' As Hervey is or was a sort of a friend, I can't mention
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,
Mr. Hervey could have no serious intentions, because he
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 1 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 Ane 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 gouver-
nante, 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 1 promise
shall keep your counsel and o
151
BELINDA
r Philip then, with more than his usual 7
oaths, pronounced Miss Portman to b« the finest girl he had
L, and took his leave.
When Lady Delacour repeated this story to Belinda, shf
concluded by saying, ' Now, my dear, you know Sir Philip
Baddely has his oirn views in telling us all this — in telling/i'ti
all this ; for evidently he admires you, and consequendy hates
Clarence. So ! 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, 1 assure your lady-
ship,' said Belinda ; ' I have always considered Mr. Hetvey
as '
* Oh, as a common acquaintance, no doubt — but we'll pass
over ail those pretty speeches : I was going to say that tliis
" mistress in the wood " can be of no consequence t
happiness, because, whatever that fool Sir Philip may think,
Clarence Hervey is not a man to go and marry a girl who has
been hia mistress for half a dozen years. [ 0o not took so
shocked, my dear — I really cannot help laughing. I con-
graiulaiG you, however, that the thing is no worse — it is all in
rule and in course — when a man marries, he sets up ni
equipages, and casts off old mistresses ; or if you like to s
the thing as a woman of sentiment rather than as a woman oi
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 mora! 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 can-
not stir in the business, for he knows Clarence would call him
out if his secret viz to Virginia were to come to light. I advise
you daller 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^ — ihan follow my advice.' - -/
Belinda, without any haughtiness, but with firm gentleness,
replied, that she had no designs whatever upon Mr. Hervey,
^ aiidthat therefore there could be no necessity for any n
DIFFICULTIES
It i — that the ambiguity of his conduct towards
ler had determined her long since to guard her affections,
Ihat she had the satisfaction to feel that they w
under her command.
That is a great satisfaction, indeed, my dear,' said Lady
Oelacour. ' It is a pity that your countenance, which is usually
expressive enough, should not at this instant obey your wishes
id express perfect felicity. But though you feel no pain from
isappoinledaflection, doubtless theconcem that you showarises
om the necessity you are under of withdrawing a portion of
)ur esteem from Mr. Hervey — this is the style for you, is it
X ? After all, tny dear, the whole may be a quizzification of
ir Philip's — and yet he gave me such a minute description of
sr person I I am sure the man has not invention or taste
lough to produce such a fancy piece.'
' Did he mention,' said Belinda, in a low voice, ' the colour
[ her hair ? '
' Yes, light brown ; but the colour of this hair seems to
feet you more than all the rest.'
Here, to Belinda's great relief, the conversation was inter-
ipted 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
lescription of Virginia's, Miss Portman was convinced that
had some secret attachment ; and she could not help
ilaraing him in her own mind for having, as she thought,
ideavoured to gain her affections, whilst he knew that his
:art was engaged to another, Mr. Hervey, however, gave
ler no further reason to suspect him of any design to win her
e ; for about this time his manner towards her changed, —
obviously endeavoured to avoid her ; his visits were short,
.ion was principally directed to Lady Delacour ;
icn she retired, he took his leave, and Sir Philip Baddely
the field to himself. The baronet, who thought that he
succeeded in producing a coldness between Belinda and his
ival, was surprised to find that he could not gain any advantage
himself; for some time he had not the slightest thought:
f serious connection with the lady, but at last he was piqued
her indifference, and by the raillery of his friend Rochfort.
' 'Pon honour,' said Rochfort, ' the girl must be in love
iry, for she minds you no more than if you were ■(ms"qq4.'j;
'53
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Lady 1
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BELINDA
' I could make her sing to another tune, if I pleased,' saK*
Sir Phiiip ; ' but, damme, it would co5t me too much- — a wife^.
too expensive a. thing, nowadays. Why, a man could have
twenty cumcles, and a fine stud, and a pack of hounds, and
as many mistresses as he chooses into the bargain, for what it
would cost hint to take a wife. Oh, damme, Belinda Fortman'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 iaiit
pis and a iani micux in everything — he's not come lo the tanl
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 whst 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 thia
determination, he could not help assuming fim-anct the tone of
a favoured lover,
' Damme,' cried Sir Philip, one night, at Lady Delacotw's
concert, ' I think that Mr. Hervey has taken out a patent for
talking to Miss Portman ; but damme if I give up this piac^
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 anything
more interesting, more amusing, to whisper in Belinda's
ear than, ' Don't you think the candles wa
famously ? '
The baronet determined the next day upon the grand attack.
He waited upon Miss Portman with the certainty of being
[ iavourably received ; but he was, nevertheless, somewhat em-
j barrassed to know how to begin the conversation, when he
k found himself alone with the lady.
wirled and twisted a short stick that he held in his
md, and put it into and out of his boot twenty times, and at
fiasi. he began with — ' Lady Delacour's not gone to Harrowgate
I?'
' 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 everything else, than
anybody 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 im-
pression upon Miss Belinda Portman, Sir Phihp 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
I exclaimed, ' How is Mrs. Stanhope now, pray, Miss Portman ?
Land your sister, Mrs. Tollemache ? she was the finest woman,
I I thought, the first winter she came out, that ever I saw,
Examine. Have you ever been told that you're like her ? '
' Oh, damn it then, but you are ; only ten times handsomer.'
' Ten times handsomer than the finest woman you ever saw,
r Philip ? ' said Behnda, smiling.
' Than the finest woman I had ever seen /i^n,' said Sir
K Fhilip ; ' for, damme, I did not know what it was to be in love
»55
BELINDA
: Qie baronel heaved an audible sigh) : ' 1 alwayi
laughed at love, and all thai, thm-t and marriage pariicularly.
I'll trouble you for Mrs. St?Jihope'5 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 ike
tkitig in style, I ought to pretend at this instant not to under-
stand you ; but such false delicacy might mislead you ; permit
mc, therefore, to say, that if I have any concern in the letter
which you are going to write to my aunt Stanhope
'Well guessed I' interrupted Sir Philip: 'to be s
' have, and you're a charming girl — damn me if you are
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 flirther trouble then,
sir, on my account,' said Miss Portman — —
' Nay, damme, don't catch at that unlucky word, trontJf,
nor look so cursed angry ; though it becomes you, too, uncom-
monly, and I like pride in a haiidsome woman, if it was only
for variety's sake, for it's not what one meets with often, n
ada.ys. 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 thai)
have my answer from your own charming lips, if it was only
for the pleasure of seeing you blush in this heavenly sort
style.'
'To put an end to this heavenly sort of style, sir,' s
Belinda, withdrawing her hand, which the baronel took a
he was confident of its being his willing prize, ' 1 must
plicitly 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 I
he will not be offended by the frankness of my a
'You can't be in earnest, Miss Portman 1' exclaimed the I
astonished baronet. |
' Perfectly in earnest, Sir Philip.'
' Confusion seiie me,' cried la, starting up, ' if this i:
Mt extraordinary thing 1 ever heard 1 Will you do j
156
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BELINDA
I, to let me know your particular objections b
Sir Philip Baddely ? '
'My objections,' said Belinda, 'cannot be obviated, ani
therefore it would be useless to state them.'
' Nay, pray, ma'am, do me the favour — I only ask fin
information sake — is it to Sir Philip Baddeiys fortune, ;£iS,oo(
a year, you object, or to his family, or to his person ?— -Oh^
curse it I ' said he, changing his tone, ' you're only quizzing
me to see how I should look — damn me, you did it too well
I you little coquette ! '
I 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 coquette i
is a thing 1 understand as well as another, and if we had been I
only talking in the air, it would have been another thing ; but
when I come at once to a proposal in form, and a wi
seriously tells me she has objections that cannot be obviated,
damme, what must I, or what must the world conclude, bat
that she's very unaccountable, or that she's engaged — which
last I presume to be the case, and it would have been a satis-
faction to me to have known it sooner — at any rate, it is i
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
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 slick ii
all manner of shapres, 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,
was determined to write to Mrs. Stanhope, whose influence
over her niece he had no doubt would be decisive ir
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
s fevers and convulsions— I don't understand them, bnf
158
THE MACAW
[ ihink Dr. X 's prescriptions seem lo have done her good,
for she is ccna.inl)' better of kte, and I am glad to hear music
and people again In the house, because I know all this is what
my Lady Delacour Ukes, and there is no reasonable indulgence
that I would not willingly allow a wife ; but 1 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 Porlman 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 ivant sense — but (hen (I speak lo you freely of all '
that lies upon my mind, Miss Portman, for I know— I know'
I you have no delight in making mischief in a house), between
' you and me, her sense is rot 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 everything, and would as soon lay about him with a
tsword as with a cane : so it is better such a thing should not
I be in his power. And it is the same with wit, which would be
I safest and best out of the power of some people.'
3ut is it fair, my lord, to make use of wit yourself to abuse
n others ? ' said Belinda, with a smile, which put his lord-
K«hip into perfect good-humour with both himself and his lady.
' Why, really,' said he, ' there would be no living with Lady
iQelacour, if I did not come out with a little sly bit of wit now
I and then ; but it is what I am not in the habit of doing, I
; you, except when very hard pushed. But, Miss Port-
i, as you like so much to hear the end of quarrels, here^
159 ~
BELINDA
the end of one which you have a particular right to hear
thing of,' coRlinued his lordship, taking out his pocket-bool
and producing some banknotes; '>'ou should have rece'
this before, madam, if I had knotvn of the transaction sooni
of your part of it, I mean,'
' Milord, de man call to speak about de burgimdy
order, milord,' said Champfbrt, who came into the room wid
a sly, itiquisitive face.
'Tell him I'll see him immediately— show him into thft
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 cai
forward to receive the newspaper, his eye glanced at the bank-
notes, and then at Miss Portmaii.
' 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 but^undy, and shalli
be out all the rest of the day, let me trouble you the next
you see Lady Delacour to give her this pocket-book from me.
I should be sorry that Miss Portman, from anything that has
passed, should run away with the idea that I am a niggardly
husband, or a tyrant, though I certainly like to be
my own house. What are you doing, madam ? — that is your
note, that does not go into the pocket-book, you knov
' Permk 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. 1 will run up to
her dressing-room, and tel! 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 1 like to be treated with respect in my own house,
there is a time for everything. 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.
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
■aid to Belinda, ' My dear, would you believe it, my Lord
160
THE MACAW I
iDelacour was absolutely a perfect example of the useful and .
Bagrecable this moming — who knows but he may become the 1/ '
■ sublime and beautiful in time ? En atlenilanl here are your
Itwo hundred guineas, my dear Belinda : a thousand thanks for
l.the thing, and a million for the manner — manner is all in alt I
" k conferring favours. My lord, who, to do him justice, has I
Itoo much honesty to pretend to more delicacy than he really I
I possesses, told me (hat he had been taking a lesson from Miss |
I Portman this moming in the art of obliging ; and really, for a
I grown gentleman, and for the first lesson, he comes on sur-
1 prisingly. I do think, that by the time he is a widower his
lordship will be quite another thing, quite an agreeable man —
it a genius, not a Clarence Hervey — that you cannot expect.
Apropos, what is the reason that wc have seen so little of
Clarence Hervey lately ? He has certainly some secret
attraction elsewhere. It cannot be that girl Sir Philip men-
tioned ; no, she's nothing new. Can it be at Lady Anne
Percival's ?— or where can it be ? Whenever he sees me, 1
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 txcelUnee, no niece, no
cousin, to entangle our hero.'
' Ours ! ' said Belinda.
' Well, yours, then,' said Lady Delacour.
'Mint!'
' Ves, 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 moming in a terrible bad humour. Come,
whilst you tell your story, help me to string these pearls ; that
I 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
I 'would inevitably propose for you — the fact is nothing new or
surprising to me, but I should really like to hear how ridiculous '
V the man made himself.' ,
' And that,' said Belinda, ' is the only thing which I do not ^^^
birish to tell your ladyship.'
161
BELINDA
* 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 C€m 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 \^ath the greatest pleasure to get rid of it, for it
is the torment of my life.'
*■ Dear, my lady I 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 / must go, my lady,' said Marriott angrily, * that is
certain ; for to part with my macaw is a filing I cannot do to
please anyho&yj Her eyes turned with indignation upon
Belinda, from association merely ; because the last time that
162
THE MACAW
le had been angry about her macaw, she had also been angty
JwU Miss Portman, whom she imagined to be the secret enemy
ft her favourite.
'To stay another week in the house after my macaw'
" 'n disgrace is a thing nothing shall prevail u|>on i
She flung out of the room in a fury.
' Good Heavens I am I reduced to this ? ' said Lady
'she thinks that she has me in her power. No ; I
D die without her ; I have but a short lime to live~I will
I slave, 1-el the woman betray me, if she will.
lllow her this moment, my dear generous friend ; te!i her
o this room again ; take this pocket-book,
jr her whatever is due to her in the first place, and give her
f guineas — observe I — not as a bribe, but as a reward.'
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
jomebody must have set her against me, for it is not natural to
pr : but since she can't bear me about her any longer, 'tis
^e I should be gone.'
'The only thing of which Lady Delacour complained was
: noise of this macaw,' said Belinda ; ' it was a pretty bird —
IV 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 1 '
'And for the sake of a macaw [ And at a time when your
idy is so much in want of you, Marriott 1 You know she
nuiot live long, and she has much to suffer before she dies,
1 if you leave her, and if in a fit of passion you betray the
mfidence she has placed in you, you will reproach yourself for
r afterward. This bird — or all the birds in the world —
It be able to console you ; for you are of an afiectionaie
isposition, I know, and sincerely attached to your poor lady.'
'That I ami— and to betray her!— O Miss Portman, 1
lould sooner cut off my hand than do it And I have been
led more than my lady knows of, or you either, for Mr.
katnpfort, who is the greatest mischief-maker in the world,
1 is the cause, by not shutting the door, of all this dilemma ■,
la'am, I'm convinced, by the tenderness of your
163
cmy 1
dis-
■ m I
speaking, ihai you are not the enemy lo me I supposed, and
beg your pardon ; but I was going to say that Mr. Champfof^
who saw the friicas between my lord and me, about the key
and the door, the night of my lady's accident, has whispereo
it about at Lady Singleton's and everywhere — Mrs. Luliridge's
maid, ma'am, who is my cousin, has pestered me witb so many
questions and offers, from Mrs. Luttridge and Mrs. Freke, <tf
any money, if I would only tell who was in the boudoii
I have always answered, nobody — and I defy them to get any-
thing out of nie. Betray my lady ! I'd sooner cut my tongue
out this minute \ Can she have such a base opinion of me,
' No, indeed, 1 am convinced that you are incapable of be-
traying her, Marriott ; but in all probability after you have left
' If my lady would let mc keep my macaw,' interrupted
Marriott, ' I should never think of leaving hei
'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 hoiurs this morning.'
Marriott was beginning the history of Chainpfort 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 everything
that is due to you.'
' Due to me ! Lord bless me, ma'am, am 1 to go ?'
' Certainly, it was your own desire— it is consequendy 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 secrecy. You are at liberty, she desires me to say, to
tell her secret to the whole world, if you choose to do so.'
' O 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 disre-
spectful again — take my macaw and ail I No, I will carry it
myself lo my lady.'
Lady Delacour was surprised by the sudden entrance of
Marriott, and her macaw. The chain which held the bii "
164
THK MACAW
ible T^^l
raJllcd I
il this I
Manioil put into her ladyship's hand without being able
say anything more than, ' Do what you please, my liidy,
«— and with me.'
Pacified by this submission. Lady Delacour granted
Marriott's pardon, and she most sincerely rejoiced
reconciliation.
next day Belinda asked the dowager Lady Boucher,
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 scream-
ing favourite. Lady Delacour commissioned Miss Ponman to
any price she pleased. ' If I were able, 1 would
acconnpany 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 Holbom, 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 Ursellc, taken on her voyage from Cayenne to
Brest, by his Majesty's Ship Unicom.'
When Lady Boucher and Belinda arrived at this bird-
fencicr'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 atten-
tion, by her likeness to Clarence Hcn-ey'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 Porlman,' said Lady Boucher, ' as Lady Delacour is
BO 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 thia beautiful pair of green parroquets ; or, stay, a
goldfinch is not very noisy, and here is one thai can play a
thousand pretty tricks. Pray, sir, make it draw up water in
its tittle bucket for us.'
' O mamma I ' said one of the little boys, ' this is the very
thing that is mentioned in Bewick's Nisfoty 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.'
ifis Mm
BELINDA
Whilst ihe little boys were looking at the goldfincli, IkliiiiJ*
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 nutmma better?' said she, in a timid tone. *'
have some goldfish, which you know cannot make the least
noise : may I send them to her ? I heard that lady call yoU
Miss Porlman ; I believe you are the lady who wrote such a
kind postscript to me in mamma's last letter — that is the
reason 1 speak so freely to you now. Perhaps yoti would
write to tell me if mamma will sec me ; and Lady Anne
Percival would take me at any time, I am sure — but she
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 goldfish.'
Belinda was touched by the manner in which this affec-
tionate little giri spoke to her. She assured her that she would
say all she wished to her mother, and she begged Helena to
send the goldfish whenever she pleased.
' Then,' said Helena, ' 1 wii! send them as soon as I go
Aoww— as soon as I go back to Lady Anne Percival's, 1 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 un-
fortunately, a blue macaw 1 really have not at present ; not
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, draw-
ing 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 ; yoii know she
is my Lord Delacour's aunt.'
Belinda persisted in sending the macaw, for she was in
SORTES VIRGILIANAE
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 in-
troduce me to Miss Portman,' continued Lady Anne.
' The very thing I wished I ' 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
homed cock^ 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.'
^ See Adventures of a Guineat vol. i. chap. xvi.
167
BELINDA
' 1 am sure she will like what is coming Tor het,' sai"
Belinda, ' and so will your ladyship ; bul do not lei m*
iniernipi you and Monsieur le Comie.' And as she spoke, sfec
took up 3 volume of plays which lay upon the table.
' Nanine, or La FruiU, which shall we have ? ' said Lady
DeLicour : ' or what do you think of L'Ecossaise f
'The scene oi L'Ecossaise is laid in London,' said Belinda;
' 1 should think with an English audience it would therefore be
' Yes I so it will," said Lady Delacour ; ' then let i
UEcossaise. M. le Comte I am sure will do justice to the
character of Friporl the Knglishman, "qui s^ait donner, niais
qui ne sgait pas vivre." My dear, I forgot to tell you that
Clarence Hervey has been here : it is a pity you did not ci
a little sooner, you would have heard a charming scene of Thi
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, how-
ever, he has promised to come back to dine with me — M. le j
Comte, you will dine with us, 1 hope ? '
The count was extremely sorry that it was impossible — he
was engaged. Belinda suddenly recollected that it was tin
dress for dinner ; but just as the count took his leave, and as
she was going upstairs, a footman met her, and told her that
Mr. Hervey was in the drawing-room, and wished to speak tt
her. Many conjectures were formed in Belinda's mind as shi
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 Heiena Delacour's gold-
fishes standing on the table beside him. ' I have been com-
missioned 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 I '
After a pause Mr. Hervey went on speaking of Lady Dela-
cour, and of his earnest desire to see her as happy in domestic
life as she appeartii 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
Tfe had conside
SORTES VIKGILIANAE
had considered only his own amusement in cullivaiiiig her
society : ' Dut,' continued he, ' of late I have formed a different
opinion of her character ; and 1 think, from what 1 have
observed, that Miss Portman's ideas on this subject agree with
[_Biine. I had laid a plan for making her ladyship acquainted
with Lady Anne Percival, who appears to me one of the most
niable and one of the happiest of women. Oakly Park is
it a few miles from Harrowgate. — But I am disappointed in
is scheme ; Lady Delacour has changed her mind, she says,
id will not go there. Lady Anne, however, has just told me
at, though it is July, and though she loves the country, she
HI most willingly stay in town a month longer, as she thinks
tbat, with your assistance, there is some probability of her
Reeling a reconciliation between Lady Delacour and her
gtisbaiid's relations, with some of whom Lady Anne is inii-
tdsiely acquainted. To begin with my friend, Mrs. Margaret
Delacour : the macaw was most graciously received, and I
Salter myself that I have prepared Mrs. Delacour to think
Komewhat more favourably of her niece than she was wont to
So. All now depends upon Lady Delacour's conduct towards
Jier daughter: if she continues to treat her with neglect, 1
'1 be convinced that I have been mistaken in her character.'
Belinda was much pleased by the openness and the unaffected
with which Clarence Hervey spoke, and she eer-
ily was not sorry to hear from his own lips a distinct ex-
of his views and sentiments. She assured him that
effort that she could make with propriety should be wanting
effect the desirable reconciliation between her ladyship and
femily, as she perfectly agreed with him in thinking thai
ly Delacour's character had been generally misimderstood
the world.
id Mr. Hervey, 'her connection with that Mrs.
'reke hurt her more in the eyes of the world than she was
tacitly understood by the public, that every
ly goes bail for the character of her female friends. If
ly Delacour had been so fortunate as to meet with such a
id as Miss Portman in her early life, what a diffei-enl
she would have been ! She once said some such thing
tne herself, and she never appeared to me so amiable as at
Dfr. Hervey proaounced these last words m a TOatv-nCT DtvM»_
169
^ BELINDA
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 Baddel/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 goldfishes and to Helena : upon these subjects they could
both speak very fluently. Lady Delacour made her appearance
by the time that Clarence had finished repeating the Abbd
NoUet'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 goldfishes ? '
* These goldfishes,' 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 goldish about me ? — Stay,
don't tell me, let me guess — Lady l^evj\3Ltv^'^— "^o\ >jw5.^qs^^
170
_ Bct^ because I ksov ibe
ifchga t MiMJj attAatotatoooecfbastapii
; ate wants Id |k1 oat a<' me tiste CBORgb to
e. Bat TOO stf il was not Lady Nnrlaad ? —
UnBt thai prrtops ? fcr ite tuts t«« daogfatets wbooi she
*■& OK to ask to my coooens. Ii was not Mrs. Him? —
W^ tbcB, it aas Mn. Uasttisan ; far she tus 2 miad to go
widi HM to HxmmsaiK, vhecc, by iIk bj-e, I sluJI dm go j so I
won't dtcat faer am «< her eotdfisbes ; h was Mis. MaMersott,
tar?'
ibesc fiitJe g«ddfisbs tame from a. penon mho
«mdd be m; fbd M s^ with you to Hanowgate ! ' said
~ Herreir. * Or who would be very glad to stay whfa
town,' said Belinda ; ' from a person *lio vanta nothine
oci but — your lovt'
ale or female?' said Lady DeUcour.
•Female.'
* FemaJe ? I have not a female friend in the »-orlil but j'Ouf-
sel^ my dear Belinda ; nor do I know anothei female in tbe
world, arbose love 1 should thinic aboot lor half an instant. But
piay ten me tbe name of this unknown &iend of mine, who H-ants
&fm me but \oveS
Excuse me,' said Belinda ; ' 1 cannot tell her name, onlcss
yoa sill promise to see her.'
' Vou have really made me impiatient to see her,' said Lady
Dejacoor : ' but I am not able to go out, j-ou know, yet ; and
«-itb a new acquaintance, one most go tbrough the ceremony
of a rooming visit. Now, en comcUiue, is it worth while ? '
' \'cry well worth while,' cried Belinda and Claicnce Hervey
eageriy.
' Ah, fardt.' as M. le Comte exclaims continually. Ah, fiariU?
Voa 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 wTong. Then, perhaps, it is Lady Anne her-
self?— Well, take me where you please, my dear Belinda, and
i&iroduce me where you please : I depiend 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
,lO-roorrow, if you will let me invite her to your reading parly.'
171 J^^
BELINDA
^
' Willi pleasure. She is some cliarming imigr^i: oi C\ai<M^
Hcrvej^s acquaintance. IJul where did you meet with herlfc
morning ? Vou have both of you conspired to puiile me, Tiffi
It upon yourselves, then, if this new acquaintance should not,
as Ninon de TEnclos used to say, guit cost. If she he halT
agreeable and graceful, Clarence, as Madame ia Comtessc dc
Pomenars, 1 should not think her acquaintance too dearly par-
chased 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 1 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
to say, whenever she comes into a room. Now let u
' Bui, my dear,' cried Lady Delacour, starting at the sight
of Belinda, who was still in her morning dress, ' absolutely be-
low par 1 — 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, aujusU, to a farthing a yard."
As she left the room, Belinda heard Clarence Hervey repeat
to Lady Delacour —
' Give nie a look, give me a liice.
That makes simplicity a grace ;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free '
he paused^buf Belinda recollected the remainder of the
Such sweet n^lect more taketh me
Than all Ih' 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 simphcity.
Lady Delacour's curiosity was raised by the descriptioa
which Belinda and Clarence Hervey had given of the r
acquaintance who sent her the goldfishes, and who wantetl
nothing from her but her love,
SORTES VIRGILIANAE
Miss Portman told her that the unknown would probably
come half an hour earlier to the reading party than any of ihe
rest of the company. Her ladyship was alone in the library,
when Lady Anne Percival brought Helena, in consequence of
a note from Belinda.
Miss Portman ran downstairs to the hall to receive her :
the little girl took her hand in silence. ' Your mother was
much pleased with the pretty goldfishes,' said Belinda, ' and
she will be still more pleased, when she knows that they came
fiom you : — she does not know that yet.'
' I hope she is better to^iay f I will rot make the least
noise,' whispered Helena, as she went upstairs 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 f '
' Yes. She has had concerts and balls since her illness. You
ill hear a play read to-nighl,' 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
said Belinda. ' Lady Delacour, here is the young lady
who sent you the goldfishes.'
' Helena 1 ' cried Lady Delacour.
' You must, I am sure, acknowledge that Mr. Hervey was
tbe right when he said that the lady was a striking resem-
blance of your ladyship.'
Mr. Hervey knows how to flatter. 1 never had that in-
genuous 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 anything so very
terrible in the looks of your mother f '
No, only — ■ — '
Only what, ray dear ? '
Only — I was afraid — you might not like me.'
Who has filled your litde foolish head with these vain
i ? Come, simpleton, kiss me, and tell me how comes it
that you are not at Oakly Kali, or^ — Whafs the name of the
place ? — Oakly Park ? *
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SORTES VIRGILIANAE
UdyAone Percival ivould not lake me — ,
™U] nbiJgt you were ill ; because she thought that you might
*isli_( mean she thought that I should like to see you — if
y°a pleased.'
' Lady Anne is very good — very obliging — very considerate.'
'She is ve»y good-natured,' said Helena.
'Vou love this Lady Anne Percival, I perceive.'
Oh yes, that I do. She has been so kind lo me 1 1 love
ha 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
iady Delacour : ' that is intelligible : speak intelligibly what-
trer you say, and never leave a sentence unfinished.'
'Nothing can be more ill-bred, nor more absurd; for it
diows that you have the wish without the power to conceal
"Our sentiments. Pray, my dear,' continued Lady Delacour,
go to Oakly Park immediately — all farther ceremony towards
|ne may be spared.'
■ Ceremony, mamma \ ' said the little girl, and the tears
ame into her eyes. Belinda sighed ; and for some moments
here was a dead silence.
' I mean only to say, Miss Porlman,' resumed Lady Dela-
Xmr, ' that I hate ceremony : but I know that there are people
n the world who love it, who think all virtue, and all affection,
lepend on ceremony — who are
' Content to dwell in ilei£iidfs for ever.
I shall not dispute their merits. Verily, they have iheir re-
lard in the good opinion and good word of all little minds,
bat is lo say, of above half the world. I envy them not their
ttrd-eamed fame. Let ceremony curtsey to ceremony with
^inese decorum ; but, when ceremony expects lo be paid
rilh afTection, I beg to be excused.'
' Ceremony sets no value upon affection, and therefore
tould not desire to be paid with it,' said Belinda.
' Never yet,' continued Lady Delacour, pursuing the train
4 her own thoughts without attending to Belinda, ' never yet
ras anything like real affection won by any of these cere-
ious people.'
I, sh^^^
BELINDA
'Never,' said Miss Portman, looking ai Helena; i/b"'
having quickness enough to perceive that her mother aim^
this tirade against ceremony at Lady Anne Percival, sat in th^
most painful embarrassmeni, her eyes cast down, and hei face
and neck colouring all over. ' Never yet,' said Miss Portmaiii
'did a mere ceremonious person win anything like real flffK-
lion, especially from children, who are often excellent, because
unprejudiced, judges of character.'
' We are all apt to think, that an opinion that ditters [nun
our own is a prejudice,' said Lady Delacout : ' what ii
■ Facts, I should think,' said Belinda.
' But it is so difficult to get at fads, even about the merest
trifles,' said Lady Delacour. 'Actions we see, but their
causes we seldom see — an aphorism worthy of Confucius him-
self: now to apply. Pray, my dear Helena, how came
by the pretty goldfishes that you were so good as to send lo
me yesterday ! '
' Lady Anne Percival gave them to nie, ma'am.'
' And how came her ladyship to give them to you, ma'i
' She gave them to me,' said Helena, hesitating.
' You need not blush, nor repeat to me that she gave them
to you i that 1 have heard already — that is the fact ; no
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. 1
make no doubt of its being necessary, according lo some
systems of education, that children should be laught 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 anymore — 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 pre-
sume 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 myseIC Lady Anne Percival one day asked i
SOKTES VIRGILIANAF.
'Us all?'
■ account of some experiments, on the hearing of fishes, wliich
H Br. X had lold to us ; she promised lo give the gold-
B fetes, of which we were all very foiid, to whichever of us
■■rtouM give the best account of them — Lady Anne gave the
■^Eties to me.'
'And is this all the secret ? So it was real modesty made
^r hesitate, Belinda ? I beg your pardon, my dear, and
dy Anne's; you see how candid I am, Belinda. But one
jnestion more, Helena: Who put it into your head to send
e your goldfishes ?'
' Nobody, mamma ; no one put it into my head. But I
ts at the bird-fancier's yesterday, when Miss Portman was
qring lo get some bird for Mrs. Marriott, that could not
■ e any noise to disturb you ; so I thought my fishes would
B the nicest things for you in the world ; because they cannot
take the least noise, and they are as pretty as any birds iti
B world — prettier, 1 think — and I hope Mrs. Marriott thinks
' I don't know what Marriott thinks about the matter, but I
n teli you what I think,' said Lady Delacour, ' that you arc
le of the sweetest little girls in the world, and that you would
ake me love you if I had a heart of stone, which I have not,
liatever some people may think. — Kiss me, my child ! '
The litde girl sprang forwards, and threw her arras round
Br mother, exclaiming, 'O mamma, are you in earnest?'
ltd she pressed close to her mother's bosom, clasping her
ith all her force.
Lady Delacour screamed, and pushed her daughter away.
' 'She is not angry with you, my love,' said Belinda, 'she is
I sudden and violent pain- — don't be alarmed — she will be
etter soon. No, don't ring the beil, but try whether you can
pen these window-shutters, and throw up the sash.'
While Belinda was supporting Lady Delacour, and whilst
[elena was trying to open the window, a servant came into
! room to announce the Count de N .
•Show him into the drawing-room,' said Belinda. Lady
Iclacour, though in great pain, rose and retired to her dressing-
' I shall not be able to go down to these people yet,'
s; '^u mast make my excuses t
177
1
BELINDA
everybody ; and lell poor Helena 1 was not angry, ihougli
pushed her away. Keep her below stairs : I will come 3S
soon iis I am able. Send MarriotL Do not forget, my dca^t
to tell Helena I was tiot angry.'
The reading party went on, and Lady Delacour made hc
appeanince as the company were drinking orgeat, between the
fourth and fifth act. ' Helena, my dear,' said she, ' will yoo
bring me a glass of orgeat f '
Clarence Hervey looked at Belinda with a congratulatory
smile: 'do not you Ihink,' whispered he, 'that we shall
succeed ? Did you see thai 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 anothei'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 liad been readmg:
several volumes of French plays and novels were lying there,
and Clarence Harvey, taking up one of them, cried, ' Come,
let us try our fate by the Sortes Vitgilianae,'
Lady Delacour opened the book, which was a volume of
Marmontel's Tales.
' La femme comme il y en a peu 1 ' 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 (he 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 d^y,
had put into the book for a mark.
' Whose mark is this ? Yours, Belinda, I am stire, by ita
elegance,' said Lady Delacour. < So ! this is a concerted
1,8
SORTliS VIRGILI,\NAE
■"•ween you two, 1 see,' coniinued her ladyship, with
pique; 'you have contrived prettily de me dire des v^rit^s
One says, " Let us try our fate by the Sortes Virgilianae " ; ilie
Wlifr has dexterously put a mark in the book, to make it open
"pan a lesson for the naughty child.'
Belinda and Mr. Hervey assured her that ihey had used no
uch mean arts, that nothing had been concerted between
'How came this leaf of myrtle here, then?' said Lady
eiacour.
' I was reading that story yesterday, and left it as my
ioark.'
' I cannot help believing you, because you never yet deceived
lie, even in the merest trifle : you are truth itself, Belinda.
Veil, you see tha.tyou were the cause of my drawing such an
irtraordinary lot ; the book would not have opened here but
jr your mark. My fate, I find, is in your hands ; if Lady
jelacour is ever to be la femme comme il y en a peu, which is
!m most improbajth thing in the world, Miss Porlman will be
lie cause of it.'
* Which is the most probable thing in the world,' said
3arence Hervey. 'This myrtle has a delightful perfume,'
dded 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
leu, but la femme comme il n'y en a point.'
' Mrs, Margaret Delacour's carriage, my lady, for Miss
Jelacour,' said a footman to her ladyship.
t 'Helena stays with me to-night — my compliments,' said
lady Delacour.
' How pleased the little gipsy looks ! ' added she, turning to
Jelena, who heard the message ; ' and how handsome she
ioks when she is pleased t — Do these auburn locks of yours,
{elena, 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
psemblance between Helena and her mother; and the more
^y Delacour considered her daughter as a part of herself,
e more she was inclined to be pleased with her. The glass
Dbe containing the goldfishes was put in the middle of the
1
Bi; LINDA
Ble 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 niagnificeni and
elegant enlertainmeni which had lately been given by a fashion-
able duchess, and some of the company spoke in high terms d
the beauty nnd accomplishments of her grace's daught^, 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 on*
another ; and that I understand 10 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 mnch
eloquence expressed his admiration of the mother who bad
stopped short in the career of dissipation to employ her inimit-
able talents in the education of her children ; who lud
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. 1 advise you to write a
sentimental comedy, a com^die 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 loo 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 /ao lale^ said Lady Delacour ;
' but let us go on to something else. Why were you not at
the fife champHre the other day? and where were you all
this morning f And pray can you tell me when your friend
Dr. X returns to town ? '
' Mr. Horton is gelling 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.'
THE EXHIBITION
' Did he inquire for me P^Did he ask how I did
No. I fancy he took it for granted that your ladyship was
e vi-ell ; for I told hjm you were gelling better every day,
d thai you were in charming spirits."
' Yes,' said Lady Delacour, ' but I
0iese charming spirits. I am very
and sitting up late is not good for me
i all the world a good night. You
fonned rake.'
^
CHAPTER XIV
THE EXHIBITION
,r myself out with
still, 1 assure you,
I 1 shall wish you n
1 am absolutely ]^h^
(Two hours after her ladyship had retired to her room, as
Belinda was passing by the door to go to her own bedchamber,
iibe heard Lady Delacour call to her.
' Belinda, you need not walk so softly ; 1 am not asleep.
Come in, will you, my dear ? I have something of consequence
h) say to you. Is all the world gone ? '
' ' Yes ; and I thought that you were asleep. I hope you
^re 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
li^ould be continually exposed, if I had that child always about
toe ; and yet she seems of such an affectionate disposition,
biat I wish it were possible to keep her at home. Sit down
|»y my bedside, my dear Belinda, i
^ve resolved upon.'
Belinda sat down, and Lady Delacour e
■minutes.
■ 'I am resolved,' said she, 'to make oi
ifor my life. New plans, new hopes of happiness, have opened
to my imagination, and, with my hopes of being happy, my
leourage rises. I am determined to submit to the dreadful
tftperation which alone can radically cure me — you understand
ine ; but it must be kept a profound secret. I know of a
1 who could be got to perform this operation with the
most secrecy.'
iSi
ivill tell you what I
s silent for some
! desperate effort
BELINDA
iut, soTcIyr'said Belinda, *»fely must be your first object!'
No, secrecy is my lirst object Nay, do not reason with
me ; it is a subject on which I cannot. wiU not, reason. Hear
mc — I will keep Helena with me for a few days ; she w
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 Oakiy Park. I will then stand my trial for life m
death ; and if I live I will be, what I have never yet been, s
mother to Helena. If I die, you and Clarence Hen-ey will
take care of her ; I know you will. That young i
worthy of you, Belinda, if I die, I charge you to tel! hiin
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. 'Yon
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 1 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 j
I must insist upon managing myself. I have confidence in
the skill of the person whom I shall employ ; Dr. X , ,;
I very likely, would have none, because the man may not have
a diploma for killing or curing in form. That is nothing te
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
Secrecy, as I told you before, is my first object.'
THE EXHIBITION
' And cannot you,' said Belinda, ' depend wiih n
upon the honour of a surgeon who is at the head of his profes
Inon, and who has a high reputation at stake, ihan upon a
iragtie promise of secrecy from some obscure quack, ivho lias
no reputation lo lose?'
' No,' said Lady Delacour ; ' 1 tell you, my dear, that 1
inot depend upon any of these '■ honourable men." I have
taken means to satisfy myself on this point ; iheir honour and
foolish delicacy would not allow them to perform such an
tqjetation for a wife, without the knowledge, privity, consent,
etc etc., of het husband. Now Lord Delacour's knowing
tiie thing is quite out of the question.'
' Why, my dear Lady Delacour, why ? ' said Belinda, with
great earnestness. 'Surely a husband has the strongest
tlilaim to be consulted upon such an occasion ! Let me entreat
you to tell Lord Delacour your intention, and then all will be
light. Say Ves, my dear friend I let me prevail upon you,'
said Belinda, taking her ladyship's hand, and pressing it
~ ;tween 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, with-
drawing 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. liut if 1 were incliiied
to reward him for his late attentions, I should apprehend that
e might hit upon some better reward than you have pitched
upon. Unless you imagine that Lord Delacour has a peculiar
taste for sui^ical operations, I cannot conceive how his becoming
tny confidant upon this occasion could have an immediate
tendency to increase his affection for me — about which atTection
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.'
■83
BELINDA
•For tliat very reason,' said Miss Portman, 'I am'
to use the influence which 1 know I have in your heart for
your happiness. 1 am convinced that it will be absolutely
impossible that you should cany on this scheme in the house
with your husband without its being discovered. If he discwir
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, Met
me hear no more about Lord Delacour's feelings.'
' Out allow me then to speak of my own,' said Belinda : ' I
cannot be concerned in this afiair, if it is lo 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
when I most want your assistance, you refi:se it, from
sideration for Lord Delacour. A scruple of delicacy absolves
a person of nice feeling's, I 6nd, from a positive promise — a
new and convenient code of morality 1 '
Belinda, though much hurt by the sarcastic lone 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 lo 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, 1 am glad
hear you don't forget your promise of staying with me^ 1^
are, perhaps, prudent to reftise me your assistance, all circu
stances considered. Good-night : 1 have kept you up too long
— good-night ! '
' Good-night I ' said Belinda, drawing aside the curtai
' 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 vnll 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
polocour, notwithstanding the drowsy tone in which she
184
TITE EXHIBITION
iced these last words, was not in [he least inclined
A pas&ion had taken possession of her mind, which kept
broad awake the remainder of the night — the passion
jealousy. The extreme eagerness with which Behnda had
urged her to consuh 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 feehngs, but as 'con-
firmation 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 obseri'ed,
ftat, ' if a young' lady had any hopes of being a viscountess, it
»as no wonder she thought a baronet beneath her notice.'
Now," thought Lady Delacour, ' this is not impossible. In
tiie 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 ; Vol/a
sdolio^ ^ensieri sirelii, is the grand maxim of the Stanhope
school.' The moment Lady Delacour's mind turned to
■suspicion, her ingenuity rapidly supplied her with circum-
ifilances and arguments to confirm and justify her doubts.
Miss Portman fears that my husband is growing loo fond
oe : she says, he has been very attentive to me of late.
I 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.
my eyes have been Winded hy 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,
to-night, the Sortes Vii^lianae, 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 1 By her own confession, she
bad been reading this ; studying it. Ves, and she has studied
some purpose ( she has made that poor weak lord of
think her an angel. How he ran on in her praise the
'other day, when he honoured me with a morning visit I That
inoming visit, too, was of her suggestion ; and the banknotes,
AS he, like a simpleton, let out in the course of the conversa-
tion, had been offered to her first. She, with a delicacy that
pAarmed my short -sighted folly, be^ed that they might go
"iTOUgh my hands. How artfully managed t Mrs. Stanhope
iSs
;pt her
a had
JJ
[
/
BELINDA
herself could not have done belter. So, she can make Lord
Delacour do whatever she pleases ; and she condescends t
make him behave prettUy to me, and desires him lo bring m
peace-offerings of banknotes ! She is, in fact, become my
banker ; mistress of my house, my husltand, and myself I Ten
days t have been confined to my room. Truly, she has made
a good use of her time : and I, fooi that I am, have been
[hanking her for all her disinterested kindness !
'Then her attention to my daughter! disinterested, too, a
I thought ! — But, good heavens, what an idiot 1 have been 1
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 m
coquets, not she, with any of the young men who come here
on purpose to see her. Is this natumi ? 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 1 hinted that she was not taking
the way to win him I I could not comprehend her ; she had
no designs on Clarence Hervey, she assured me. Immaculate
purity 1 1 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 I How could I be such a
as to believe it ? Worthy niece of Mrs. Stanhope, I know you
And now I recollect that extraordinary letter of Mrs,
Stanhope's which I snatched out of Miss Portman's hands
months ago, fiill of blanks, and inuendoes, and references
lo 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 ir
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
THE EXHIBITION
follies, to this girl I And I have totd her ihat I am dyi^^
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 lo slay with me lo receive
my last breath. O dupe, miserable dupe, that I am ! could
nothing warn me ? In the moment that 1 discovered the
treachery of one friend, I went and prostrated myself to the
artifices of another — of another a thousand times more danger-
ous— ten thousand times more beloved I For what was
Harriot Freke in comparison with Belinda Porlman ? Harriot
Frefce, even whilst she diverted me most, I half despised.
But Belinda ! — O Belinda I how entirely have I loved^ —
tnisted^-admired — adored — respected — revered you ! '
Exhausted by the emotions to which she had worked her-
self 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. ' Vou 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 lone of Belinda, it is
not in human nature lo 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 1 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 lo me this half hoi:r — 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 lo 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 limes within these five
minutes.'
Indeed 1 ' said Lady Delacour, rubbing her eyes.
this is vastly wonderful ; but I wish you had not awakened m
so soon.'
' Nay, nay,' said Belinda, ' I know by the lone of your
voice that you do not mean what you say ; 1 know you w "
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 afr^d that Lord Dela-
cour should suspect her of doing him the honour lo be jealous.
Belinda had not the least guess of what was really passing in
her ladyship's heart ; she implicitly believed her expressions ol
complete indifference to her lord ; and jealousy was the last
I feeling which Miss Portman would have attributed to Lady
, Delacour, because she unfortunately was not sufficiendy aware
' that jealousy can exist without love. The idea of Lord Dela-
j cour as an object of attachment, or of a coronet as an object
I of ambition, or of her friend's death as an object of joy, i
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 Maillatdet's, to see the wonders of
his little conjuror and his singing-bird. ' Nothing equal I
Maillardet's singing-bird has ever been seen or heard of, my
dear Helena, since the days of Aboulcasem's peacock in the
Pei-sian Tales. Since Lady Anne Percival has not shown you
these charming things, 1 must.'
' But 1 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, eovld 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
THE EXIIIIIITION
should cliaperon a young lady, it is quite out of rule ;
and Mrs. Stanhope would be shocked if her niece could, or
rouid, do such a thing lo oblige anybody.'
Lord Delacour was too much in the habit of hearing sar-
astic, and _to him incomprehensible speeches from her lady-
ship, to take any extraordinary notice of this ; and if Belinda
blushed, it was merely from the confusion into which she was
:fiirown by the piercing glance of Lady Delacour's black eyes
e which neither guilt nor innocence could withstand.
Belinda imagined that her ladyship still retained some dis-
pleasure from the conversation that had passed the preceding
night, and the first time that she was alone with Lady Dela-
3ur, she again touched upon the subject, in hopes of softening
r convincing her. 'At all events, my dear friend,' said she,
you will not, I hope, be offended by the sincerity with which
1 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
IS to Miss Portman ; and there would have been but
little conversation, if Helena had not been present, to whom
mother talked with fluent gaiety. When lliey got to
Spring Gardens, Helena exclaimed, ' Oh I there's Lady Anne
Percival's carriage, and Charles and Edward with her— they
J lo the same place that we are, I daresay, 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
ious 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
3l well enough yet, indeed, to go to these odious, hot, close
laces ; and, besides, 1 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 pai*k, and ca!i 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,
' said Helena : ' and do you know that one of the
questions that the people ask the conjuror is, ■' W^w is the
happiest family to be found t" And Charles and Edward im-
mediately said, if he is a good conjuror, if he tells truth, he'll
answer, "At Oakly Park."'
'Miss Portman, had you any con\'ersation with Lady Anne
Percival F' said Lady Deiacour coldly.
' A great deal,' said Belinda, ' and such as I am sure you
would have liked : and so far from being a ceremonious peison,
I think 1 never saw anybody who had such easy engaging
■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 Dclacour 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, t should be miserable
if I apprehended that any one, but more especially Miss Port-
man, 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 1 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.'
' 1 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 tvi'o or three
sgcceeding days, and he was not intoxicated from Monday till
190
THE EXHIBITION
Thursday. These circuraslances appeared to his lady very
extraordinary. lu fact, he was pleased and amused with liis
little daughter, Helena; and whilst she was yet almost a
stranger to him, he wished to appear to her in the most agree-
able 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
broken almost to pieces the night when you were over-
turned. Well, I have had it all set to rights again, and new
painted, and it is all coinpleie, 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, ' 1 am for
due and white, to matcli the cloth of the liveries.'
' Blue and white then it shall be,' said Lord Delacour.
' Nay, Miss Portman has a beiicr 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
Soon afterward a note came from Lady Anne Percival, with
Bome trifles belonging to Helena, for which her mother had
It. The role was for Belinda — another pressing invitation
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 her-
self 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 aunl, im-
medialely joined his Ihanks, and observed that Miss Portman
always considerate — always obliging — always kind. Then
drank her health in a bumper of burgundy, and insisted
I his little Helena's drinking her health. ' I
it, my dear, for Miss Portman is very good — too good to
cfaikL
JJ
BELINDA
' Very good — not too good, I hope,' said Lady Delacour,
' Miss I'ortman, your health.'
'And 1 hope-,' continued his lordship, after swallowing bU
bumper, ' thai my Lady Anne Percival does noi
veigle you away from lis, Miss Portman. You don't think of
leaving us. Miss Portman, I hope? Here's Helena would
break her little heart ;^1 say nothing for my Lady Delacour,
because she ca.a say everything so much better for herself;
and I say nothing for myself, because I am the worst man ii
the world at making speeches, when I really have a thing al
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 s'
had no thoughts of leaving Lady Delacour. Her ladysbi[^.
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 no
going ; for I never liked anybody so much, of whom I knew si
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.
an instant Belinda was struck with the tone of pique and re-
proach in which her ladyship spoke. ' Nay, my dear, I did
not mean to make you blush so piteously,' pursued her lady-
ship ; ' I really did not think it a blushing matter — but you
know best. Believe me, 1 spoke without malice ; we
apt to judge from our own feelings — and I could :
blush about the old man of the mountains as about my Lord
Delacour.'
• Lord Delacour ! ' said Belinda, with a look of such i
feigned surprise, that her ladyship instandy changed coun
nance, and, taking her hand with gaiety, said, ' So, my litllc
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 under-
stand 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 si
THE EXHIBITION
these things ; and whilst she is with me, I will make her as
happy as possible. You see the reformation is beginning —
Clarence Hen-ey and Miss Portman can do wonders. If it be
my fete, at last, to be la bonne mire, or la femme commc U y
n a peu, how can I help it ? There is no struggling against
ite, my dear I '
Whenever Lady Delacour's suspicions of Belinda were sus-
pended, 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 anything relative to Lord Delacour
could so far have interested her attention. ' Luckily,' said she
D herself, ' he has not the penetration of a blind beetle ; and,
besides, he has little snug jealousies of his own : so he will
It would be an excellent thing indeed, if
my "rnaster-tonnent" 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 er'iibiiion, Lady
, Delacour had an opportunity of judging of Belinda's real feel-
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 I' 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, 'pen
nour ! ' repeated Rochfort ; ' and we'll leave it to your lady-
ship's and Miss Portman's taste and judgment to find it out,
' mayn't we, Sir Philip ?'
' Oh, damme I yes,' said Sir Philip, ' by all means." But
lie was so impatient to direct her eyes, that he could not keep
^himself still a
193
BELINDA
' Oh, curse it 1 Rochfort, we'd better teU the ladies at once,
else they may be all day looking and looking I '
' 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,
everybody knows ; and so has Miss Portman— and this picture
will hit her taste particularly, I'm sure. It is Clarence Hcrvey"!
fancy ; but this is a dead secret — dead — Clary no more thinks
that we know it, than the man in the
' Clarence Hen'ey's fancy ! Then 1 make no doubt of its
being good for something,' said Lady Delaconr, ' 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 poilraii.'
' And a history piece, too, 'pon honour ! ' said Rochfort : '
family history piece, 1 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 I^family history piece, damme ! '
' I'll take my oath as to the portrait's being a devilish
good likenes?.' added Sir Philip ; and as he spoke, he turned -
to Miss Portman : ' Miss Portman has it 1 damme. Miss Port-
man has him I '
Belinda hastily withdrew her eyes from the picture at which
she was looking. ' A most beautiful creature 1 ' exclaimed Lady '
Delacour.
' Oh, faith ! yes ; I always do Clary the justice to say, hs |
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 I ma'am,' cried Mr. Rochfort, winking
at Sir Philip. ' No, no, damme 1 there you are wrong, Roch-
fort ; say Hervey's Virginia, and then you have it, daitune I
maybe, Virginia Hervey — who knows?'
THE EXHIBITION
a portrait,' whispered the baronet to Lady Dda-
of Clarence's mistress.' Whilst her ladyship leant
to this whisper, which was sufficiently audible, she fixed
ngly careless, but most observing, inquisitive eye upon
poor Belinda. Her confusion, for she heard the whisper, was
[cessive.
' She loves Clarence Hervey — she has no thoughts of Lord
Pelacour and his coronet : I have done her injustice,' thought
Lady Delacour, and instantly she despatched Sir Phihp out
"le room for a catalogue of the pictures, begged Mr. Roch-
to get her something else, and, drawing Miss Portman's
within hers, she said, in a low voice, ' Lean upon me,
ny dearest Belinda : depend upon it, Clarence will never be
1 a fool as to marry the girl— Virginia Hervey she will
er be ! '
■And what will become of her? can Mr. Hervey desert
? she looks like innocence itself — and so young, loo I Can
leave her for ever to sorrow, and vice, and infamy?'
Siought Belinda, as she kept her eyes fixed, in silent anguish,
ipon the picture of Virginia. ' No, he cannot do this ; if he
Eould he would be unworthy of me, and I ought to think of him
more. No ; he will ffiarry her ; and I must think of him
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 beautiftil ?
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 1 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
force you to be in raptures with it— shall we. Miss Port-
man ? 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
iis countenance, that, if I were a man, I should inevitably
in love with it, and in love for ever I Such beauty, if it
were in nature, would certainly iix the i:
1
■95
u
THE EXHIBITION
from m^l
Belinda ventured to take her eyes for an instant from t
picture, to see whether Clarence Hervey looked like the most
inconstant man upon earth. He was intently gaiing upon her;
but as soon as she looked round, he suddenly exclaimed, as he
turned to the picture — 'A heavenly counteoance, indeed I — the
painter has done justice to the poel.'
'Poet!' repeated Lady Delacour : 'the man's in the
clouds 1 '
' Pardon me,' said Clarence ; ' does not M. de SL 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 lo 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 I ' 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 Fon^
tains de Virginie, inscribed on the rock — 1 must have been
stupidity itself, if I had not found it out 1 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 Hen-ey 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 ! ! never heard of that
fellow before — he is some new painter, damme I that is the
reason 1 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,
197
- J
BELINDA
\ gentleinan at this instant beckoned to Mr. Hervey
an air of great eagerness. Clarence went and spoke to hin,
then returned with an altered countenance, and apologised 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 Portn\aii
into a little room, where WesiaJi'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 t — happi-
ness. I had something of importance that 1 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 lo
you, madam. May I ask whether you purpose remaining
much longer with Lady Delacour ? '
' Yes,' said Belinda, much surprised. ' I believe — 1 am not
quite certain — but 1 believe 1 shall stay with her ladyship some
Mr. Hervey looked painfully embarrassed, and his eyes in-
voluntarily fell upon little Helena, Helena drew her hand gently
away from Belinda, left the room, and retired to her mother.
'That child, Miss Porlman, 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. 1 must be abrupt ; for I am
so circumstanced, that 1 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 Behnda, 'and you
will deserve that 1 should think you my friend.' She trembled
excessively, but spoke and looked with all the firmness that she
\ could command.
' ' 1 have heard a report,' said Mr. Hervey, ' which is most
injurious to vou.'
' To me :''
' Yes. No one can escape calumny. It is whispered, that
if Lady Delacour should die
At the word A'e, Belinda started.
' That if Lady Delacour should die, Miss Portman would
become the mother of Helena 1 '
THE EXHIBITION
' Good Heavens 1 what an absurd report 1 Surely yau could
not for an instant believe it, Mr. Hervey ?'
It for an instant. But I resolved, as soon as I heard it,
o 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 i
f your sex who appeared to me to have so much pnider
a little art ; but — farewell — 1 have not a moment to lose,'
dded Clarence, suddenly checking himself; and he hurried
ray from Belinda, who stood fixed to the spot where he left
T, till she was roused by the voices of several people who
me into the room to see the drawings. She started a
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 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,'
s they got home, Lady Delacour sent her daughter
K practise a new lesson upon the pianoforte. ' And now sit
iwn, my dear Belinda,' said she, 'and satisfy my curiosity,
[t is the curiosity of a fHend, not of an impertinent busybody.
Has Clarence declared himself? He chose an odd time and
place i but that is no matter ; 1 forgive him, and so do you, I
laresay. But why do you tear that unfortunate carnation to
ces ? Surely you cannot be embarrassed in speaking to
! What's the matter ? I once did tell you, that I would
give up my claim to Clarence's adorations during my life ;
: 1 intend to live a few years longer after the ama/onian
operation is performed, you know ; and I could not have the
; to keep you waiting whole years. It is better to
do things with a good grace, lest one should be forced at last
" o do them with an ill grace. Therefore I give up all manner
of claim to everything 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,
el me hear all the pretty things Clarence said or swore.'
199
BELINDA
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 truthJ 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 1 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 — Morality d la
glace. The last thing I should have expected in a tite-d^tite
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 WestalPs 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 1 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
youVe 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.'
200
1
^M THE EXHIBITION
^F ' Then to dash into the midst of things at once,' said Miss
r Portman, speaking very quick : ' Mr. Hervey observed that
B Miss Delacour was growing very fond of me.'
I ' Miss Delacour, did you say ? ' cried her ladyship : ' £l
■ At this instant Champfort opened the door, looked in, and
^Lpeciog Lady Delacour, immediately retired.
' Champfort, whom do you want — or what do you want ? '
aid her ladyship.
' Miladi, c'est que — I did come from milord, to see if miladi
ad mademoiselle were visible. I did tiuk miladi was not at
' 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
Inademoiselle.'
' With me. Monsieur Champfort ? then you will be so good
to tell Lord Delacour I am here.'
' And that / am not here, Champfort : for I must be gone
She rose hastily to leave the room, but Miss Portman caught
er hand ; ' You won't go, I hope. Lady Delacour,' said she,
^lill I have finished my long story ? ' Lady Delacour sat down
Bgain, ashamed of her own embarrassment.
Whether ibis be art, innocence, or assurance, thought she, I
cannot tell ; but we shall see.
Lord Delacour now came in, with a half-unfolded newspaper,
" a packet of letters in his hand. He came to apologise to
s Portman for having, by mistake, broken the seal of a letter
a her, which had been sent under cover to him. He had simply
isked Champfort whether the ladies were at home, that he
night not have the trouble of going upstairs if they were out.
' ir Champfort possessed, in an eminent degree, the
mischievous art of appearing mysterious about the simplest
^ings in the world.
' TTiough I was so thoughtless as to break the seal before I
looked at the direction of the letter,' said Lord Delacour,
e you 1 went no farther than the first three words ;
[or I knew " my dear niece " could not possibly mean me.' He
I'e Miss Portman the letter, and left the room. This explana-
n was perfectly satisfactory to Belinda ; but Lady Delacour.,
20I
i
prejudiced by Che hesitation of Champfort, could n
pecting that this letter was merely the ostensible cause of bis
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 De lac our' 5 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 cere-
monious people think it vastly rude to read a letter in com-
pany ; but I am not one of them ; 1 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.doth, of my bespeaking
and taste, which I hope you will approve of.'
'Very handsome, upon my word 1' said Lady Delacour
coldly, and she fixed her eyes upon the fringe, which was black
and orange ; ' Miss Portman's taste, I see I '
' 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 her-
self, ' Miss Portman will order my liveries next ! 1 have not
even the shadow of power left in my own house 1 I am not
treated with even a decent show of respect ! But this shall go
on till I have full conviction of her views.' i
Dissembling her displeasure, she praised the hammer-cloth,
and especially the fiinge. Lord Delacour retired satisfied ; and
Miss Portman sat down to read the following letter from her
it SBmhope.
CHAPTER XV
jealousv
•Crescent, Bath,
' J^^y — Widnesday.
•My dear Niece — I received safely the bank-noies 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
Aem 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
lordy which gives me the most heartfelt concern. I always
knew, and told you, that you were a g>eat 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 miscon-
duct or mismanagement somewhere. The misconduct 1 cannot
— the mismanagement 1 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 sufely prevent
his partiality from becoming so glaring as to excite envy :
tnvy is always to be dreaded by handsome young women, as
'being, sooner or later, infallibly followed by scandal. Of this,
I fear, yon have not been sufiiciently 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, ai
accountably ambitious to gain the reputation of being if «// with
jmy woman whose beauty, accomplishments, or connection{
203
BELINDA
^ have brought her into fashion. Whatever affection may
be pretended, this is frequently the ultimati 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 j but you, who have personal oppor-
tunities of observation, may decide this point (if you have any
curiosity on the subject) by observing whether he most affects
to pay his devoiis to you in public or in private. If the latter
be the case, it is the most dangerous ; because a man evei
the most contracted understanding has always sense or Jnsti
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
liusband who has in a first marriage been, as it is said, in con-
stant 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 infaUibly
against her, to the confusion of all her plans, and tbe niin 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 poo! were absolutely your own ; yet if there
were any suspicions of unfair play buzzed about amongst the
bystanders, you would not in the main be a gainer ; for my
/dear, without character, what is even wealth, or all that wealth
' can bestow f I do not mean to trouble you with stale wise
sayings, which young people hate ; nor musty njfliaiity, which
is seldom fit for use in the world, or which smellFtoo much of
books to be brought into good company. This is not my way
of giving advice ; but I only beg you to obser\-e what actually
£ before your eyes in the circle in which we live. Ladies
best families, with rank and fortune, and beauty and
nd everything in their favour, cannot (as yet in this
ispense with the strictest obser\'ance of the rules of
decorum. Some have fancied themselves raised so I
J danger from the thunder .
tlic opinion ; but these l.-idies in the clouds j
S04 J
JEALOUSY
fcimd themselves mistaken — they have been E
havefeJlen nobody knows where! What is become of Lady —
and the Countess of , and others I could n-
as high as envy could look ? I remember seeing the Countes
of , who was then the most beautiful creature my eyes eve
beheld, and the most admired that ever was heard of, c
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 wotild 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 b;-
thisstrangereport 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
mstantly gagged by a dexterous hand. Nothing shall be
wanting on my part, but you alone are the person who can do
anything effectual. Do not imagine that I would have you
quit Lady ; that is the first idea, I know, that will come
into your silly litde head, but put it out directly. If you were
upon this attack to quit the field of batde, you yield the
victory to your enemies. To leave Lady 's house would
he 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 in-
controvertible 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 JJ
given. Far from quitting Lady from false delicacy, it is v i
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 re-established that she
\fan appear again in public ; her spirits, as you may hint, will
BEUNDA
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
you, my dear, is a charming thing. You have nothing l
but to encourage his addresses immediately, — the report dies
away of itself, and ail is Just as your best friends wish. Such
an establishment for you, my dear, is indeed beyond their mosE
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 b
Norfolk win, 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 nsw coronet ; supposing
that such a thing could properly be thought of, which Heaven
forbid I 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.
Philip is not, I know, a man of what you call genius. So much
the belter, 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 m(
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
I expose yourself to the ridicule, etc., of all your female acquaint-
I ance by romance and nonsense. I cannot conceive that a niece
I of mine could degrade herself by a mean prepossession for a
1 man who has never made any declaration of his attachment ti
- jl her, and who, I am sure, feels no such attachment. That
k ij you may not deceive yourself, it is fit 1 should tell you, what
otherwise it might not be so proper to mention to a young lady,
t he keeps, and has kept, a mistress for some years ; and
se who are most intimately in his confidence have asBured'i
JEALOUSY
H
this gmi
me Uiat, if ever he marries anybody, he viill marry this g
which is not impossible, considering that she is, they say, the
4Dost 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 everything
'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 lake 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 Deiacour, with my best com-
pliments, 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 Deiacour,
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
I and the Chevaher d'Eon ? It is done with infinite wit and
[ humour, in the manner of Plutarch. 1 would send a copy, hut '
am afraid my frank would be too heavy if I began upon another
I sheet. So once more adieu, my dear niece I Write to me
[without fail, and mention Sir Philip. I have written to him to
■ give my approbation, etc — Yours sincerely,
' Selina Stanhope.'
' Mrs, Stanhope seems to have written you a volume instead
a letter. Miss Portman,' cried Lady Deiacour, as Belinda
I turned over the sheets of her aunt's long epistle. She did not
f 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 Deiacour, again looking up
^m 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 e
by this letter, she had sufficient strength of mind to adhere t<
K 207
1% excited A
adheret^H
BELINDA
her resolution of speaking the enact truth to Lady Dclacour,
When she was roused by her ladyship's question, ' No baJ
news, I hope, Miss Portman?' she instantly answered, with
all the firmness she could command. ' Yes. My
been alarnied by a strange report which I heard myself for the,
iirsl time this morning from Mr. Hervey. I am sure I ailt:
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 spok^
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 — befbrRj
it reached Bath, and your aunt. Though it could not surpriss*
her much, she has such a perfect knowledge of the world,
Lady Delacour uttered these broken sentences in a voice of
suppressed anger ; cleared her throat several limes, 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 idio^
as I am. And now, when the thing can be 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,
^:«iticb I hope — 1 am not — I cannot be mistaken,'
r
JEALOUSY
Belinda, looking at her with a mixture of doubt and astonish-
' No — you calculated admirably — 'twas the best, the only
thing you could do. Only,' said her ladyship, falling back in
her chair with a hysteric laugh, 'on!y the blunder of Champ-
fort, and the entrance of my Lord Delacour, and the hammer-
cloth 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 conlrelemps I But you,' added she, wiping
her eyes, as if recovering from laughter, ' you have such
admirable presence of mind, nothing disconcerts you 1 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 intelligible words, all
conspired at this moment to gi^'e Belinda the idea that her
intellects were suddenly disordered. She was so firmly per-
t Boaded of her ladyship's utter indifference to Lord Delacour,
r conceived the possibility of her being actuated
1^ the passion of jealousy — by the jealousy of power — a species
pf jealousy which she had never felt, and could not comprehend.
Sut she had sometimes seen Lady Delacour in starts of passion
Oiat seemed to border on insanity, and the idea of her losing
^ command of her reason now struck Belinda with irresist-
ible force. She felt the necessity of preserving her own
Composure ; and with all the calmness that she could assume,
«he 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
thought she, or catch her attention, perhaps she will
r 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
^Bges of the letter. ' I am all attention,' said Lady Delacour,
with a cjmposed voice ; 'only take care, don't make a
Histake : I'm in no hurry : don't read anything Mrs. Stanhope
toight not wish. It is dangerous to garble letters, almost as
dangerous as to snatch them out of a friend's hand, :
u
BELINDA
did, you know — but you need not now be under the 1«
Conscious that this letter was not fit for her ladyship to se
Belinda neither offered to show it to her, nor attempted ai
apology for her reser\-e and embarrassmenl, but hastily began
read the message relative to Mrs. Luttridge; her voice gainii
confidence as she went on, as she observed that she had fat
Lady Delacour's attention, who now sat listening to her, cal
and motionless. But when Miss Portman came to the wordjj
' Do not forget to tell Lady D , tha 1 ha e a harmiii|
anecdote for her about another_/Wrmrf of hers who a ely wen
over to the enemy,' her ladyship ex 1 ned w h great
vehemence, ^Friend! — Harriot Freke ! — ^ Ike all othe
friends — Harriot Freke l^WTiat was she n i
too much forme — too much?' and she p h hand o hef
' Compose yourself, my Aeax frieitii,' sa d B 1 nda, n a cahB,
gentle tone ; and she went toward her
soothing her by caresses ; but, at her app a h Lady DelacoBT
pushed the table on which she had been writing from her wili
violence, started up, flung back the veil which fell over her face
as she rose, and darted upon Belinda a look, which fixed her
the spot where she stood. It said, ' Come not a step nearer, »
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 counte-
nance changed to the expression of inefTable contempt ; 'what
is it you fear ? '
' That you should injure yourself. Sit down — for Heaven'^
sake listen to me, to your friend, to Belinda I '
' My friend ! my Belinda 1 ' cried Lady Delacour, and she
turned from her, and walked away some steps in silence ; iheii.
suddenly clasping her hands, she raised her eyes to heaveil
with a ferient but wild expression of devotion, and exclaimed^
'Great God of Heaven, my punishment is just! the death i^
Lawless is avenged. May the present agony of my soi4
I expiate my folly ! Of guilt — dehberate guilt — of hypocrisy
I — treachery — I have not — oh, never may I have — to repent I'^
\ She paused — her eyes involuntarily relumed upon Belinda.
■ 7 Pelinda 1 You, whom I have so loved — so trusted I
JEALOUSY
The tears rolled fast down her painted cheeks ; she wipeT
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
d for breath. Miss Portman drew her back,
and closed the window, saying, ' The rouge is all off your face,
' dear Lady Delacour ; you are not fit to be seen. Sit
wn upon this sofa, and I will ring for Marriott, and gel some
fresh rouge. Look at your face in this glass— you sec '
' I see,' interrupted Lady Delacour, looking full at Belinda,
fthat she who I thought had the noblest of souls has the
I see that she is incapable of feeling. Rouge! net
U to be seen .'—At such a time as this, to talk to me in this
i of Mrs. Stanhope ! — dupe ! — dupe that I
She flung herself upon the sofa, and struck her forehead
Rrith her hand violently several times. Belinda, catching her
, and holding it with all her force, cried in a tone of
luthority, 'Command yourself, Lady Delacour, 1 conjure you,
r you will go out of your senses ,■ and if you do, your secret
inll be discovered by the whole world.'
' Hold me not — you have no right,' cried Lady Delacour,
tttugghng to free her hand. ' All-powerful as you are in this
bouse, you have no longer any power over me I 1 am not
going out of my senses I You cannot get me into Bedlam,
Bll-powerful, all-artful as you are. You have done enough to
; mad — but I am not mad. No wonder you cannot
)elieve me — no wonder you are astonished at Ihe strong
Expression of feelings that are foreign to your nature — no
ffonder that you mistake the writhings of the heart, the agony
f a generous soul, for madness 1 Look not so terrified ; I
»ill do you no injury. Do not you hear that I can lower my
" e ?— do not you see that I can be calm ? Could Mrs.
Itanhope herseif^could you. Miss Portman, speak in a softer,
ailder, more polite, more proper tone than 1 do now ? Are
)U 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
:caston for apprehension — you see I can command myself, and
nile upon you.'
"Ob, do not smile in that horrid manner 1'
BELINDA
* 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, ii)y
lo>-c ? '
*1 never practised it for a moment — I am incapable of
deceit When you are really calm, when you can really
command yoursdf^ 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 i^'ell as if I were dead and buried ? No ;
N-our calculations are better than mine. The poor mad wife
1%-ould 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 ?
O Belinda! do you see that a coronet cannot confer
happiness?*
* I have seen it long : I pity you from the bottom of my
souV said Belinda, bursting into tears.
*Pity me not I cannot endure your pity, treacherous
^^-oman I ' cried Lady Delacour, and she stamped with a look
of vAj^ — * roost perfidious of ^*omen I '
* Yes, call me perfidious, treacherous — stamp at me — say,
.10 >x-hAt >\MJ >*'ill ; I can and vAM bear it all — all patiently ; for
\ am innocent, and you are mistaken and unhappy,' said
IVlindA. * YvMi will lox"* «« when you return to your senses ;
th^n hoxv oan I be an^* with >'ou ? *
* V\^n.il<^ wo ni>t; «iid Lady Delacour, starting back from
IVlimU's caw««s ; * do iwl degrade \xwrself to no purpose— I
Your protestations ot i
o 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—'
' 1 want nothing from you. Lady Delacour,' said Belinda.
' Vau Aare smpected 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 indigna-
tion ; but, before she reached the door, she recollected h«t
promise to remain with this unfortunate »
Is a dying woman, in the paroxysm of insane passion, ft 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 ii
the heat of passion shall not make me forget myself or you.
You have given me your confidence ; I am gratefiil for it. I
cannot, will not desert you : my promise is sacred,'
' Your promise 1 ' said Lady Delacour, contemptuously. ' I
absolve you from your promise. Unless you find it convetntnt
to yourself to remember it, pray let it be forgotten ; and if 1
must die '
At this instant the door opened suddenly, and little Helena
came in singing —
' Merrily, merrily shall we live now,
Uodct the blossqm that hangs On the bougb.
What coraes 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
I 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 Mis3 Singletons are come. But, merdful
Heaven 1 ' exclaimed Marriott, as she entered the n
li^^l jbis packing up f What is (his trunk ? '
2U
JEALOUSY
' I am going to Oakly Park with Lady Anne Percival,' said
Belinda, catmly.
' 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. Td lay my life this is, some
way or other, Mr. Champfort's doings. But, good dear Miss
Poitman, 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 busi-
ness to speak. 1 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 Behnda. ' 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 re-
spectful 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 pre-
paring to leave the house. After a moment's reflection, however,
she fjersuaded herself that this was only a new artifice to work
upon her affections ; that Belinda did not mean to leave her i
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 deter-
mined 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 piower 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
iiandy appear upon the stage, and support a character totally
15
BELINDA
fgreign to her own. Tlie loud knocks at the door, which
announced the arrival of company, were signals that operated
punctually upon her associations ; and to this species of ci
ventional 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 pfclosopber's stone,
or have a patent for rouge that will come and go like Miss
Portman's ? — Apropos ! have you read St. Leon t ' Her lady-
ship was running on lo 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, 1 understand ? —
My compliments to her ladyship, and my duty to Mrt. 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, 1 shall
only say, au revoir! '
'Adieu, Lady Delacour!' said Behnda, 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 Ihe head of the stairs, and
exclaimed, ' My dearest Belinda, are you gone }■ — My best, my
only friend I — Say you are not gone for ever I — Say you wilt
return I '
' Adieu 1 ' 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 ihjs unhappy woman,
^ut with an unaltered sense of the propriety and necessity q£ ,
l>er own finnness.
DPMESTIC HAPPINESS
CHAPTER XVI
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
1
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 [o you at I
last, after ha«ng 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 '
, that you will stay at Oakly Park with us, as long as we can I
make it agreeable to you, and no longer. Whether those who i
cease to please, or those who tease to be pleased, are most to
blame,' it may sometimes be difficult to determine [ so difficult,
that when this becomes a question between two friends, they
pertaps had better part than venture upon the discussion.'
Lady Anne Percival could not avoid suspecting that some- I
thing disagreeable had passed between Lady Delacour and '
Belinda ; but she was not troubled with the disease of idle " j
curiosity, and her example prevailed upon Mrs. Margaret
Delacour, who dined with her, to refrain from all questions and ,
comments. i
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 j
Portman with some formality, but much .dignity, ' permit me, '
one of my Lord Delacour's nearest relations now living, to
am 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 j
towards you, and I rejoice that I have had an opportunity of '
' Marmonlel. J
"7
i_l
BELINDA
i person, my sense of what our family (
Miss Portman. As to the rest, her own heart will reward her.
The praise of the world is but an inferior consideration. How^
it desen'es to be mentioned, as an instance of the world's
candour, and for the singularity of the case, that everybody
agrees in speaking well even of so handsome a young- lady a;
Miss Portman.'
' She must have had extraordinary prudence,' said Lady
Anne; 'and the world does justly to reward it with extra-
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
valci 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 everything 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 im-
plore her influence in favour of his own proposal. This
manceuvring 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
I ' Mrs. Stanhope's politic imagination, she had never foreseen
the possibility of her niece's speaking the simple truth to I^dy
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 ex-
aggerations that made Lady Delacour believe^whei^Bd^^J^
218
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
nivtrsSI^^I
repeated what she had said, ihat this report i
known and credited ; her own suspicions were by these n
again awakened, and her jealousy and rage were raised to such
a pitch, thai, no longer mistress of herself, slie insulted her
friend and guest. Miss Poriman was then obliged to do the
\'ery 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 bad
been oo 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 heating of the publicity
of this report had, however, much affecltd 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
' On this subject Belinda, though she declared her own
sentiments with firm sincerity, touched as slightly as she i
could, because she anxiously wished to avoid all appearancej
of braving the opinions of an aunt lo whom she was under
obligations. She was tempted lo pass over in silence all that
part of Mrs. Stanhope's letter which related Co 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 lo
her aunt, that of all the persons she had hitherto seen, this
gentleman was the most agreeable to her ; but a
219
BELINDA
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 aimt'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 kind-
ness ! 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 pianoforte 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 anybody. Levit has run out
everything 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 1
* 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 everything — common
sense, gratitude, and all — as you do, Belinda. Clarence
Hervey will never think of you, and I give you up ! — Now
220
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
Pinanage for yourself as you please, and as you can '. I'll have
T nothing more to do with the a&irs of young ladies who will
take no advice. Selina Stanhope.
' P.S. — If you return directly to Lady Delacour's, and
L many Sir Philip Baddely, I will forgive the past.'
The regret which Belinda felt at having grievously offended
, 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
ird to Sir Philip Baddely, by stating that her sister and
who had married with mercenary views, had made
es miserable, and had shown their aunt neither grali-
tranquillity of Belinda's mind was gradually restored by
the society that she enjoyed at Oakly Park. She found herself
the midst of a large and cheerful family, with whose domestic
happiness she could not forbear to sympathise. There was an
affectionate confidence, an unconstrained gaiety in this house,
which forcibly struck her, from its contrast with what she had
Lady Delacour's. She perceived that between Mr.
Percival and Lady Anne there was a union of interests, occupa-
tions, taste, and affection. She was at first astonished by the
openness with which they talked of their affairs in her presence j
tha.t 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 amuse-
ments. 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 i
BELINDA
l^^nn^, tbe taste for knowledge, and the habits of applicaticm,
j were induced by example, and confirmed by sympathy. Mr,
' Percival was a man of science and literature, and his d^y
pursuits and general conversation were in the happiest manner
I instructive and interesting to his family. His knowledge of
I the world, and his natural gaiety of disposition, rendered his
I conversation not only useful, but in the highest degree amusing.
From the merest trifles he could lead to some scientific fact,
L some happy literary allusion, or philosophical investigation.
* — ■ Lady Anne Percival had, without any pedantry or ostenta-
tion, much accurate knowledge, and a taste for literature,
I) which made her the chosen companion of her husband's
Jl understanding, as well as of his heart. He was not obliged
il to reserve his conversation for friends of his om-d sex, nor was
I' 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 tbe
education of their children, inspired him with a degree of
happy social enei^y, unknown to the selfish solitary votaries of
avarice and ambition.
1 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 accomplish-
ments contributed to increase their mutual happiness, for there
I' was no envy or jealousy amongst them.
l Those who unfortunately have never enjoyed domestic
happiness, such as we have just described, will perhaps
suppose the picture Co 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 ritiated
L by the stimulus of dissipation might, perhaps, think these
I simple pleasures insipid.
Everybody must ultimately judge of what makes them
V happy, from the comparison of their own feelings in different
r ffltuations. 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 a
'^Lady Delacour's. She was conscious, at the end o'
end of eadi day, 1
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
0 ettn^^^
seemed ]
S It had been agreeably spent ; yel Ihere were
ordinary exertions made to entertain her ; everythit
" I its natural course, and so did her mind. Where there was
} much happiness, no want of what is called p/easiire was
/er experienced. She had not been at Oakly Park a week
before she forgot that it was within a few miles of Harrowgate,
i she never once recollected her vicinity to this fashionable
ter-drinking place for a month afterwards.
' Impossible I ' some young ladies will exclaim. We hope
others will feel that it was perfectly natural. But to deal
fa\t\y with our readers, we must not omit to mention a certain
. Vincent, who came to Oakly Park during the first week of
Belinda's visit, and who stayed there during the whole succeed-
ing 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,
md when he spoke upon any interesting subject, it lighted up,
and became full of fire and animation. He used much gesture
' 1 conversation ; he had not the common manners of young
len who are, or who aim at being thought, fashionable, hut
e was perfectly at ease in company, and all that was un-
common 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
L the world, even after he had himself been its dupe. He
as in extreme astonishment at the detection of any species of
ibaseness in a gi^ntkman; for he considered honour and
Igenerosity as belonging indefeasibly, if not exclusively, to the
Ipriviteged orders. His notions of virtue were certainly aristo-
Icratic in the extreme, hut his ambition was to entertain such
lonly as would best support and dignity an aristocracy. His
pride was magnanimous, not insolent ; and his social prejudices
e 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 perft
;njoyed the present, undisturbed by any unavailing regret
for the past, or troublesome solicitude about the future,
the goods of life he tasted with epicurean zest ; all the evils
bore with stoical indifference. The mere pleasure of existence
223
regret ,
. All
'ils be '
icence J
BELrNDA
KQ keep him in perpetual good humour with him
■s ; and his neve r-fiii ling flow of animal spirits exhiiar-
j ated even the ni05t phlegmatic. To persons of a cold and
reserved temper he sometimes appeared rather too much of ai
I egotist : for he talked with fluent enthusiasm of the excellent
' qualities and beauties of whatever he loved, whether it were
liis dog, his horse, or his country : hut this was not the egotism
of vanity ; it was the overflowing of an affectionate heart, con-
fident 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
aflectionate 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 con-
spired 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 [hen about eighteen, might be immedi-
ately 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 twent)'-one
did not feel relieved from any restraint. On the contrary, his
attachment to his guardian increased from that period, when
I the laws gave him full command over his fortune and his
L actions. Mr. Vincent had been at Harrowgate for some time
^uefore Mr. Percival came into the country ; but as soon as he
^Huard of Mr. Percival's arrival, he left half finished a game of
^Billiards, of which, by the bye, he was extremely fond, to pay
^Bnis 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
H too much colour in her cheeks ; he confessed that she was
H graceful, hut her motions were not quite slow enough to please
■ ^im.
W It is somewhat singular that Lady Delacour's faithflil friend,
V Harriot Freke, should be the cause of Mr. Vincent's first fixing
I ll's favourable attention on Miss Portman.
He had a black servant of the name of Juba. who \iaa ta-
DOMESTIC IIAPriNESS
;mely attached to hitn : he had known Juba from a boy,
id brought him over with him when he first came lo England,
'because the poor fellow begged so earnestly to go wilh young
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 torn
her window, said, or swore, lh;tt she would make Juba repent
of what she called his insolence. The threat was loud enough
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 lo 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
O 225 ^
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
Blk as he used lo do, and his master congratulated him
his recovery. One evening his master asked hi
I Harrowgate for his tambourine, as little Charles I'
wished to hear him play upon it. This simple requc:
wonderful effect upon poor Juba ; he began to tremble from
liead 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 1 ' and he
wiped away the drops that stood upon his forehead. ' But me
will go, if massa bid — roe will die ! '
Mr. Vincent began to imagine that the poor fellow was out of
is senses. He assured him, with the greatest kindness, that
e would almost as soon hazard his own life as that of such a
^lUthliil, aAectianate servant ; but he pressed him to explain
what possible danger he dreaded from returning to Harrow-
.fale. Juba was silent, as if afraid to speak-^' Don't fear to
^>eak to me,' said Mr. Vincent ; ' I will defend yon : if any-
ibody have injured you, or if you dread that anybody will injure
^u, trust to me ; I will protect you.'
' Ah, massa, you no can 1 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
Bnperstitious ; 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.
ercome by this, Juba hurst 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
et Juba and asked him to go for the tambourine.
When he came lo 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 fiames, had appeared lo him in
his bed-chamber at Harrowgate every night, and that he was
_ jne of the obeah-women of his own country, who
Cd pursued him to Europe to revenge his having once, when
J
n upon I
'ercival I
had a f
BELINDA
he was a child, trampled upon an egg-shell that contained
some of her poisons. The extreme absurdity of this stoiy
made Mr. Vincent burst out a laughing ; but his humanity the
next instant made him serious ; for the poor victim of super-
stitious terror, after having revealed what, according to the
belief of his country, it is death to mention, fell senseless oo
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 thera 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 lo
attempt to reason him out of the idea that he had actually seen
this apparition : his account of it was, tliat it first appeared lo
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
Jlarrowgale ; and that he was then persuaded she would nevw
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 sorcer>' ^ has over the minds of the Jamaica
negroes ; Ihey 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 re-
collected 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 thai
Juba had taken possession of the disputed coach-house ; and
^^^ ' See Edwards's History of the IVest [ndiez-t vqL IL
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
M
from the character of this lady, Belinda judged that she w
be likely to play such a trick, and to call il, as usual, fun a
frolic. Miss Portman suggested that one of the children
should show him the pho5phorus, and should draw some
ludicrous figure with it in his presence. This was done, and it
had the effect thai she expected. Juba, familiarised 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 touch-
ing 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 n-as she who had driven both
master iind 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, re-
collected 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 Pari:, and never woman ■mantedxa excuse to do any-
tfaiiig she liked : so trust to her own ingenuity to make si
229
BELINDA
decent apology to the Percivah for running away froni (hem.
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 diange
her tone : she was one of those ladies who can remember or
forget people, be perfectly familiar or strangely rude, just as it
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 chiId?^Gadl I'm glad
you're alone — expected to find you encompassed by a whole
iiost of the righteous. Give me credit for my course in
230
RIGHTS OF WOMAN
coming to deliver yovi out of their hands. Luttridge and 1
had such compassion upon you, when we heard you were
close prisoner here! I swore lo 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 1 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 I ,
young ladies' looks — always give the lie lo 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 belter 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 1 know one .
ten times as handsome. They've dared me to make good my i
word, and I've pledged myself to produce my beauty at the
next ball, and lo pit her against their belle for any money.
Most votes carry it. I'm willing lo 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 ihat'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
astonishmejit ; but when she found herself seized and dragged
towards the door, she drew back with a degree of gentle firm-
ness 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 I
it shall be managed for you— leave that to me ; I'm used to
I managing for cowards. Pray tell me — you and Lady Delacour
are off, 1 understand ?— Give ye joy ! — She and
great friends ; that is to say, 1 had over her " that power which
strong minds have over weak ones," but she was too weak for
BELINDA
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 quarreUed
with her.'
< If I had,' s£ud 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 I
no ! no ! I'm not mistaken ; Clarence has found her out. She's
a very woman — fAa^ 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.
Hiunour she really possessed; and when she chose it, she
232
]
RIGHTS OF WOMAN
could be diverting to those who like buffoonery ii
She had sei her heart upon winning Belinda over to her party.
She began by flattery of her tieauty ; but as she saw that this
1 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 1 should like a strong devil
better than a weak angel.'
You foi^et,' said Belinda, ' that it is not Milton, but Satan,
who says,
' Fallen splrii, to be weak is lo be miserable.'
' You read, I see 1 — I did not know you were a reading girl.
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
no use in reading.'
'But to make them up,' replied Belinda, 'may it not be
o 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 t!ie books in the
' And is there never any nonsense in conversation ? '
'What have you here ?' continued Mrs. Freke, who did not
oosc 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 pud-
ding t La Bruyfire — nettle porridge ! This is what you were
at when I came in, was it not ? ' said she, taking up a book '
'n which she saw Belinda's mark : ' " Against Inconsistency in
lur Expectations." Poor thingl who bored you with this task?'
' Mr. Percival recommended it to me, as one of the best
essays in the English language.'
' The devil 1 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
•Manioui Pieces, liy Mrs. Barbauld and Dr. i
233
r
BELINDA \
-you'd be quite an angel on horseback; or k
out some day in my unicorn.'
Belinda declined this invilalion, and Mrs. Freke strode
away to the window to conceal her mortification, threw up the
sash, and called out to lier groom, 'Walk those horses about,
blockhead ! '
Mr. Percival and Mr. Vincent at this instant came into the
' Hail, fellow I 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 ! 1 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 /Aere Percrvais
could be lowered, she should rise in her esteem ; accordingly,
she determined to draw Mr. Percival into an argument.
' Pve 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 I^But I think all our poHteness hypocrisy :
what d'ye say to that?'
'You know that best, madam 1'
. 'Then III go a step farther ; for I'm determined you shall
I 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 1 I hate qualifying arguers^piump assertioa or \
"3*
RIGHTS OF WOMAN
I say shame is the
me : you sha'n'l get off s
ise of all women's vices.'
' False shame, I suppose you mean ? ' said Mr. Percival.
• Mere play upon words : All shame is false shame — '
ihould be a great deal better without it. What say you, Miss
• portman ? — Silent, hey ? Silence that speaks.'
i Portman's blushes,' said Mr. Vincent, ' speak /of
' Against her,' said Mrs. Freke : ' women blush because
I they understand."
' And you would have them understand without blushing ?
\ said Mr. Percival. ' I grant you that nothing can be more differ-
t than innocence and ignorance. Female delicacy '
' This is Just the way you men spoil women,' cried Mrs.
I Freke, ' by talking to them of the delicacy of their sex, and
|| such stuff. This deiicacy enslaves the pretty delicate dears."
' No ; it enslaves us,' said Mr. Vincent.
' I hate slavery ! Vive la hberl^ !' cried Mrs. Freke. ' I'm
a champion for the Rights of Woman.'
' I am an advocate for their happiness,' said Mr. Perdval,
'and for their delicacy, as I think it conduces' to their
bappiness.'
1 enemy to their delicacy, as I am sure it conduces
to their misery.'
' You spieak from experience ? ' said Mr. Percival.
' No, from observation. Your most delicate women are
always the greatest hypocrites ; and, in my opinion, no hypocrite
1 or ought to be happy.'
' But you have not proved the hyjrocrisy,' said Belinda.
' Delicacy is not, I hope, an indisputable proof of it ? If you
" " e delicacy ■'
jt 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
ajjswer.'
'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.'
235
BELINDA
'Cumiing! — cunning I — cunning 1— the arms of Ihe weakest.'
' Prudence 1 prudence I — 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
I 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 slate of society ? ' asked Mr.
Percival, calmly.
' I'm not tinker-genera! to the worid,' said she.
' I'm glad of it,' said Mr. Percival ; ' for I have heard that
tinkers often spoil more than they mend.'
I' But if you want lo 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 in-
decent thing in the world.'
-- 'That depends on /«WjV 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 ray
leave of them when I was a schooIboy^ — girl, I should say. Bui
■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 Ihat confiision 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 inl
Ann-chair, and laughed immoderately.
336
y^
BELINDA
' How I have trimmed Perci\-al this morning ! ' s^d she.
' I am glad you think 50,' said Belinda ; 'for I really was
aftaid he had been too severe upon you.'
• I only wish,' continued Mrs. Freke, ' 1 only wish his wife
' had been by. Why the devil did not she make her appearance?
1 suppose the prude was afraid of my demolishing and i
\ rigging her.'
' There seems to have been more danger of that for you th^^n
for anybody else,' said Belinda, as she assisted to set Mrs.
Freke's rigging, as she called it, to rights.
' 1 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.
' I'm sorry for it ; for if they were hers, to punish her for
shirking xa^, 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 I '
As Mrs. Freke saw no other chance left of gaining her point
with Belinda, she tried what intimidating her would do.
' 1 stop at nothing,' repealed she, fixing her eyes upon Mis:
Portman, to fascinate her by terror. ' Friend or foe 1 peace 01
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, '
comply with your request.'
' Then you'll take the consequences,' cried Mrs. Freke. She
rushed past her, hurried downstairs, and called out, ' Bid my
blockhead bring my unicorn.'
She, her unicorn, and her blockhead, wire out of sight i
few minutes.
Good may be drawn from evil. Mrs. Freke's conversation,
though at the time it confounded Belinda, roused her, upon re-
flection, 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
Ai>>"^ i ' '•erdval, she established in her own understand-
35S J
RIGHTS OF WOMAN
le 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 bad 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
'Love the miid lays, and bless the nsefiil liglil.'
' Miss Portraan,' said Mr. Percival, ' are not you afraid of
making an enemy of Mrs. Freke, by dechning 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 &lse friend,' said Belinda.
' Till lately,' said Mr. Vincent, ' 1 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 tbeii-
ambition with propriety? Without diminishing their grace,
BELINDA
softness, or delicacy, might not they cultivate their iiunds i|
I Do you think ignorance, as well as indolence, an amiably
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 same instantes of
European cultivation ? I speak only in general,'
'And in general,' said Lady Anne Percival, 'does Mr.
Vincent wish lo 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. VincenL '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 lo 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 1 ? ' 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
whislling 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
nwiiling to give up his title to civilised society i and that, in-
stead 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
There was a degree of candour in Mr, Vincent's manner and
conversation, which interested everybody in his favour ; Belinda
nniongst 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
aRections. From several hints that dropped from him, from
Mr. Percival, and from Lady Anne, she was persuaded Aa^^^
240
A DECLARATION
^tached to some Creole lady ; and all that he said in
fevour of the elegant softness and delicacy of !iis countrywomen
confirmed this opinion.
s Portman was not one of those young ladies who fancy \ '
that every gentleman who converses freely with them will Jl
vitably fall a victim to the power of their charms, and who /
in every man a lover, or nothing.
CHAPTER XVIII
A DECLARATION
^^Tv^ fbimd it : — I've found it, mamma I ' cried little Charles
Percival, running eagerly into the room with a plant in his
hand. ' Wi!i you send this in your letter to Helena Delacour,
and tell her that is the thing that goldfishes 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 1
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 goldfishes 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 1 ' said the boy, dropping the
weed, and clapping his hands joyfiUly ; ' for then I hope y
ippmg the J
hope you^J
will always stay here, don't you, mamma? — don't you, Mr.
Vincent ? Oh, you do, I am sure, for 1 Iieard you say so to
papa the other day ! But what makes you grow so red ? '
His mother look him by the hand, as he was going to
repeat the questioti, and leading him out of the room, desired
him to show her the place where he found the food for the
goldfishes.
I Belinda, to Mr. Vincent's great relief, seemed not to take
I I any notice of the child's question, nor to have any sympathy in
I his curiosity ; she was intently copying WestaU'a sketch of
I Lady Anne Percival and her femily, and she had been roused,
I 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
I this picture of domestic happiness than all the pictures of
shepherds and shepherdesses, and gods and goddesses, that
'Yes,' said Belinda, 'and how much more interesting this
picture is to us, fi-oni 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 I O 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. Hypo-
crisy 1 No ; there is not a woman upon earth whom I believe
to be so far abo\e all hypocrisy, all affectation. But I ima-
gined— 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 betwi
ladyship and Miss Portman — she sVgted fcom the recol
iiween ner
A DECLARATION
«rf Clarence Hervey, and of all that had passed i
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 Delacom- was
:e my friend, and I do not like to make a comparison so
much to her disadvantagre. I have never seen :
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 (altered in pronouncing the word love ;
yet Belinda, prepossessed by the idea that he was attached to
e 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 I' 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
It henceforward render me exquisitely happy or exquisitely
miserable.'
Miss Portman had been too often called ' c/iamiing' to be
much startled or delighted by the sound ; the word would have
passed by unnoticed, but there was something so impassioned
"n Mr, Vincent's manner, that she could no longer mistake it
or common gallantry, and she was in evident confiasion. Now
for the first time the idea of Mr, Vincent as a lover came into i
her mind : the next instant she accused herself of vanity, I
and dreaded that he should read her thoughts. 'Exquisitely J
miserable ! ' said she, in a tone of raillery : ' I should not
suppose, from what I have seen of Mr. Vincent, that anything
could make him exquisitely miserable.'
' Then you do not know ray character — you do not know my
heart ; it is in your power to make me exquisitely miserable.
t the cold, hackneyed phrase of gallantry, but the
fervid language of passion,' cried he, seizing her hand.
243
• instant one of the children came in with soine flowers |
to Belinda ; "an^ glad of the interruption, she hastily put up
her drawings and left the room, observiBg 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 Co dress, she made no
progress in the business, but continued for some time motion-
less, 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 saiil that my aflections
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 tcrbe
more agreeable, than another ? Am I to blame if I cannot
love Mr. Vincent ? '
Before Belinda had answered these questions to her satis-
faction, 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 lie 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 anywhere 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 drown-
ing, and bringing people to life after they had been drowned.
'Don't you remember, papa,' said he, '//;a/ Mr. Hervey, who
was almost drowned in the Serpentine river in London?' —
Belinda coloured at hearing unexpectedly the name of the
was at that instant thinking, i
A DECLARATION
child continued — 'I liked that Mr. Hervey very much — I iiked
him from the first day I saw him. What a number of entertain-
ing things he told us at dinner I 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 ii was he who carried Helena's
goldfishes 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 confiision : but for-
tunately 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 haJ! 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 instru-
ment, 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 im-
mediately to make a banjore, 1 find. Poor fellow ! I daresay
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, afTeclionate
' But why, mamma,' said Charles Percival, ' is Mr. Vincent
gone away ? I am sorty he is gone ; I hope he will soon
come back. In the meantime, I must run and water my
carnations.'
' His sorrow for his friend Mr. Vincent's departure does not
1 affect his spirits much,' said Lady Anne. ■ People
who expect sentiment from children of six years old will be
disappointed, and will probably leach them affectation. Surely
s much better to let their natural affections have time to
"45
BELINDA
expand. If wc 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
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 our-
selves worse, if we were to trust implicitly to poetical analogies.
Our affections,' continued Lady Anne, ' arise from circiun-
stances totally independent of our will.'
' That is the very thing I meant to say,' intermpted 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, lo 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 everything that is amiable and estimable, and women have
scarcely any opportunities of detecting the counterfeit.'
I 'Without Ithuriel's spear, how can they distinguish the good
from the evil ?' said Belinda. 'This is a commonplace com-
plaint, I know j 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 ourseh'es.'
' The complaint is commonplace precisely because it is
general andjust,' 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
I that they can discoi-er anything of each other's real character.
, Indeed they seldom do ; and this probably is the cause why there
' arc so many unsuitable and unhappy marriages. A woman who
I'has an opportunity of seeing her lover in private society, in
domestic life, has infinite ad\ antages ; for if she has any sense,
i he has any sincerity, the real character of both may perhaps
developed.'
Tni^' said Belinda (who now suspected that Lady Anne
246
1
A DECLARATION
alluded to Mr. Vincent); 'and in such fi
■would readily be able to decide whether the man who ad-
•dressed her would suit her taste or not ; so she would be ii
<nisable if, either from vanity or coquetry, she disguised her real
sentiments.'
'And will Miss Portman, who cannot, by any one to whom
he is known, be suspected of vanity or coquetry, permit me
3 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
vith freedora^you cannot do me a greater favour. No
thought of my mind, no secret feeling of my heart, shall be
concealed from you.'
~ t imagine that I wish to encroach upon the generous
iS of your temper,' said Lady Anne ; ' tell me when I go
too far, and 1 will be silent. One who, like Miss Portman, has
lived in the world, has seen a variety of characters, and probably
faas had a variety of admirers, must have formed some deter-
; 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,
ce 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 lo horror. O Lady
I Aime I there is nothing that I would not do to please the
I fiiends to whom I am under obligations, except sacrificing my
J peace of mind, or my integrity, the happiness of my life, by '
I 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 yester-
day. You perceive that I am his friend, but do not forget that
n also yours. If you fear undue influence from any of your
relations in &vour of Mr. Vincent's large fortune, etc., 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 atfeclion.'
247
BELINDA
-, my dear Lady Anne,' cried Belinda, 'thai it'
in my power to return his affection.'
' And may I asic your objections ? '
' Is it not a sufRcient objection, that I am perstiaded 1
cannot love him ? '
' No ; for you may be mistaken in that persuasion..
Remember what we said a little while ago, ahaat fancy and spon^
tmieous 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 anything 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. ' 1 ant not
oneof 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 I ' 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,
OT even to the hero of La Be/Uet La B^/i J bull do believe, that,
in a mind so well regulated as yours, esteem may certainly in
time he improved into love. I will tell Mr. Vincent so, my dear.
24S
A DECLARATION
No, my dear Lady Anne I no ; you must not — indeed yon
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 expres-
sions, 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. I'ercival and I
may wish that he could obtain such a wife, wc 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 t!ie
cause of banishing Mr. Vincent from all his friends — from
Oakly Park ? '
' Will he not do what is most prudent, to avoid the charm-
ing Miss Porlman,' 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, 1 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 1 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 — -1 saw you took at me.'
' Undesignedly, believe me.'
' Undesignedly, I am sure ; but I was afraid you would
think '
' The truth.'
' No J but more than the truth. The truth you shall
hear ; and the rest 1 will leave to your judgment and to your
. kindness.'
Belinda gave a full account of her acquaintance with Clarence
249
BELINDA
Hervey ; of the variations in his manner towards her
excellent conduct with respect to Lady Delacour (of this,
by the bye, she spoke at large). But she was more concise
when she touched upon the state of her own heart ; and her
voice almost bUed when she came to the history- of the !ock of
beautiful hair, lie 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 ber 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 j
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 dnie, 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 grandmother, who
, Uiswered for her in an arch tone, ' Oh yes, my lady I -We are
Hot afraid of Jackson naic-y we are grown very great friends.
This pretty cane chair for my goodman was his handiworl^
and these baskets he made for me. Indeed, he's a most
industrious, Ingenious, good-natured youth ; and our Lucy lakes
no offence at his courting her now, my lady, I can assure yoii.
[ That necidace, which is never off her neck now, he turned for
BELINDA
n at I
eta 1
r, my lady ; it is a present of his. So I Icll bim he need 1
not be discouraged, though so be she did not take ii
the first ; for she's a good girl, and a sensible girl — I say it,
I 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:
I now in my judgment, fancy's little or nothing with girls that
have sense. But 1 beg pardon for prating at this rate, more
■ especially when I am so old as to have forgot all the httle 1
. ever knew about such things.'
' But you have the best right in the world to speak about
such things, and your granddaughter 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 1 can remember, she has made me
the happiest man in the whole world, in the whole parish, as
everybody knows, and I best of all I' 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 1 had followed my
fancy, and taken up with my first love, it would not ha' been;
with ht, Lucy. 1 had a sort of a fancy (since my lady's W
good as to let me speak), I had a sort of a fancy for an idle
young man ; but he, very luckily for nic, 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 t found oat
his goodness and cleverness, and joined lo 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 bettet
is the cause why I have been so happy ever since, and am sK
still in my old age. Ah, Lucy I dear, what a many years that
same old age lasts, after all I 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 giA
and a sensible girl, though my own granddaughter, as 1 sue
before, and therefore won't be run away with by fancy, whid
soon past and gone ; but make a prudent choice, that y
a S3
, thatyo!
A DECLARATION
^tnever have cause to repent of. But I'll not say a
ire J I'll leave it all to yourself and James Jackson.*
'You do right," said Lady Anne ; 'good-morning to you !
Fareweil, Lucy ! That's a pretty necklace, and is very be-
coming 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 oi fancy was intended for
; : at any rate, I may turn it to my own advantage 1 '
' Happy those who can turn all the experience of others to
;ir own advantage ! ' said Lady Anne ; ' this would be a
>re valuable privilege than the power of turning everything
that is touched lo gold.'
They walked on in silence for a few minutes ; and then
liss Portman, pursuing the train of her own thoughts, and
oconscious that she had not explained them lo 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 ;
lie will have reason to complain of me, if I waste his time, and
trifle with his affections. Then is it not belter that I should
avoid, by a decided refusal, all possibility of injury to Mr.
~""ncent, and of blame to myself? '
' There is no danger of Mr. Vincent's misunderstanding or
paisrepresenting you. The risk that he runs is by his voluntary
; and I am sure that if, after farther acquaintance with
.him, you find it impossible lo 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
recede : when they come within a certain distance,
they are pressed to unite, by the irresistible force of external
A woman is too often reduced to this
dilemma : either she must marry a man she does not love, or
ust be blamed by the world^-either she must sacrifice a
n of her reputation, or the whole of her happiness.'
'The world is indeed often too curious and too rash
^ese affairs,' said Lady Anne. 'A young w
piis respect allowed sufficient time for freedom of delibei
=53
BELINDA
! sees, OS Mr, Percival once said, "ihe drawn sword of
tyrant custom suspended over her head by a. single hair," '
' And yet, notwithslandmu you are so well aware of Ihe
danger, your ladyship would expose me to it?' said Belinda.
' Yes i 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 deseri'e it
— and it would be absurd to enslave ourselves to the opinion
of the idle and ignorant. To a certain point, respect for ih^
opinion of the world is prudence ; beyond that poiiit^t i^
weakness. You should also consider that the luorld 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 sur-
rounded by busy eyes and busy tongues. The butchers,
bakers, ploughmen, and spinsters, who compose our world,
have ai! 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 wit] not appear to them anything
wonderful or portentous.'
Their conversation was interrupted. Mr. Vincent rettitned
to Oakly Park — but upon the express condition that he should
not make his attachment public by any particular attention^
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 Percivd
was guarantee.
A WEDDING
Belinda and Mr. Vincem could never sgrae 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 gentle-
1 gained so much, eiOier by truth or fiction, that, in the
rse of some weeks, he got the lady as far as 'gratitude and
esteem.'
One evening, BeliiiJa was playing with little Charles
ferciva! at spillikins. Mr. Vincent, who found pleasure in
everything that amused Belinda, and Mr. Percival, who took
' 1 everything which entertained his children, were
looking on at this simple game.
' Mr. Percival,' said Belinda, ' condescending lo look at a
fiame 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 I Miss Portman, take care!' cried Charles, who was
anxious that she should win, though he was playing against
r, ' 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
rfie'll siir the king, if she touches that knave — I'll lay you a
■hilling,'
' Done ! done 1 ' cried Mr. Vincent.
' Done ! done 1 ' cried the boy, stretching out his hand, but
his father caught it.
' Softly ! softly, Charles ! — No betting, if you please, my
' s ends in — undone.'
i I who was in the wrong,' cried
BELINDA
TTs 'better than my saying so, Miss Portman thinks
so, as her smile tells me.'
'You moved, Miss Portman!' cried Charles : — 'Oh, indeed !
Lhe 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 a
imprudent bet. So it is well I made none ; for now I see th
chances were ten to one, twenty to one, a hundred to one agains
' It does not appear to
Mr. Percival. ' This is a
that is the reason I like it.'
' Oh, papa 1 Oh, Miss Portman ! look how nicely these are
balanced. There I my breath has set (hem 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 bye,' cried Mr. Vincent, ' Miss Portman has never
seen those wonderful roclring-s tones — 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 ne« 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-s tones ? '
' It looks like a statue,' said Vincent. ' It has been put uj
since we were here last.'
' I fancy it has got up of itself,' said Belinda, ' for it
to be getting down of itself I think I saw it stoop. Oh I I
see now, it is a man who has got up there, and he
have a gun in his hand, has not he ? He is going through hia
" ! for his diversion — for the diversion of the
3^6
A WEDDING
below, I perceive^ there is a party of people looking-
F
■ at him.
H ' Him ! ' said Mr. Percival,
H ' I protest it is a woman 1 ' said Vincent.
H ' No, surely,' said Belinda : ' it cannot be a woman ! '
H ' Not unless it be Mrs. Freke,' replied Mr. Percival.
H In fact it was Mrs Freke, who had been out shooting with
K a party of gentlemen, and who had scrambled upon this rocking-
■ stone, on the summit of which she went through the manual
I exercise at the word of command from her officer. As they
E Tode nearer to the scene of action, Belinda heard the shrill
screams of a female voice, and they descried amongst the
gentlemen a sUght 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
er 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:
ir perhaps, as she has vowed vengeance against me,
; 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,
1 away ! — We came here to look at these
Wcking-stones 1 — We have not half seen them. Lady Anne
and the children will be here immediately. You would not
^prive them of the pleasure of seeing these things ! '
' I doubt whether they would have much pleasure in seeing
He of Ihese 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
BELINDA
^^^^TBc children are so good tempered,
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. Pcrcival,
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
i' mistress go out riding together, some adventure must befal
i them. The horse must run away with the lady, and the genlle-
I man 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 Buerger'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 inter'
esting, and the hero must be at least half drowned in dra^ng
her out, that she may be under eternal obligations to him, and
at last be forced to marry him out of pure gratitude.'
' Gratitude I ' interrupted Mr. Vincent : 'he Is no hero, to
I my mind, who would be content with gratitude, instead of
love.'
' You need not alann yourself: Miss Portman does not seem
inclined to put you to the trial, you see,' said Mr. Percival,
miling. ' Now it is really to be regretted that she deprived
, you of an opportunity of lighting some of the gentlemen in
~ ~ i. Freke'a train, or of delivering her from the perilous height
jne of those rocking-s tones. It wotUd have been a new
incident in a novel."
How that poor girl screamed ! ' said Behnda. ' Was her
terror real or affected ? '
' Partly real, partly affected, I fancy,' said Mr. Pcrcival.
' 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 Moreion
1 away from her friends to live with this Mrs. Freke, who
bas ted her into all kinds of mischief and absurdity. The
A WEDDING
is weak and vain, and belie*'es ihat everything tiecoines
which Mrs. Freke assures her is becoming. At one time she
s persuaded to go to a public ball with her arms as bare as
Juno's and Iier feet as naked as Mad. Tallien's. At another
Moreton (who unfortunately has never heard the
Greek proverb, that half is belter than the whole) was persuaded
by Mrs. Freke to lay aside her half boots, and to equip herself
s whole boots ; and thus she rode about the country, to
(the amazement of al! the world. These are trifles ; but women
Iwho love to set the world at defiance in trifles seldom respect
jits opinion in matters of consequence. Miss Moreton's whole
'boots in the morning, and her bare feet in the evening, were
: talked of by everybody, till she gave them more to talk of about
Rher attachment to a young otBcer. Mrs. Freke, whose philo-
sophy 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 feci the difficulty, which philo-
sophers are sometimes said to (ind 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,
I think the f>oor 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
■ tyrannises over her without mercy. Imagine what it is to be
the butt of a buffoon 1 '
' What a lesson to young ladies in the choice of female
friends 1 ' said Belinda, ' But had Miss Moreton no rela-
tions, who could interfere to get her out of Mrs. Freke's
hands ? '
' Her father and mother were old, and, what is more con-
temptible, old-fashioned ; she would not listen to their advice ;
■she ran away from thera. Some of her relations were, I
ce, willing that she should stay with Mrs. Freke, because
»as 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
no purpose. This was a cousin of Miss
Moreton's, a respectable clerg>-man. Mrs. Freke was so
^Blnuch incensed by his insolent interference, as she was pleased
259
BELINDA
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 ex-
pected 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 pro-
vide 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.' ^^^
r * 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 excommuni-
cates 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
I 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.'
260
\ WEDDING
"1
to give you jl
' Scandal,' said Mr. Vincent, ' does not s
much pleasure. Miss Portman. You will be glad to hear that
Mrs. Freke's malice against poor Mr. Morcton has not ruined
him. Do you know, Mr. Percival, that he has just been pre-
sented 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
' So should I,' said Mr. Vincent : 'lie is a Mr. Hervey.'
'Clarence Hervey, perhaps?'
' Yes, Clarence was his name.'
' No man more likely to do a generous action than Clarence
Hen'ey,' said Mr. Percival.
'Nobody more likely to do a generous action than Mr.
Hervey,' repealed 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 with-
out 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 beauti-
ful 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 dehghtfid
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 (o rave of thp climate and of the prospects of Jamaica ? '
' Yes, but my laste has quite changed.'
' 1 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.
261
BELINDA
inued Mr, Percival, ' are not necessarily
more foolish than others ; but the chances are certainly against
them. From poetry or romance, young people usually fonn
Iheir earlier ideas of love, before they have actually felt the
passion ; and the image which they have in their own minds of
the beau idea! is cast upon the first objects they afterward be-
hold. This, if I may be allowed the expression, is Cupid's
Fata Morgana. Deluded mortals are in ecstnsy whilst the
illusion lasts, and in despair when it vanishes.'
Mr. Percival appeared to be unconscious that what he wal
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 it
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 Porlman, 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 ive did not c
stantly refer lo 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 "
world, how many do you think have married their Jirst loves f
Probably not one out of ten. Then, would you have n'
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 a
idea more dangerous to domestic happiness than this belief in
the unextinguishable nature of a first fiame. There are people
who would persuade us that, though it may be smothered for
years, it must break out at last, and blaie with destructive fury.
Pernicious doctrine ! false as it is pernicious l^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>
261
r
A WEDDIKG
imable husband can da to win her confidence and afTection,
nourishes in secret ^ fatal prepossession for her first love, may
perhaps, by the eloquence of a fine writer, be made an interest- \
ing heroine ;— bui 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 V
novel writers. Noiv, could a husband who has any delicacy be
content to possess the person without the mind ? — the duty with-
out the love ? — Could he be perfectly happy, if, in the fondest
moments, he might doubt whether he were an object of disgust
or aflTection ? — whether the smiles of apparent joy were only the
efforts of a suffering martyr? — Thank Heaven! 1 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. Per-
cival, 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
I Percival of sighing in secret for some vision of perfection, any
I more than she suspects me of pining for the charming Lady
I 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 imag^'nations.'
' I hear,' said Belinda, smiling, ' I hear and understand the
emphasis with which you pronounce that word delicacy. I see
yon have rot 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 con-
vinced in a whole life, and who end where they began, with
saying — " This is my opinion — I always thought so, and always
BELrNDA
Mr. Vincent at a.11 times loved Mr. Percival ; but be n
fell 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 s
pcct from her manner that this gentleman ever possessed any
interest in her heart ; yet, with her accustomed sincerity, she
had confessed to him (hat an impression had been made upon
her mind before she came to Oakly Park.
After this conversation wiih Mr. Percival, Mr. Vincent
perceived that he gained ground more rapidly in her &vour;
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 prudenr
his friend's advice. Things went on in this happy, but a
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 f This favoi
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 bride-
groom. Mr. Vincent has let them a very pretty little farm
in the neighbourhood, and — hark ! there's the sound of
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,
immediately to have a tent pitched in the park ; and all the
rural company were invited to a dance in the evening :
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 tc
master's goodness. Juba had composed, in his broken dialect,
a little song in honour of his master, which he sang 1
banjore with the most touching expression of joyful gralitn
364
ill gratitnde,^^
Ji
A WEDDING
e of the stanzas Belinda could distinguish that her own
i frequently repealed. Lady Anne called bim, 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
I being relieved from these horrors, with the delightful
;ions 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
I happiness, and, above all, that she might be fortunate in her
love ; which Juba thought the highest degree of felicity. He
bad no sooner finished his song, which particularly touched
and pleased Miss Portman, than he begged his master to oSer
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
tartled 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 I ' 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 :— ' O Miss Portman 1 my poor lady is very
-very ill, indeed. She has sent rne for you — here's her
letter. Dear Miss Portman, 1 hope you won't refuse to come i
she has been very ill, and is very ill ; but she would be better,
if she could see you again. But I'll tell everything, ma'am,
when we are by oiu-selves, 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
h implicit faith, and had in vain endeavoured to engage him
to perform for her the operation to which she had determined
o submit. He was afraid to hazard it, and he prevailed upon
ler to give up the scheme, and to try some new external
remedy from which he promised wonders. No one knew what
his medicines were, hut they affected her head in the most
Slarming manner.
365
ler own ^1
h.
BELINDA
her delirium she called frequently upon Mis
accusing her of the basest treachery,
addressing her as if she were present, and pouring forth the
wannest 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 meDtion iL
One day, when 1 was saying how much 1 wished that you were
with her again, she darted at me tlie 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
— 1 shall never forget them : they struck and astonished me,
ma'am, so much, I stood like one stupefied, 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 fiash 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
1 knew what scent to go upon, I went to work. with fresh spirit
to find him out, which was a thing 1 was determined upon—
and what I'm determined upon, 1 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 1, partly serious and partly flirting, which in a good cause
drew from him (for he pretends to be a little an
admirer of mine, ma'am, though I never gave him the sraaileit
encouragment) 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 banknotes that my lord had given yoti, 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
366
A WEDDING
^knowledge 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,
■, he very candidly offered to assist me to unmask
that villain Champfon, which he could easily do with the
I 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 iady, 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
I uninannered 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 t 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
J 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
1 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 bad not, as it were, commanded it. But
he answered at last, "My Lady Delacour, I'm not a man
) be governed by a wife. — 1 shall keep or part with my own
srvants 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 stale of distraction for some days,
r would sit down to the same table, ma'am, with Mr.
Champfort, nor speak to him, nor look at him, and parties ran
) 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 h«
iUness was pretence, to bring him to her purpose ; which
A WEDDING
i readily believed, because nobody was evCT^T
my lady's bedchamber but myself. All this time she r
mentioned your name, ma'am ; but once, when 1 was sitting
by her bedside, as she was asleep, she started suddenly, and
cried out, " O my dearest Belinda I are you come back to
me ?" — She awakened herself with the start ; and raising her-
self quite up in her bed, she pulled back the curtains, and
looked all round the room. I'm sure she expected lo see you;
and when she found it was a dream, she gave a heai-y sigh,
and sank do\vn upon her pillow. I then could not forbear to
speak, and this time my lady was greatly touched when I
t mentioned your name; — she shed tears, ma'am i and you
know it is not a little thing that can draw tears from my lady.
But when 1 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
Now, ma'am, I had it all by a post letter from Mrs.
Luttridge's maid, who is my cousin, and knows everything
' t]iat's going on. My lady from this moment forward could
1 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 1 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 shell 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."
t easy to suppose, iny lord," said I, " after all
that has passed, that the young lady would choose to return,
T that my lady would ask her, whilst Mr. Champfor
laramount in the house." " If that's all," cried my lord, '
n^^bdy I'll part with Champfort upon the spot ; for
BEUNDA
Se Insolence to insist upon ti, that a pati
« boots are not loo tight for me, when I said they were.
I'll show him 1 can be master, and ivill, in tny own house."
Ma'am, my heart leaped for joy within me at hearing these
words, and 1 tan up lo 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 everything for
doing as I would have him at last, and dismissing Ibat 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 last as ever she could, and the postchaise was
ordered. 1 don't know what fancy seized her— but if you
remember, ma'am, the hammer-cloth 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 recol-
lected this on a sudden, as 1 was getting ready to come for
you ; and she set the servants al 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 lo 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 1 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 oivn room to read Lady Delacour's
letter. It contained none of her customary dloquente 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 for-
bearance, tenderness, and fidelit)', she had received suc^ indis-
putable proofs. She concluded by saying, ' I feel my end fast
approaching, and perhaps, Belinda, your humanity will induce
RECONCILIATION
H grant my last request, and to let me see
I before I die.'
Belinda immediately decided to return to Lady Deiacour^ —
I though it was with real regret that she thought of leaving Lady
2 PercivaJ, and the amiable and happy family to whom she
[ had become so much attached. The children crowded round
I her when they heard that she was going, and Mr. Vincent stood
n silent sorrow — but we spare our readers this parting scene.
I Miss Portman promised to return to Oaldy Park as soon as she
I possibly could. Mr. Vincent anxiously requested permission
D follow her (o 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 character- .
istic excuse; she declared that there was no possibility of |
finding pleasure in anything 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 I
established a character for caprice, were satisfied that this was
merely some new whim, practised to signalise herself by singu-
larity. 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 consider-
able 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.
BELINDA
t she could have nothing to fear from this
girl's spirit of inquiry, for never was any human being s
destitute of curiosity. It was about noon when Behnda 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 :
Portraan is not with you ?— Gi\e inc my laudanum.'
'Miss Portman is come, my lady,' said Marriott; '
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. 1 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. 1 wi!l 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 he 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, tt-ill 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 Oakiy Park ?— Were not they
all extremely concerned to part with her ? — Did she ask after
Helena? — Did you lell 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-
At the sight of Belinda she stopped short ; and, totally
overpowered, she would have sunk upon the floor, had r
Miss Portman caught her in her arms, and supported her Ic
, s«&. When she came to herself and heard the soothiiy
RECONCILIATION
^da's voice, she looked up timidly in her face for
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 f^atid
do you forgive me ? — Yes, I see you do — and from you I can
endure the humiliation of being forgiven, Enjoy [he noble
sense of your own superiority.'
' My dear Lady Delacour,' said Belinda, 'yon see a!i 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 I
— Yes, you have ; that which ii is the most difficult to forgive
— injustice. Oh, how you must have despised me for the
folly, the meanness of my suspicions! Of all leniBErs that
which appears to me, and I am sure to you, tlie.mjjst despic-
able, the most intolerable, is a saspjciQUS temper. Mine was
lonce open, generous as your own^ — you see how the best
Idispiositions 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 breatliless,
I may have some chance,' said Belinda, ' of being heard in
your defence. 1 perfectly agree with you in thinking that a
suspicious temper is despicable and intolerable ; but there is a
vast difference between an acute lit 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 hammer-cloth, " trifles
as light as air"^ '
'Oh, my dear, you are too good. But my folly admits of
no excuse, no palliation,' interrupted Lady Delacour i '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 liftle daughter, after you had done your best,
your worst, to make me believe that you were a
mother.'
That was quite another affair, my dear. I did not know
Helena was worth loving, I did not imagine my little
273
^
BELINDA
daughter could love me. When I found my mistake, I
changed my tone. Dm there is no hope of mistake with my
poor husband. Vour own sense must show you thai Lord
Delacour is not a man to be loved.'
■ That could not always have been your ladyship's opinion,'
said Belinda, witb an arch smile.
' Lord 1 my dear," said Lady Delacour, a little embarrassed,
' in the highest paroxysm of my madness, I never suspected
that you could lo^'t 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 I Nonsense 1— Impossible I — Hush ! here he comes,
with his odious creaking shoes. What man can ever expea 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 everything that is disagreeable."
When Lady Delacour had a mind to banish painful recollec-
tions, 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 hvely this morning, has kept her bed, as I
am informed, a fortnight — is not this astonishing?'
' Prodigiously astonishing, that my Lord Delacoiu', like all
the rest of the world, should be liable to be deceived by appear-
ances,' cried her ladyship. ' Honour me with your attention
for a few minutes, my lord, and perhaps I may increase your
astonishment.'
H^grd^^^U^^by the sudden change of her voice from
in
RECONCILIATION
gaiety to gravity, fixed his eyes upon her and returned
seat. She paused — then addressing herself to Belinda, 'My
incomparable friend,' said she, ' I wiU now give you a convinc-
ing 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. Slie has deter-
;d me to throw myself on your mercy.'
Mercy ! ' repeated Lord Delacour ; and a confused idea,
she was now about to make a confession of the justice of
e of his former suspicions, took possession of his mind ;
looked aghast.
' I am going, my lord, to confide lo you a secret of the
iJCmost importance — a secret which is known to but three
nple in the world — Miss Portman, Marriott, and a man
rse name I cannot reveal to you.'
Stop, Lady Delacour ! ' cried his lordship, with a degree of
(notion and energy which he had never shown till now : ' stop,
conjure, I command you, madam ! I am not sufficiently
aster of myself — I once loved you too well to bear such a
roke. Trust me with no such secret — say no more- — you
ive said enough — too much. 1 forgive you, that is all 1 can
I : but we must part. Lady Delacour I ' said he, breaking
Om her with agony expressed in his countenance.
' The man has a heart, a soul, I protest I Vou knew him
Itler than I did, Miss Portman. Nay, you are not gone yet,
iy lord I You really love me, [ find.'
' No, no, no,' cried he vehemently ; ' weak as you take me
be. Lady Delacour, I am incapable of loving a woman who
s disgraced me, disgraced herself, her family, her station,
X high endowments, her ' His utterance failed.
'O Lady Delacour]' cried Belinda, 'how can you trifle
this manner?'
' I meant not,' said her ladyship, ' to trifle : I am satisfied.
By lord, it is time that you should be satisfied. 1 can give
OD the most irrefragable proof, that whatever may have been
apparent levity of my conduct, you have had no serious
.e for jealousy. But the proof will shock — disgust you.
e you courage to know more ? — Then follow me.'
ie followed her. — Belinda heard the boudoir door unlocked.
1 a few minutes they returned. — Grief and horror
275
tohb I
, 'My
jU
RECONCILIATION
pity were painted in Lord Delacoiir's i
passed hastily through the room.
' My dearest friend, I have taken your advice ; would to
Heaven I had taken it sooner!' said Lady Dclacour to Miss
Portman. ' I have revealed to Lord Delacour my real s'
tion. Poor man ! he was shocked beyond expression. He
behaved incomparably well. I am convinced that he would,
he said, let his hand be cut off to save my life. The
oient his foolish jealousy was extinguished, his love for me
revived in full force. Would you believe it ? he has promised
break witli 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 I '
' 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 I ' cried Lady Delacour, with a tone of disdain ;
'how long has that word enslaved a soul formed for higher
purposes 1 ' 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 forget-
ful even that Belinda was present, she threw herself upon a .
Khfa, 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. ' 1
thought I had taken it,' said she in a feeble voice i and as she
raised her eyes and saw Behnda, she added, with a faint smile,
'Miss Portman, I believe, has been laudanum to mc 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
sieans of supporting existence ? '
377
BELINDA
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 imkindly, 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 book 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,
fher ladyship had first begun to think seriously on religious
i subjects, and the early impressions that had been made on her
j 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 reflec-
tions 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
27^
RECONCIUATION
tliey were secret. Whilst the stimulus of laudanum lasted,
; train of her ideas always changed, and she was amaicd at
the weak fears and strange notions by which she had been
disturbed ; yet it was not in her power entirely to chase away
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 ex-
perience of Miss Portman's gentleness and friendship might
reasonably have prevented or dispelled such apprehensions ;
Lady Delacour was governed by pride, by sentiment, by
whim, by enthusiasm, by passion — by anything 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 oiier the books.
What books f ' 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.'
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 inethodistical books,
th their strange quaint titles,' said she, 'are, however,
diverting enough to those who, like myself, can find diversion
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
thotjght 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 wo
o think of Clarence Hervey ? '
' Why should we think of him at all ? ' said Belinda.
' For two excellent reasons, my dear ; because we cannot
bclp 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
4 Slnail packet of tetters, which she put into Belinda's hands.
279
BELINDA
' Pray read them ; you will find them amaiingly edifying, as
well as entertaining. I protest I am only puzzled to know
whether I shall bind thejrt up with Sterne's Seniiiiunlai
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. Radclifiean tour along the pictur-
esque 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
_i!aLlhfi-siiiilime ; 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
1 description — here is sense for you ; and pray mark the polite-
ness 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 misfor-
tune to be married to a man as unlike Mr. Percival, and as
like Lord Delacour as possible ; and yet, oh, wonderfiU I 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 &11 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, ' 1 will not run the hazard of reading
' Why, my dear,' said Lady Delacour, with a look of'
mingled coaceni, reproach, and raillerj', 'have you actuaP]"
RECONCILUTION
[grvea up my poor Ciarence, mcrd)- on account of this n
■ood, this Virginia St. Pietrc? Nonsense ! Begging
your pardon, my dear, the man loves you. Some entasgle-
meot, 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 youQg lady ought oe^-er to be if she can help it, u-iU go and
marry — I know you will — some stick of a rival, purely to
provoke hitn.'
' If ever I marry,' said Belinda, with a look of proud
humility, ■ I shall certainly marry to please myself, and not to
provoke anybody 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. 1 am willing to believe that Mr. Vincent '
. ' Mr- Vincent ! How did you know— — ' exclaimed
Belinda.
' How did 1 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 Port-
man 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, etc. etc. etc. ? " 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 straightforward Belinda, that if
you make Clarence Hervcy 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.'
BELINDA
' And do you imagine that 1 could use Mr. Vincent
ill ? — And can you think me capable of such double dealing
' Oh t in love and war, you know, all stratagems are alk
able. But you take the matter so seriously, and you redden
with such virtuous indignation, that I dare not say a word
more — only— may 1 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 1
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 realised 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 agaitist the
folly o^ 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 starttng
I 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, Perctval's observations ; for, evidently, the hold'
^ich this prejudice had kept ia Lady Delacom^s
2&a
I
> mind ha^l
RECONCILIATION
I materially injured her happiness, by making her neglect, a
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 disyust in her mind
for her wedded lord, and for rnany years precluded all percep-
tion 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
fiiture moment, whenever she could, with propriety and with
effect, to suggest these reflections to Lady Delacour, and in
the meantime 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 anJiious 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 everything 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 advant-
ages 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 para-
graph were cautiously obliterated, however ; and, without any
obvious link of connection, the writer began a new sentence
with a general reflection upon the folly and imprudence of
(ibrming romantic projects. Then he enumerated some of the
various schemes he had formed in his early youth, and humor-
ously recounted how they had failed, or how they had been
■abandoned. Afterward, changing his tone from playful 'v '
BELINDA
s philosophy, he observed the Lhauges which the^^
periments had made in his own character.
' My friend, Dr. X ■,' said he, ' divides mankind i
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 :
This class is by far the largest. I am content,' continued
Clarence, 'to be in the middle class — perhaps you will say
because 1 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 know-
ledge 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 espense 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 s
warrior ; yet it seems to me to be rather an ignominious than
an enviable situation.
' Our friend, Dr. X^ -, would laugh at my insisting i
being amongst the class of learners by their own experience.
He would ask me, whether it be the ultimate end of my philo-
sophy to try experiments, or to be happy. And what answer
should I make ? 1 have none ready. Common s
me in the face, and my feelings, even at this instant, alas i
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 yoti will
mediately infer, that I think myself a great man ; and as I dft-
' test hypocrisy yet more than vanity, I shall not deny the charge.
At all events, I feel that 1 am at present — however gaily I talk
— in as fair a way to be u
i earnest, the greatest m
t respectful admirer, and s
ihappy for life, a
.n in Europe.
)ur ladyshii/S
' Clarence Hervev.
*P.S. — is there any hope that your friend, Mis;
^^raough L
RECONCILIATION
lOugh Lady Delacour had been much fatigued by the
of her spirits during the day, she sat up at night lo
to Mr. Hcn-ey, Her love and gratitude to Miss Portman
;d her most warmly for her happiness, and she was
persuaded that the most effectual way to secure it would he to
promote her union with hsr Jirsl love. Lady DelacouT, who
had also the best opinion of Clarence Hervey, and the most
friendship for him, thought she was likewise acting
highly for his interest ; and she felt that she had some merit in
parting with him from the train of her admirers, and
urginS 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 Pereival had
short a time acquired over Belinda's mind. ' Strange,'
thought she, 'if love and 1 he not a match for Lady Anne
Pereival and reason 1 ' 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 corre-
spondent on his indulging himself so charmingly in t^e
melanekoly cf giniiis; and she prescribed as a cure lo her
tHolfteureux imaginaire, as she called him, those joys of
domestic life which he so well knew how to paint.
' Pr^cepte commence, exemple aekive,' said her ladyship.
Vou will never see me lafemme comme il y en a peu, till I see
you le ban mart. Belinda Porlman 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
aeems that she has had full employment for her head and heart.
Pereival and Lady Anne, by right of science and reason,
lia.ve 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 posses-
sion, by the right of conquest. As far as I can understand —
for I have not yet seen le futur — he deserves ray Belinda ; for
besides being as handsome as any hero of romance, ancient or
modem, 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 — wc may pre-
that notwithstanding Mr. V is a Creole, he has been
BELINDA
I bred up by his guardian in ihe class of men who learn by the
experience of others. As such, according to your systeni, he
] has a right to expect to be a happy man, has not he f Accord-
ing 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 dnes not, for her worldly good word would i
whole. Not so as to Lady Anne and Mr. Percival's appro-
bation—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
I 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 Doisetshire 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 1
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 pro-
duce. 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 \\icfitnesi 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
toubl would bring Clarence immediately J ' ""
■ RECONCILIATION
left it with Marriott, with orders to have it sent by tbc uexf
post. Much fatigued, she then retired to rest, and va;
visible the next day till near dinner-time. When Miss Ponman
returned the packet of Mr. Hervey's letters, her ladyship v
dissatisfied with the measured terms of Belinda's approbation,
and she said, vnth a sarcastic smile, ' So, they have made a
complete philosopher of you at Oakly Park I 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 i and I
she endeavoured to turn the conversation to what she thought
must be more immediately interesting to Lady Delaeour— her
own health. She assured her, with perfect truth, that she was
at present more intent upon her situation than upon Cupid or
' 1 believe you, my generous Belinda ! ' said Lady Delaeour ;
' 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 cluvalier of yours did not attend you, or follow you
lo town ? '
' Mr. Vincent ? — He knew that I came to attend your lady-
ship. 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 Delaeour sighed, and opened Clarence Hen-ey's letters
one after another, looking over them without seeming well to
know what she was about. Lord Delaeour 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 Hen'ey, his
manner immediately altered, and, stammering out some com-
monplace 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
287
BELINDA
e 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 ii
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 caieless tone.
' Ves ; 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.
Lutlridge is not yet come lo Raiilipole, 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 for/line 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 everything at Rantipole is rantipole. But I am really con-
cerned, 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 ihe Lutlridge was at Rantipole, before you set
out on this wild-goose-chase ? '
' My dear good lady,' replied Lord Delacour, assuming
degree of spirit which startled her as much as it became him,
'why do you not get better intelligence before you suspect mft.
I of being a brute and a liar? Did not I promise you yesterday,
that I would break with ihe Lutlridge, as you call her? and ho*
could you imagine that the instant fifterwards, just at the time
I was wrung to the soul, as you know 1 was — how could yoO'
imagine I would leave you to go to Rantipole, or to any woman
upon earth ? '
' O my lord ! I beg your pardon, 1 beg your
thousand times,' cried Lady Delacour, rising with much emotion^
and, going towards him with a sudden impulse, she kissed hia-
forehead.
'And so you ought to beg my pardon,' said Lord Delacouf)
9 filtering voice, but without moving his posture.
7%&
RECONCILIATION
' You will acknowledge you left me, however, my lord ? Thai
' Left you I Yes, so I did i to ride ail over the country in
t^Search of a house thai would suit you. For what else did you
I think I could leave you at such a lime as this ? '
Lady Delacour again stooped, and leaned her arm upon his
LSboulder.
' I wish to Heaven, my dear,' said his lordship, shrinking as
he put away her hand, which still held Clarence Hervey's
letters, ' 1 wish to Heaven, my dear, you would not hold those
abominable perfumed papers just under my very nose. You
Imow I cannot stand perfumes.'
' Are they perfumed ? Ay ; so everything Js that I keep in
'that cabinet of curiosities. Thank you, my dear Miss Portman,'
:Cftid her ladyship, as Belinda rose to take the letters from her
!sand. ' Will you have the goodness to put them back into
jQieir 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
<pUar of roses, to which few people's olfactory nerves have an
lantipaEhy.'
' I have the honour to be one of Uic few,' said his lordship,
'lisng from his seat with so sudden a motion as to displace
;X.ady Delacour's arm which leaned upon him. ' For my part,'
'Continued he, taking down one of the Argand lamps from the
cihimney-piece, and trimming it, ' I would rather a hundred to
one snuff up the oil of this cursed lamp.'
1 Whilst his lordship applied himself to trimming the lamp
With great earnestness. Lady Delacour negligently walked away
'^a the ferthest end of the room, where stood the cabinet, which
'^elinda was trying to unlock,
' Stay, my love ; it has a secret lock, which I alone can
Vtanage.'
' O my dear Lady Delacour ! ' whispered Belinda, holding
r hand as she gave her the key, ' I never can love or esteem
J if yon use Lord Delacour ill now.'
w ? ill now ? This lock is spoilt, I do believe,' said
' Nay, you understand me, Lady Delacour ! You see what
' To be sure : I am not a fool, though he is. I see he is
nlous, though he has had such damning proof Xhali alt's right
e man's 'a fool, that's all. Are you sure this is the
gave you, my dear ? '
'And can you think him a. fool,' pursued Belinda, in a still
more earnest whisper, ' for being more jealous of )-our mind
than of your person ! Fools have seldom so much penetration,
or so much delicacy.'
' Bui, Lord ! what would you have me do ? what would you
have me say? That Lord Delacour writes better letters than
' Oh, no ! but show him these letters, and you will do justice
to him, to yourself, to Cla , lo everj-body.'
' I am sure I should be happy lo do justice to everybody!
' Then pray do this very instajil, my dearest Lady Delacour!
and I shall love you for it all my life.'
' Done ! — for who can withstand that offer ? — Done I ' 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
' Vou want the hght, 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 Siudley'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 sccrel. Lady Delacour?'
' Then I will tell you the secret. Lord Delacour — that there
I is no secret at all in the lock, or in the letters. Here, if you
can stand the odious smell of otiar of roses, take these letters
and read them, foolish man ; and keep them till the shocking
fierfume 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
l^ifame too overcoming.'
r ago
s you ordered, to gn
-, and his burgundy
RECONCILIATION
Not half so overcoming,' cried he, seizing her hand, a
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
Jher ladyship, making a slight effort to withdraw her hand.
:' But she is almost as great a simpleton herself, 1 think,' con-
tinued she, observing that the tears stood in Belinda's eyes.
'My lord,' said a footman who came in at this instant, 'do
you dress f The carriage is at the door,
to Lord Studley's.'
; Lord Studley at the devil, si
along with him, before I'd go to him to-day ; and you may tell
' n 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
nething more of a heau,' 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 1 ' exclaimed Lady Delacour. ' And,
night of wonders ! if we can get him through the evening
I -without the help of Lord Studley's wine. You must give us
iomc music, my good Belinda, and make him accompany you
with his flute. 1 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
tnanner of ridiculous shapes, by way of persuading you that
they are in ecstasy I And, my dear, do not forget to show us
e 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 charmii
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
■c saw ogling Venus rising from the sea, in the Orleans gallery.
291
HELENA
Lord Delacour has let his talents go to sleep in a shameless
ler ; but really he has talents, if they could be wakened.
By the bye, 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, hut Lord Delacour has a vast deal
of drollery in his own way, and '
Dinner's ready, my lady ! '
That is a pity 1 ' whispered Lady Delacour ; ' for if they
bad let me go on id 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 sprightiiness of Lady Delacoui's wit, his
lordship got through the evening much to his own satisfaction.
played on the flute, he told the story of Siudleys original
Titian, and he detected a fault that had escaped Mr. Percival
the perspective of Miss Portman's sketch of Foimtain's
Abbey. The perception that his talents were called out, and
that he appeared to unusual advantage, made him excellent
etnnpany : he found that the spirits can be raised by self-
complacency even more agreeably than by burgundy.
CHAPTER XXI
Whilst they were at hreakfast 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
' Bring them in ; your lady will give you leave, Marriott, \
fancy,' said Miss Portman. Marriott brought in her gold-
fishes ; some green leaves were floating on the top of ihe 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 goldfishes,
1
aic 1
BELINDA
sure, ought to be much obliged to her, as well
myself.' Marriott set the globe beside her lady, and retired.
' From Oakly Park ! And by what name impossible
pronounce must I call these green leaves, lo 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 het goldfishes, to trouble yourself to bring such stuff a
hundred and seventy miles ? '
' To obhge little Charles Percival,' said Miss Portman.
' He was anxious lo keep his promise of sending it to your
Helena. She found out in some book that she was reading
with him last summer, that goldfishes 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 goldfishes. At length she said, 'I
never shall forget how well the poor little creature behaved
about those goldfishes. I grew amazingly fond of her whilst
she was with rae. But you know, circumstanced as 1 was,
after you left me, I could not have her at home.'
' But now I am here,' said Belinda, ' will she be any trouble
to you ? And will she not make your home more agreeable
to you, and to Lord Delacour, who was evidendy very fond
'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 tn this way, if you knew the terrible time I had
last night after we parted. But I have these nights constantly
s talk of something else. What have you there —
a manuscript ? '
' YeSi a little journal of Edward Percival's, which he sent
nmeni of Helena.'
r stretched out her hand for
HELENA
will write as like his father as possible,' said she, turning
the leaves. 'I wish to have this poor gitl with me — but I
bave 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 oppor-
tunity I may ever have of seeing her ; and I crin 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
Isioane Street. I would as soon go to a bird-fancier's as to a
j boarding-school for young ladies : indeed, I am not well enough
I to go anywhere. So I will throw myself upon a sofa, and read
this child's journal. I wonder how that or anything else can
interest me now.'
Belinda, who had been used to the \-ariations of Lady
Delacour's spirits, was not much ala'rmed 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
opion earth slops us ? '
' Nothing but a little covered cart, which stands at Mrs.
Dumont's door. There, now it is going ; i
drawing it out of the way as fast as he can.'
gr 0 v^^^l
BELINDA
' Open ihe coach-door, James 1 ' cried Lady Boucher the
moment that ihey had drawn up. ' Now, my dear, considerate
Miss Portman, remember the auction, and don't let Mi
Delacour stay to change her dress or anything.'
BeUnda promised not to detain her ladyship a minute. The
door at Mrs, Dumont's was open, and a servant was assisting
an old man lo 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 heat the servant, nor make him hear her name.
Nothing was to be heard but ' Oh, how beautiful ! Oh, how
sweet I That's mine ! That's yours ! The great rose geranium
for Miss Jefferson ! The white Provence rose for Miss
Adderly I 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
' 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 lo
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 lying 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 stoppe<l at the sight (rf
the old man, and exclaimed, ' Oh, good old man ! 1 must
it forget you.'
'Ves, indeed, you must, though, my dear Miss Delacour,
'.^nid Lady Boucher, pulling her into the carriage
D think of good old men now.'
1
HELENA
ut t must. Dear Miss Portman, will you speak for me?
t pay — I must settle — and I have a great deal ti
iss Portman desired the old man to call in Berkley Square
at Lady Delacour's ; and this satisfying all parties, they drove
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 tlie sofa, and
Belinda gave it to Helena, who eagerly began to look over it.
' Thirteen pages I Oh, how good he has been to write so
much for me ! ' said she ; and she had almost finished reading
't before her mother came into the room.
Lady Delacour shrunk back as her daughter ran towards
ler ; for she recollected too well the agony she had once
suffered froin an embrace of Helena's. The little girl appeared
more grieved than surprised at this ; and after kissing her
lather's hand, without speaking, she again looked doivn at
je 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 F '
' O mamma I I only tried to read, because I thought you
;re 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 1 was angry with you ?'
1 know you are not angry now, for you smile,' said
Helena ; 'but I thought at first that you were, mamma, because
u gave me only your hand to kiss.'
' Only my hand 1 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 fool, saying, in a low voice, ' Dear mamma, I never
) 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?'
297
The little girl laughed, and repeated 'Dying? Oh, no,
' Oh, no 1 because I have such a liiie colour ii
cy?'
' Not for that reason, mamma,' said Helena, withdrawing
er eyes from her mother's face.
' What, then you know rouge already when you see it ? —
^ou perceive some difference, for instance, between Miss
-tinan's colour and mine? Upon my word, you are a
i observer. Such nice observers are sometimes dangerous
□ have near one.'
' I hope, mother,' said Helena, ' that you do not think I
trould try to find out anything that you wishj or that I
maglned you wished, I should not know."
' I do not understand you, child,' cried Lady Delacour,
ftisiag herself suddenly upon tho sofa, and looking full in her
laughters fece.
Helena's colour rose lo her temples ; but, with a firmness
lat surprised even Delinda, she repeated what she had said
eaily in the same words.
'Do you imderstand her, Miss Portman?' said Lady
)elacour.
•She expresses, I think,' said Belinda, 'a very honourable
mtiment, and one that is easily understood.'
'Ay, in general, certainly,' said Lady Delacour, checking
tcrself; 'but 1 thought that she meant to allude to something
I particular — that was what I did not understand. Un-
Bubtedly, my dear, you have just expressed a very honourable
pnliment, and one that I should scarcely have expected from
. child of your age.'
' Helena, my dear,' said her mother, after a silence of some
nutes, ' did you ever read the Arabian Tales ? — " Yes,
namma," I know must be the answer. But do you remember
~ c story of Zobeide, who carried the porter home with her on
ondition that, let him hear or see what he might, he would
I no questions ? '
' Yes, mamma.'
' On the same conditions should you like to stay with me
■ a few days ? '
'Yes. On any conditions, mamma, 1 should like to stay
^99 I
'Agreed, then, my dear ! ' said Lady Delaeoui
(IS go to the goldfishes, and see them eat lemna, or whatevei
you please to call it.'
While they were looking at the goldfishes, 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, etc. 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 greenhouse 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 1 was just
going to pay him,' said Helena, 'when Miss Portman came;
and that put everything else out of my head. May I go and
give him his money bow, 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 youf ,
aunt Margaret ?- — Look in my face, child ! Did they never'
inform you ? '
' No, ma'am, never. 1 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 thanls
for this,' cried Lady Delacour, 'than for all the rest. I
she has not attempted to lower me in my child's opinion,
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 mcana
have proved worthy of the end. 1 deserve to be brought
shame for my folly ; yet my being ashamed will do nobod]
300
HELENA
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, 1 wiii see what we can do for him.'
Lord Delacour had this very morning sent home to her
ladyship a handsome diajnond ring, which had been intended
as a present for Mrs. Luttridge, and which he imagined would
therefore be peculiarly acceptable to his lady. lo the evening,
when his lordship asked her how she liked Che 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, 1 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 —
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
'O my dear Lady Delacour 1 1 must not hear you talk
in this manner : your dictatorship, as you call it, will I hope
last many, many happy years. But lo the point — what should
you like betler, ray dear, than this foolish ring?'
Her ladyship then expressed her wish that a small annuity
might be setded 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 i
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 i
^Fm
Tmckenbam that would just answer her purpose. Lord
Delacour's inquiries had hiiherlo been unsuccessful ; he wis
rejoiced to find what he wanted jusi as he was giving up the
search. The house was taken, and the old man hired as
gardener — a circumstance which seemed to give hitn ainusi
as much pleasure as the annuity ; for there was a moreUo
cherry-tree in the garden which had succeeded the aloe in IiJs
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 fete was to be decided,
Lady Delacour's courage seemed to rise ; and at the sami
her anxiety, that her secret should noi be discovered, appeared
' If I survive this Business,' said she, ' it is my firm ii
to appear in a new character, or rather to assert my real cha-
racter. I will break through the spell of dissipation — I wjll 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. Per-
cival's. I can bear to be mo.rtitied for my good ; and 1 am
willing, since I find that Lady Anne Percival has behaved
generously to me, with regard to Helena's affections, I am will-
ing that the recovery of my moral health should be attributed
lo the salubrious air of Oakly Park. But it would be Inexpres'
sible, intolerable mortification to me, to have it said or suspected
in the world of fashion, Ihat I retreated from the ranks disabled
instead of disgusted. A voluntary retirement is gracefiil 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 caD'
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 pannitrs.
We should have " Lord and Lady D , or the Domcstiij
TiU-h-tlte^' or " The Reformed Amazon," stuck up in a print-
shop window I O, my dear, think of seeing such a thing 1 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,
)dch thus made Lady Delacour invent wit against herself, an^
HELENA
tpate caricatures ; yet she did everything in ber power
calm her ladyship's apprehension of a discovery.
'My dear,' said Lady Ddacour, 'I have perfect confidence
in Lord Delacour's promise, and in his giwd nature, of which
I'Jie 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 anything, 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 morn-
ing, that the Lullridge, who came from Harrowgate to Ranti-
pole, to meet Lord Delacour, finding Chat there was no draw-
ing him to her, has actually brought herself to town.
' To town 1 — At this strange time of year 1 How will my
> Icrd 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. Champ-
fort 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, th<
303
though I
BELINDA
longer an inmate of the house. The stupid ttiai/i
was not so stupid as to be impenetrable to the voice of llaiteiy,
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 ihe
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 vaiet-de-chambrt concealed the quick
ears of a listener, and the demure eyes of a spy. Long, how'
ever, 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 anotherweek, unless she could within that time contrive
to satisfy his curiosity ; and that, in short, she mttst 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
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 neitt day, had
retired to her bedchamber, where she of late usually at
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 asl
that she thought it a pity to waken her, as she bad oot 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
met by the stupid maid, whom she immediately despatched with
orders to wash some lace : ' Your lady's asleep,' said she, '
pray let me have no running up and down stairs.' The tt
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 overhead. 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 lajys room. She was much surprised to
my lady fast asleep. Her astonishment at finding that Mrs..
Marriott had told her the truth was such, as for a moment ta
HELENA
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 ihroat very softly in the
boudoir — Ati 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 waten 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 put-
ting the key into the keyhole, 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 bed-
chamber door.
' Mercy, Miss Delacour I 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
fiK:e ; '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 je/fy and wy iaiiy. Helena went
to the side of her mother's bed, determined to wait there till
iihc awakened, then to give her the key, and tell her the circum-
Itance. Notwithstanding the real simplicity of this iitile girl's
diaracter, she was, as het mother had discovered, a nice observer,
And she had remarked that her mother permitted no one but
Uarriott to go into the boudoir. This remark did not
30s
^
HELENA
B! into the mystery ; on [he contrary, she carefully
aJl curiosity, remembering the promise she had given
to her mother when she talked of Zobeide and the porter. She
liad 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 ( was
Ki 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 1 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 lad>''s bedchamber, that Mrs. Marriott
leeps 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 iliat 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 111 ; 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, mannma ! ' thought Heiena, 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
anything that you wished me not to know. Now I hope you
will understand Tn& better.'
Lady Delacour opened her eyes ; ' Helena,' cried she, stail-
b»g up, ' how came you by that key ?'
, 307
' O mother ! don't look as if you suspected me.' She then
told Iter mother how the key came inlo her hands.
' My dear child, you have done me an essential service,'
said Lady Delaeour : ' you know not its importance, at least
in my estimation. But what gives me infinitely more satisfac-
tion, 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 Delacom-, rising from the bed as she spoke ; ' child a
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 youi
have no vulgar, schoolgirl curiosity. You will have all your
mother's strength of mind ; may you never have any of her
fetdts, or any of her misfortunes 1 1 speak to you not
^a child, Helena, for you have reason far above your years)
and you will remember what I now say to you as long a
live, Y'ou 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 throMH away mine — to wi
praise of fools. Had I used but half the talents 1 possess, as
I hope you will use yours, I might have been an ornament t9
my sex— I might have been a Lady Anne Percival.'
Here Lady Delacour's voice felled ; but commanding ha-
emotion, she in a few moments went on speaking.
' Choose your friends well, my dear daughter ! It wi
misfortune, my folly, early in life to connect myself with a
I, 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 1 die.'
' When you die 1 — O mother ! ' said Helena, ' but why do
you talk of dying ? ' and she threw her arms round her mother.,
' Gently, my love ! ' said Lady Delaeour, shrinking backj
i tlus moment to explain to her daughter win
HELENA
she shrank ia this manner from her caresses, and why she
talked of dying.
Helena was excessively shocked.
' I wished, my dear,' resumed her mother calmly, ' 1 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
If 1 die, Belinda will take you with her immediately to
Oakley Park — you shall have as little sorrow as possible. If
jtou 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,' interrapted 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- —
1 don't wish to go to Oakly Park — I wish to stay with you.
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.
Ho 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
lown, lest the unusual circumstance of his attending his lady
should excite public curiosity. His lordship, who was natur-
ally a good-natuted man, and who had been touched by the
.Idndness his wife had lately shown him, n'as 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
md collected ; her courage seemed to rise with the necessity
for its exertion.
I In the morning, when the carriage came to the door, as she
I parted with Lord Delacour, she put into his hand a paper that
I contained some directions and requests with which, she said,
r she hofied that he would comply, if they should prove to be
i her lasl. The paper contained only some legacies to her
BELINDA
servants, a provision for Marriott, and a bequest to her excelled
and beloved friend, Belinda Portman, of the cabinet in whid
she kept Clarence Her\'e/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 \'aluable 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 ^stracted. When Helena was present, she exerted
iierself to converse in her usual sprightly strain ; but as soon
as she could escape, as sYl^ Xiiou^lit, unobserved, she would
A SPECTRE 1
«hnt herself up in her own apartment, and renuuii there (or
1 heaven, Miss Portman,' said Marriott, coming
die morning into her room with a portentous face, ' I wish to
leaven, 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 —
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,
nd 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
am — 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
1 of my own, who was driven melancholy mad by a
methodist preacher, and came to an untimely end. Oh,
a'am 1 if you knew as much as I do, you'd be as much
alarmed for my lady as I am.'
s 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
I Marriott's advice, had insisted on sleeping in a bedchamber
I upon the ground floor, and had refijsed to let a curtain be put
I up before a glass door that was at the foot of her bed. ' When
I I offered to put up the curtain, ma'am,' said Marriott, ' my
I lady said she liked the moonlight, and that she would not
B have it put up till the fine nights were over. Now, Miss
^L Portman, to hear my lady talk of the moon, and moonligl^
L
BELINDA
and likhig the moon, ts rather extraordinary and unaccount-
able ; for I never heard her say anjlliing of the sort ii
life before ; 1 question whether she ei'er knew there ^
moon or not from one j-ear'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,
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
moan, and such melancholy nonsense, ma'am.'
Belinda could not forbear smiling at this melancholy non-
sense ; though she was inclined to be of Marriott's opinion
about the methodistical books, and she determined t
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, a
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 t(
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 noi worth while to make any change.'
The next day, towai-ds evening, the surgeon and Dr. >
arrived. Belinda's blood ran cold at the sight of them.
'Will you be so kind. Miss Poriman,' said Marriott, '
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. 1 knew that by
the manner in «hich you knocked at the door. I will see him.
' continued she, in a firm tone ; and she de-
rately put a mark in the book which she had been reading,
1 leisurely to the other end of the room, and locked it
)k-case, There was an air of determined dignit/ J
A SPECTRE
1 all ber motions. < Shall we go ? 1 am ready,' said she,
holding out her hand lo Belinda, who had sunk upon a
' One would think that you were the person that
to suffer. But drink this water, my dear, and do not tremble
e that 1 do not tremble for myself. Listen to
ine, dearest Belinda ! I owe it to your friendship not lo
t 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 — 1 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 1 shall never be called upon to perform that
I promise.'
Lady Delacour made no answer, but walked on before her
with steady steps into the room where Dr. X and the
k surgeon were waiting. Without adverting Jn 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
Ootice the serious coimtenaaces of her companions, she talked
of indifferent subjects with the most perfect ease, occupying
lieiself all the time with cleaning a sea!, which she unhooked
from her watch-chain. 'This seal,' said she, turning to Dr.
X , ' is a fine onyx — it is a head of Escuiapius. 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, ' 1 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
^Lin the advice which I have ventured to give to Mr. Hervey.'
I be here,' Jntemipted Dr. X , 'a
;n '
'And then I shall be gone,' said Lady Delacour coolly,
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 manoer 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 deter-
mined, 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 1 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 1 survive this night, manage mc as you please I 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
i 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
I 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 ibe remainder
of the day. She had suffic'
y gave not the least faith
penetration to perceive thai
her prognostic, and she n
word more upon the subject ; but appeared willing to
amused by their attempts to divert her, and resolute to
_to the \b.s\. motneTA. She did not affect _
A SPECTRE
trifling gaiety : on the contrary, there was in al! 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
)t»f the ensuing night ; so much so, that she spoke of several
things that she intended to do the next day, Helena knew
lOothing of what had passed, and Belinda imagined that her
ifriend put this constraint upon herself to avoid alanning her
daughter. Yet, after Helena retired, her mother's manner
continued to be so much the same, that Dr. X hegan to
believe that her ladyship was actuated merely by caprice. In
this opinion she confirmed him by bursting out a-Iaughing
■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 ? 1 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 Barrington 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. Dr. X ,
judging, as he said, fhsm her ladyship's general character,
attributed the whole to caprice i 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
A had been in bed about an hour, she fancied that she heard
B.gome one walking softly in the next room. She rose, and
^■fbund Lady Delacour standing beside her daughter's bed. She
I started at the sight of Belinda, but only said in a low voice, as
U- she pointed to her child, ' Don't waken her.' She then looked
W St her for some moments in silence. The moon shone full
B upon her face. She stooped over Helena, parted the ringlets
Lof hair upon her forehead, and kissed her gently.
L
BELINDA
^Vou will be good to this poor girl when I am gon^
Belinda I ' said she, turning away from her as she spoke : ' 1 1
only came to look at her for the last lime.'
'Are you then serious, my dear Lady Delacour?'
' Hush I Don't waken her,' said Lady Delacour, putting i
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 listen-
ing anxiously. The dock 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 sense-
less, supported in the surgeon's arms. Belinda, by his direc-
tions, ran immediately for Dr. 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
rnunicate 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
' The surgeon said that you were not in the least danger,
my dear Lady Delacour ; that it was merely a fainting fit, T
t suffer a vain imagination thus to overpower your reason.'
' It is no vain imagination — I must die,' said Lady Delacomt
■ I hear a voice you i
Whicli beckoDE me away.
You perceive that 1 am in my perfect senses, my dear, or I
could not quote poetry. I am not insane — I am not delirious.'
She paused — ' 1 am ashamed to tell you what I know will
expose me to your ridicule.'
' Ridicule ! ' cried Belinda r ' 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. In-
consistent as it is with the strength of mind which you might
expect from me, I cannot resist the impression which has been
ide on my mind by — a vision.'
'A vision I'
' Three times,' continued Lady Delacour, ' it has appeared
me about this hour. The first night after we came here 1
w it ; last night it returned ; and to-night 1 have beheld it
r the third time, 1 consider it as a warning to prepare for
ath. Vou are surprised — you are incredulous. I know that
this must appear to you extravagant ; but depend upon it that
what I tell you la true. It is scarcely a quarter of an hour
3 I beheld the figure of , that man for whose untimely
death 1 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 1 am between
sleeping and waking,' said Lady Delacour, ' I am willing to
believe, are the effeas 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
t this instant. The habits of my life, and the natural
to say levity, of my temper, have always inclined
; rather to incredulity than to superstition. But there are
s which no strength of mind, no temerity can resist,
■this is a warning to me to prepare for death.
human means, no human power can save me 1'
Here they were interrupted by Marriott, who could
longer be restrained from bursting into the room. Dr. X—
1
BELINDA
followed, and going calmly to the side of Lady Delacour's bt
took her hand to feel her pulse.
* Mrs. Marriott, you need not alarm yourself in this mannei
said he : ' your lady is at this instant in as little danger i
I am.'
* You think she'll live ! O my lady ! why did you terrifi
us in this manner ? '
Lady Delacour smiled, and calmly said, as Dr. 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 1 ' 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
318
A SPECTRE
been caught in the trap. 1 hope liis leg is not brati
— This way, sir- — this way I '
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 cherrj'-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 lo give
it him, she was struck with his wonderful resemblance to
Harriot Freke.
' It must be Mrs. Freke herself I ' whispered she to Marriott,
whose wide opening eyes, at this instant, fixed themselves
upon her,
' It must he Mrs. Freke herselli ma'am ! ' repeated Marriott
And so in fact it was.
There is a certain class of people, who are incapable of
g'enerous 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 Twicken-
ham, 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
of revenging herself upon Miss Portman, for having decUned
iter civilities at Harrowgate, had also a powerful influence
319
might
rwards I
ecUned I
BELINDA
stimulating her malicious activity. She knew that if it wen
proved that Belinda was the confidante of Lady Delacour's
intrigues, her reputation must be materially injured, and ihai
the Percivals would then be as desirous lo break off as they
now were anxious to promote the match with Mr, VincenL
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 con-
venient name ni frolic, she thought, would cover every species
of meanness. She swore thai ' it was charming fun to equip
herself at night in men's clothes, and to sally forth to
noitre 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,
ladyship's disturbed imagination, seemed to be the lorm ol
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 in-
telligence, when she was caught in the gardener's trap. ^
agony that she suffered was at first intense, but Jn a few houre
the pain somewhat subsided ; and in this interval of
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
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 bed?
^hamber. My service to your friend, Lady Delacoiir, and tdl
'And do you know who that gentleman was, that you sai
n her ladyship';
" \ot 1, not yet ; but I'll make it my business to find out
e you fair notice ; I'm a very devil when provoked. Why
" e me your friend when you could ? — You'll nd
1 I wanted, and I am capable
A SPECTRE
iating all I saw. As to who the man might he, that's
Mter ; one Lothario is as good as another for my purpose.'
Longer had Mrs. Freke spoken with mahgnant triumph,
^ad she not been interrupted by a burst of laughter from the
iwrgeon. Her vexation was indescribable when he informed
fccr that he was the man whom she had seen in Lady Dela-
itour's bedchamber, and whom she had mistaken for a favoured
Mrs. Freke's leg was much cut and bruised ; and now that
le was no longer supported by the hopes of revenge, she
began to lament loudly and incessantly the injury that she had
ustained. She impatiently inquired how long it was probable
^at she should be confined by this accident ; and siie grew
quite outrageous when it was hinted, that the beauty of her
fegs would be spoiled, and that she would never more be able
to appear to advantage in man's apparel. The dread of being
1 by Lady Delacour in the deplorable yet ludicrous situation
to which she had reduced herself operated next upon her mind,
md every time the door of the apartment opened, she looked
■with terror towards it, expecting to see her ladyship appear.
Jut though Lady Delacour heard from Marriott immediately
&e news of Mrs. Freke's disaster, she never disturbed her by
!|ier presence. She was too generous to insult a fallen fo.e.
Early in the imnutllg Mrs. treke was by her own desire
Conveyed to her cousin's house, where without regret we shall
ve her to suffer the consequences of her frolic.
' A &lse prophetess ! Notwithstanding all my visions, I
/e outlived the night, you see,' said Lady Delacour to Miss
rtman when they met in the morning. ' I have heard, my
ir Belinda, and I believe, that the passion of love, which
1 endure caprice, vice, wrinkles, deformity, poverty, nay,
^sease itself is notwithstanding so squeamish as to be instan-
taneously disgusted by the perception of folly in the object
Steloved, I hope friendship, though akin to love, is of a more
tobust constitution, else what would become of me ? My folly,
tnd my visions, and my spectre — oh, that 1 had not exposed
nyself to you in this manner ! Harriot Freke herself is
scarcely more contemptible. Spies and cowards are upon an
Lequal footing. Her malice and her /relic are consistent with
Lher character, but my fears and my superstition are totally
fcoconsistent with mine. Forget the nonsense I talked to you
ft V 321
It's no^ll
A SPECTRE
!ghi, my dear, or fancy that 1 was then under I
of laudanum. This morning you shall see Lady
Delacour herself again. Is Dr. X , is ihe surgeon ready?
Where are they ? I am prepared. My fortitude shall redeem
in your opinion, Belinda, and in my own.'
Dr. X ■ and the surgeon immediately obeyed her
Helena heard them go into Lady Delacour's room, and she
saw by Marriott's countenance, who followed, that her mother
as going to submit to the operation. She sal down trembling
Q the steps which led to her mother's room, and waited there
i long time, as she thought, in the most painful suspense. At
st she heard some one call Helena. She looked up, and saw
;r father close to her,
' Helena," said he, ' how is your mother ? '
' I don't know. O papa, you cannot go in there ttew,'
laid Helena, stopping liim as he was pressing forwards.
•Why did not you or Miss Portman write to me yesterday,
S you promised ? ' said Lord Delacour, in a voice that showed
e was scarcely able to ask the question.
' Because, papa, we had nothing to tell you ; nothing was
one yesterday. But the surgeon is now there,' said Helena,
jointing towards her mother's room.
Lord Delacour stood motionless for an instant ; then
niddenly seizing his daughter's hand, ' Let us go,' said he : 'if
we stay here, we shall hear her screams ; ' and he was hurry-
ing her away, when the door of Lady Delacour's apartment
md Belinda appeared, her countenance radiant with joy.
' Good news, dear Helena ! O my lord ! you are come
0 a happy moment — I give you joy.'
'Joyl joy! joyi' cried Marriott, following.
' Is it all over ? ' said Lord Delacour,
' And without a single shriek ! ' said Helena, ' \\Tial
' There's no need of shrieks, or courage either, thank God,'
taid Marriott. ' Dr. X says so, and he is the best man
1 the world, and the cleverest. Ajid I was right from the
first ; I said it was impossible my lady should have such a
Bhodting complaint as she thought she had. There's no such
|hing at all in the case, my lord ! 1 said so always, till I was
lersuaded out of my senses by that villainous quack, who con-
323
A SPECTRE
tradicted me for his own 'molument. And Doctor X
Says, if my lady will leave off ihe terrible quantities of
laudanum she takes, he'll engage for her recovery.'
The sui^eon and Dr. X now explained to Lord Dela-
cour that the unprincipled wretch to whom her ladyship had
applied for assistance had persuaded her thai 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 obsen'ed, that if
Lady Delacour would have permitted either ihe 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 Port-
man for this, for 'twas she made everything go right, and 1
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 I But
my feelings,' added she, wiping away her tears, ' shall not
waste themselves in tears, nor in vain thanks. My actions,
I the whole course of my future life, shall show that I am not
quite a brute. Even brutes are won by kindness. Observe,
iny lord," continued she, smiling, ' 1 said won, not tamed! — A
tame Lady Delacour would be a sorry animal, not worth look-
ing 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 BO ? — 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
CHAPTER Xxm
of joy are always connected wilh
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 anything 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 band ? — " Ah,
little skilled of fairy lore ! " know that 1 am in possession of a
talisman that can command more than ever fairy granted.
Behold ray 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 yau 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 Delacoar.
Her ladyship sat down instantly, and wrote to Mrs. Dela-
Helena was the bearer of this letter, and Lady Dela-
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 bad so long and so rashly trusted. The nostrums which
KTHE CHAPLAIN ^^^H
ed her to take, and the immoderate use of opium" i^^^l
which she accustomed herself, would have ruined her constitu-
tion, had it not been uncommonly strong. Dr. X re-
commended it to her ladyship to abstain gradually from opimn,
and this advice she had the resolution to follow with uninter-
rupted perseverance.
The change in Lady Delacour'a manner of life, in the |
hours and the company that she kept, contributed much to her
recovery.' 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.
Tier 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. I
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 1
with Lady Delacour, and by combining hints and
stances, he soon discovered what had lately been the i
her reading, and what impression it had made on her imagina-
tion, Mrs. Marriott, indeed, assisted him with her opinion
concerning the ntethodistical booksj 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.
Frcke's adventure, he was convinced that superstitious horrors
hung upon his patient's spirits, and affected her health. To
argue on religious subjects was tiot his province, much less his
inclination ; but he was acquainted with a person qualified by
his profession and his character 'to minister to a aiind
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 1 wish he
had half as many books twice as well arranged : I never can
find anything I want. Dr. X , I wish to heaven you
could recommend a librarian to ray lord — not a chaplain,
observe.'
-y1
on -J I
der the medical journal of Lady Delacour's heaUli
s recovery was gradual and coinplele.
3"7
/
BELINDA
the I
' Why not n. chapUin, may 1 ask your ladyship ? ' said the
' Oh, because we had once a chaplain, ivho gave me a surieil
of the whole tribe. The meanest sycophant, yet the most im-
pertinent busybody — 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 thepoor curate — anathematising all who differed from
him in opinion, yet without dignity to enforce the respect due J
to his faith or his profession- — greedy for preferment, yet with-
out 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 1 speak with acrimony? 1 have
reason. It was this chaplain who first led my lord to New-
market ; it was he who first taught my lord to drink. Then he
was a ic//— an insufferable wit. His conversation after he had
drank was such as no woman but Harriot Freke couid imder-
I stand, and such as few ginthmen could hear. I have never,
alas 1 been thought a prude, but in the heyday of my youth
and gaiety, this man always disgi:sted me. In one word, he
I 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
' They ought to be hunted by common consent out of cJviW
ised society,' said Lady Delacour.
' They are by public opinion banished from all ration^
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 loo much consequence, would it not
■eailend their power to do mischief, if we perceived that one
*uch person could disgust Lady Delacour with the whole race
■■of chaplains ?'
' It is uncommon,' replied her ladyship, 'to hear a physician
tamest in the defence of the clergy — and a literary philosophic
physician too ! Shall we have an eulogium upon bishops an,
well as chaplains ?'
' We have had that already,' replied Dr.
BELIPfDA
raiiks, persuasions, and descriptions of people, including, I
hope, those stigmatised by the name of philosophers, have
joined in admiration of the bishop of St. Pol de Leon. The
conduct of ihe real martyrs to their faith amongst the French
clergy, not even the most witty or brutal sceptic could ridicule.'
' You surprise me, doctor 1 ' said Lady Delacour ; ' for I
e you that you have the character of being very liberal in
your opinions.'
■ 1 hope 1 am liberal in my opinions,' replied the doctor,
' and that I give your ladyship a proof of it.'
' You would rot then persecute a man or woman with
ridicule for believing more ihan 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 1 now say to be true,' said Dr. X , * and
I always endeavour to make truth popular.'
' But possibly these are only truths for ladies. Dr. X
may be such an ungallant philosopher, as to think that some
truthsare not fit for ladies. He may hold a different language
with gentlemen.'
' 1 should not only be an ungallant but a «'eik philosopher,'
said Dr. X , ' if I thought that Inith 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, 1 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 1 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
■JM almost as bad. Before we domesticate another
THE CHAPLAIN
) have a full and true'
e description of him in
n must be
to know all his qualities, and t
description of him.'
' Shall I then give you a full and tn
the words of Chaucer ? '
' In any words you please. But Chaucer's chaplai
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 — 1 am not ashamed to produce him to your lady-
ship ; 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 die 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 1 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 snlien was to see.
But sweet ri^ards, and pleasing sanctity,
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arni'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 tauglit the Gospel rather than the law,
And forced himself to drive, but loved to draw.
' The tithes his parish freely paid, he look ;
* But never sued', or t^urs'd with bell and book.
Wide was his parish, not contracted clus
In streets — but here and there a straggling house.
Vet still he was at hand, without request,
To serve the sick, and succour the distressed.
The proud he lamed, the penitent he cheer'd,
' Nor lo rebuke the rich offender fear'd.
^ His preaching much, but more his pracdce wrought,
A linug sermon of the truths he taught
BELINDA
Lady DeUcour wished that she could find a chaplain, who
in any degree resembled this charming parish priest, and Dr.
X promised that be would the next day introduce to hct
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 Mts, Freke
hanged in effigy, and to whom Clarence Her^-ey 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 A
former chaplain; and he gradually acquired such salutary'^
influence over her mind, that he relieved her from the terrore '
of Methodism, and in their place substituted the consolations j
of mild and rational piety. I
Her conscience was now al peace ; her spirits were real and J
equable, and never was her conversation so agreeable. Ani-
mated 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 Delacoui's
gratitude was a voluntary pleasure — not an expected duly.
Nothing could be more delightful to Miss Portman than this
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 lake all the merit of this reformation to
herself: she was most willing to share it, in her own imagina-
tion, not only with Dr. X- and Mr. Moreton, but with poor
Clarence Hen-ey. 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 heait
from the dangerous effect of these enthusiastic praises ; and
THE CHAPLAIN
Lady Delacour was now sufficiently re-establisbcd in her bealtE
she announced ber intention of returning immediately to Oakly
Park, according to her promise lo Lady Anne Percival and to
-. \^incent
' But, my dear,* said Lady Delacour, ' one week more is all
I ask from you — -may not friendship ask such a sacrifice from
'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
e 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 ! Vou 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
nnot live in armour all your hfe — lay it aside but
:, 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.'
L sufficiently aware,' said Belinda, smiling, ' of the
power of Cupid, and of his iviles. I would not brave his malice,
I but I will fly from it.'
I ' It is so cowardly to fly !'
I ' Surely prudence, not courage, is the virtue of our sex ; and
' seriously, my dear Lady Delacour, I entreat you not to use your
I 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
I seldom either politic or polite, to remind people of their
' promises, — but may I remind you of something like a promise
' you Kiade, to accompany me to Mr. Percivai's ? '
' And would you have me behave so brutally to poor Lord
Delacour, as to run away from him in this manner the moment
fc] have Btrei^ tt
BELINDA
'Lord Delacour is included in this inviiation,' said Mi!
Portman, putting the last letter that she had received from Lad)
Anne Percival into her hands.
' When I recollect,' said Lad^ Delacour, as she looked ovet
the letter, 'how well this Lady Anne of yours has behaved lo
me about Helena, when 1 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 sect
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 mj'self, from pride, or folly, or any other motive,
to refuse it. So, my dear Belinda, prevail upon Lord Dela-
cour to spend his Christmas at Oakly Park, instead of a)
Studley Manor (Rantipole, thank heaven ! is out of the ques-.
tion), 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
lasted 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 connections 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 Lad;
Anne Percival's family, that she would afterwards think them
not only burdensome but intolerable. Lord Delacour's ind-
macy 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
his former habits, if he
therefore (rf
th Lord Studley,
upon him, he would probably
continued lo visit his formei
importance to break at once I
and to place him in a situation where he might form new habits,
1 where his dormant talents might be roused to exertion,
; was convinced that his understanding was not so much
or as she had once been taught to think it : she per-
;ir reconciliation, Lady DelactWj
11^
PEU A PEU
was Diixidus to make him appear lo advantage :
said anything 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 uneasi-
ness, 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 persiiaded that he would take every
possible means which good nature, joined to good sense, could
1 suggest, to raise Lord Dclacour in his lady's esteem, and to
I make that union happy which was indissoluble. All these re-
flections passed with the utmost rapi3Iiyln Belinda's mind, and
1 the result of them was, that she consented to wait Lady
Delacour's leisure for her journey.
CHAPTER XXIV
PEU A PGU
I Things were in this situation, when one day Marriott made
I her appearance at her lady's toilette with a face which at once
I proclaimed that something had discomposed her, and that she
I was impatient to be asked what it was,
' What (J- the matter, Marriott ? ' said Lady Delacour ; ' for 1
' Want you to ask ! Oh dear, my lady, no I — for I'm sure,
> a thing that goes quite against me to tell ; for 1 thought,
\ indeed, my lady, superiorly of the person in question ; so much
f iw, indeed, that I wished what 1 declare 1 should now be
lashamed to mention, especially in the presence of Miss Port-
T man, who deserves the best that this world can afford of every
[ denomination. Well, ma'am, in one word,' continued shi
J addressing herself to Belinda, ' 1 am extremely rejoiced
I'tfaings are as they are, though I confess that was not always
335
she, I
that
my wish or opinion, for which I beg Mr. Vincent's pardon and I
yours ; but I hope to be forgiven, since I'm now come entirdjl
round to my Lady Anne Percivai's way of thinking, which 1 1
learnt from good authority at Oakly Park ; and I i
convinced and confident, Miss Portman, that everything is idrl
the best'
■ Marriott will inform us, in due course of lime, what has I
thus suddenly and happily converted her,' said Lady Delacour ■
to Belinda, who was thrown into some surprise and con-
fusion 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 Dela-
cour, 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
lo get at the facu'
' Dear ! my lady, it has nothing lo do with Mr. Champfoit,
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 j
* Clarence Hervey 1 ' exclaimed Lady Delacour : taking it'l
for granted that Belinda blushed, her ladyship, with superfluous I
address, instantly turned, so as to hide her friend's face from I
Mrs. Marriott 'Well, Marriott, what of Mr. Hcn.ey?'
' O my lady, something you'll be surprised to hear, i
Miss Portman, too. It is not, by any means, that I am m
of a prude than is becoming, my lady ; nor that t take upon
me to be so innocent as not to know that young gentlemen of i
fortune n-ill, if it be only for fashion's sake, bare such ihmgs J
^ as kept mistresses (begging pardon for mentioning such tra^) i 1
, but no one that has lived in the world thinks anything of thst, I
I txcept,' added she, catching a glimpse of Belinda's countenance, j
■except, to be sure, ma'am, morally spealdng, it's very n
shocking, and makes one blush befisre company, till me^ J
M6
PEU A PEU
to it, and ought certainly lo be put down by Act of Parlia-
, nia'am ; but, my lady, you know, in point of surprising
nybody, or being discreditable in a. young gentleman of Mr.
lervey's fortune and pretensions, it would be mere envy and
candal to deem it anything — worth mentioning.'
Then, for mercy's sake, or mine,' said Lady Delacour, 'go
o something that is worth mentioning.'
Well, my lady, yon must know, then, that yesterday I
anted some hempseed for my bullfinch — Miss Helena's buU-
Bch, I mean ; for it was she found it by accident, you know,
tiss 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 :
almost dead, my lady.'
'as it ? — I mean I am very sorry for it ; that is what you
me to say. Now, go on — get us once past the buU-
or tel! us what it has to do with Clarence Hervey.'
That is what I am aiming at, as fast as possible, my lady,
hempseed for the bullfinch, and along with
hempseed they brought me wrapped round it, as it were, a
ted handbill, as it might be, or advertisement, which I
[firew off, d is regard ingly, 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
illftnch. Ma'am, I was so provoked, I could have cried,
len I learnt it was the exact description of our little Bobby
a feather — -gray upon the back, and red on. — — '
' Oh 1 spare me the description to a feather. Well, you
lok the bird, bullfinch, or Bobby, as you call it, home to its
[htful owner, I presume ? Let me get you so far on your
ly.'
' No, I beg your pardon, my lady, that is not the thing,'
' Then you did not take the bird home to its owner — and
u are a bird-stealer ? With all my heart : he a dog-stealer,
lyou will — only go on.'
' But, my lady, you hurry me so, it puts everything topsy-
irvy in my head ; I could tell it as fast as possible my own
'Do SI
, then.'
BELINDA
* 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 gray 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 refiise the five guineas reward ofiered.
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 <^ 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
m>-self, because, my lady, there was one thing rather remark-
able about this bullfinch, that it sings a very particular tune,
which I ne^•er 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 \nsits from any, at least from the female sex ; and
that I must leave the bird there till called for. I was consider-
ing 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 feirly 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
PEU A PEU
gentleman that be could give him some information, if he
would make it worth his while ; and they both went together
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 '
attend the shop, who proved to be an acquaintance of )
whom I had done some little favours tc " '
London. And this young woman, when 1 told her my dis
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 anywhere else, is from
me ; so there was no occasion For turning me out of the parlour.
1 lived with Mrs. Ormond, ma'atn," says she, " for half a year,
in the very house she now occupies, and consequendy nobody
can be better informed than I am " : — to which I agreed.
Then she told me that the reason that Mrs. Ormond never
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. Her\-ey. Oh, my lady ! how the name struck upon
Liny ear I I hoped, however, it was not our Mr. Hervey i but
it was the identical Mr. Clarence Hervey. I made the young
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.
lur Mr. Hervey, ma'am,' added Marriott, turning to Belinda,
:eTtainly proved to be, to my utter dismay and confusion.'
Oh, Marriott 1 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 thai 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 jrott 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,
339
J
BELINDA
if it b nM in anj other respect modefftl, ve must allow n
waadafidljr hxig.'
' Wdl, my lady, to be short, then — I was more cnrioDS than
evo", when I beu^ all this, to bearmore; and asked royfrioid
bow she could ever think of staring in a bouse «rith ladies of
such a descripuon ! Upon which she justified bersetf by assor-,
ing me, upon her honour, that at Gist she believed the ymag
lady was mairied privately to Mr. Herrcy, for ihii a deigymaB
came in secret, and read prayei^ and she eerily believes
the unfortunate young creature was deceived barbarously, and
made to fancy herself married to all intents and purposes, till
all at once Mr. Heney threw off the mask, and left off visiting
her, preteoding a necessity lo lake a journey, and handing her
over to that vile woman, that Mis. Ormond, who bid her t<
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 tc
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. Onnond ■
now she knew what she was ; and so she lefl the house, without
giving any reason, immediately. I forgot to mention, that the '
unfortunate g'u-l'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 Delacotu ; ' we can li^-e n-ithout il J
or we can imagine it'
' To be sure — I beg pardon | such sort ol people's Dama
can't be of any consequence, and, I'm sure, I blame myself no*
for going to the house, after all I had heard.'
' You did go to the house, then ? '
'To my shame he it spoken ; my curiosity got the better oJ
me, and I went — but only on account of the bullfinch in th(
Byes of the world. It was a great while before I could get in :
trat 1 was so firm, that I would not give up the bird to ni
'"at the lady herself, that I got in at last. Oh, never did mf,
t Kght upon so beautiful a creature, nor so graceful, n
1 look at ! '^Belinda sighed — Marriott echoed iha
and continued ; ' She was by herself, and in tears, whe»
iS shown in, ma'am, and she started as if she had i
}ody before in her He. Bu^ -wbta she saw the bul^
PEU A PEU
I, she clapped her hands, and, stnihug through
teais like a cjiild, she ran up to me, and thanked me again
again, kissing the bird between times, and putting '
bosom. Well, I declare, if she had talked lo all eiernity, 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 i
description often have birds, but then their fondness
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 anything 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, 1 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 lo sing ; so then I asked,
whether they could certify it to be theirs by any particular tune
«f its own ? " Oh, yes," said Miss St. Pierre ; and she sung
the very same tune. 1 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 stupefied, 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 i and when she
pressed it again, 1 threw it on the table, scarce knowing what
1 did ; and just then, in her iniquitous hand, I saw a letter,
'directed to Clarence Hervey, Esq. Oh, how I hated ihe sight
341
y\
BELINDA
of his name, and everything belonging to him, ma'am, at that
minute ! Fm 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 bom 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 everybody 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
sympathise 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 '
^ / mil permit you to do "wVval '^o^ ^\&^sej dearest Belinda,
FEU A PEU
except to call m^ 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 belter than anything upon earth — poii'er excepted,
you will say — power not excepted, believe roe ; and if you are
one of those strange people that cannot believe without proofs
you shail 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, 1 confess, rather prejudiced in favour of
victory.'
' So am I,' said Belinda, with a smile ; ' 1 am so sti'ongly
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, accom-
panied by Mr. Vincent.
; leave. Lady Delacour, to introduce to you,' said
bis lordship, ' a young gentleman, who has a great, and, I am
ited desire to cultivate your ladyship's
further acquaintance.'
Lady Delacour received him with all the politeness imagin-
able ; and even her prepossessions in favour of Clarence
Hervey could not prevent her from being struck with his
appearance. II a infiniment I'air d'un heros 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 enter-
I Mr. Vincent, if possible, without her, for a few minutes ;
and Lord Delacour departed, contenting himself with the usual
ntsc 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
343
BELINDA
you have laken so much unnecessary trouble : Lady Delacoar
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 pecuharly pleasing i
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 couid make any
impression on my mind,' '
Belinda read with some surprise :—
' Rash young man I beware of connecting yourself with the
lady to whom you have lately been drawn in to pay your I
addresses ; she is the most artful of women. She has been, ■
educated, as you may find upon inquir}', by one, whose success- fl
ful trade it has been to draw in young men of fortune for bcT I
nieces, whence she has obtained the appellation of Ihe m^A^k
maker general. The only niece whom she could not get rid ofl
any other way, she sent to Ihe most dissipated and unprinciple^l
viscountess in town. The viscountess fell sick, and, as it waJB
universally reported last winter, the young lady was immediately H
upon her friend's death, to have been maiTied to the viscountB
widower. But the viscountess detected the connection, audi
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 ■
saint upon those who were too honourable themselves to be
suspicious of others.
'At length the quarrel between her and the \'iscounless 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 boiidotr in her ladyship's house : this threat
I 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 Twickwi-
ham. The person who used to be let up the private s
into the boudoir, by Mrs. Marriott, is now more conveniently
received at Twickenham.'
BELINDA
Much more was said by the letter-writer in the same strain.
The ncime of Clarence Hervey, in the last page, caught
Belinda's eye ; and vrith 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 lad/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 fnend
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 /atr heart is
Clarence Herve/s, at all events. Further particulars shall he
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
mstantly 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, everything 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
entrusted ; 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
PEU A PEU
[vSored to wrest from Marriott the key of tke mysteriou^
^inr. She confessed her own absurd jealousy, explained \
' it had been excited by the artifices of Champfort and Sir
Sp Baddcly, how slight circumstances had worked her mind /
Umost to frenzy. ' The temper, the dignity, the gentler
liumaniCy, with which Belinda bore with me, during ihisj
jxysm of madness,' said Lady Delacour, ' I never can foi^et ;\
the spirit with which she left my house, when she sa\
I unworthy of her esteem, and ungrateful for her kindness
' the magnanimity with which she returned to me, when II
bght myself upon my death-bed : all this has made an]
'pression upon my soul, which never, whilst I have life and
ason, can be effaced. She has saved my life. She has made
y life worth saving. She has made me feel my own valuel
le has made me know my own happiness. She has reconcile^
E to my husband. She has united me with my child. She
IS been my guardian angel. — She, the confidante of my
trigues ! — she leagued with me in vice !— No, I am bound lo
■X by ties stronger than vice ever felt ; than vice, even in the
tnost ingenuity of its depravity, can devise.'
|Exhausted by the vehemence with which she had spoken,
idy Delacour paused ; but Vincent, who sympathised in her
Uusiasm, kept his eyes fixed upon her, in hopes that she
il yet more to say.
y* I might, perhaps, you will think,' continued she, smiling,
^e spared you this history of myself, and of my own affairs,
tr. Vincent ; but 1 thought it necessary to tell you the plain
«ts, which malice has distorted into tlie most odious fomi.
his is the quarrel, this is the reconciliation, of which your
lonymous fnend has been so well informed. Now, as to
irence Hervey.'
■*I have explained to Mr. Vincent,' interrupted Belinda,
teylhing that he could wish to know on that subject, and I
tr wish you to tell him that I faithfully remembered ray
Itnise to return to Oakly Park, and that we were actually
glaring for the journey.'
* Look here, sir,' cried Lady Delacour, opening the door of
r dressing-room, in which Marriott was upon her knees,
king a trunk, ' here's dreadful note of preparation.'
'Vou are a happier man than you yet know, Mr. Vincent,'
(tinned Lady Delacour ; 'for I can tell you, that some per-
il 347
BELINDA
suasion, 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, etc., a few days longer. Shall I be
frank with you, Mr. Vincent ? — ^Yes, for I cannot help it— 1
am not of the nature of anonymous letter-wTiters ; 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, — >'Ou 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 j
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, iiith 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 satisfac-
tion 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 con-
gratulations.'
* Pardon me,* mlerrupted Lady Delacour ; ' there you are
PEU A PEU
quite mistaken : ihe 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 I
the least be apprehensive that he would not have sufficient I I
greatness of mind to forgive my having treated him with a / I
I degree of sincerity which the common forms of politeness/ ^
I cannot justify, and at which common souls would be scandalised/
Lpast recovery.'
Mr. Vincent's pride was entirely vanquished by this speech ;
Sjd with that frankness by which his manners were usually
iharacterised, he thanked her for having distinguished him
I common souls; and assured her that such sincerity as
pters was infinitely more fo his taste than that refined politeness
' of which be 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 Behnda,' said Lady Delacour, when he
was gone, ' 1 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. 1 acknow-
ledge, 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
hdy's eyes, he is ^erdument ainoureux.'
' Not iperdument^ I hope,' said Belinda.
' Then, as you do not think it necessary for your hero to be
/fierdumenl amourettx, I presume,' said Lady Delacour, ' you
do not think it necessary that a heroine should be in love at
1 all. So love and marriage are to be separated by philosophy,
1 as well as by fashion. This is Lady Anne Perci^'al's doctrine ;
I I give Mr. Percival joy. I remember the time, when he
fiincied 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
I think it essential that you should know anything about the
natter. You may marry his ward, and welcome, without being
a love with him.'
' But not without loving him,' said Belinda.
' 1 am not casuist enough in these matters to understand
BELINDA
the subtle distinction you make, with the true PerdvaJ em;
between loving and falling in love. But 1 suppose I
understand by loving, loving as half the world do when they
1
bey|
id,' T
' As ii would be happy for half the world if they did,'
rephed Belinda, mildly, but with a linnness of tune thai her
ladyship felt, * I should despise myself and deserve no
from any human being, if, after all I have seen, 1 couid it
of man7ing for convenience or interest.'
' Oh 1 pardon me ; I meant not to insinuate sucb an id
even your worst enemy, Sir Philip Baddely, would acquit you
I thecar- I meant but to hint, my dear Belinda, that a heart such
; f-^ yours is formed for love in its highest, purest, liappiest
I 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. Vincenl,'
said Lady Delacour : 'no doubt you have lately learned ii
same sober style that a little love will sulKce with a great deai
of esteem,'
' I hope I have learned lately that a great deal of
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 an)
farther.'
'And those who build their castles of happiness in the ^r,'
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 casde-building is
always a labour of loi-e, but the foundation of drudgery is
generally lov^s labour last. Poor Vincent will find it so.'
'Perhaps not,' said Belinda; 'for already his solid good
qualities——'
' Solid good qualities ! ' interrupted Lady Delacour : ' I heg
your pardon for interrupting you, but, my dear, you know we
never fail in love with good qualities, except, indeed, when ihey
are joined to an aquiline nose — -oh 1 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
idvuUage of Clarence Hervey in personal accompUsl
I'EU A PEU
: a woman to be decided by personaTaSon^
Plshments.'
•And you will not allow me lo be decided by solid good
,' said Belinda. ' So by what must I be deiermined ?
' By your heart, my dear ; by your heart : trust your heart
' Alas 1 ' said Belinda, ' how many, many women have
leplored their having trusted lo their hearts only.'
' Their hearts ! but I said your heart ; mind your pronouns,
my dear ; that makes all the difference. But, to be serious,
.1 you really and bona fidc^ as my old uncle the
lawyer used to say, love Mr. Vincent?'
' No,' said Belinda, ' I do rot love him >'ei.'
' But for that emphatic j-e/, how I should have worshipped
U ! I wish 1 could once clearly understand the state of your
nind about Mr, Vincent, and then I should be able to judge
low far I might indulge myself in raillery without being
ibsolutely impertinent. So without intniding upon your con-
idence, tell me whatever you please.'
' I will tell you all I know of my own mind,' replied Belinda,
ooking up with an ingenuous countenance. ' I esteem Mr.
rtncent ; I am grateful lo htm for the proofs he has given me
(f steady attachment, and of confidence in my integrity. I
ike his manners and the frankness of his temper ; but I do
lot yet love him, and till I do, no earthly consideration could
(revail upon me lo marry him.'
' Perfectly satisfactory, my dear Belinda ; and yet I cannot
-. quite at ease whilst Mr. Vincent is present, and my poor
lllarence absent ; proximity is such a dangerous advantage
iren with the wisest of us. The absent lose favour so quickly
1 Cupid's court, as in all other courts ; and they are such
ictims to false reports and vile slanderers ! '
Belinda sighed.
' Thank you for that sigh, my dear,' said Lady Delacour.
May 1 ask, would you, if you discovered that Mr, Vincent
lad a Virginia, discard him for ever from your thoughts f '
'If I discovered that he had deceived and behaved dis-
jurably to any womar
ever from my regard.'
'With as much ease ai
*^i^^^^ perhaps.'
, I certainly should banish him for
you banished Clarence Hervey ?'
BELINDA
1 you acknowledge^thal's all I want — that you liked
Clarence better than you do Vincent ? '
' I acknowledge it,' said Belinda, colouring up to het
temples ; ' but that lime la entirely past, and I ne\'er look
' But if you were forced to look back to it, my dear, — ii
Clarence Her\'ey proposed for you, — would nol you cast i
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. Uo not use your poweifii!
influence over ray heart to make me think of what I ought rot
to think, or do what I ought not to do. I have permitted Mr.
Vincent to address me. Vou cannot imagine that I am so
base as to treat him with duplicity, or that 1 consider him only
as npis-allerj 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 hitn so decidedly:
but if ever 1 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
sentiments, and abide by my choice.'
' My dear, I admire you,' said Lady Delacour ; ' but I
incorrigible ; I ani not tit to hear myself convinced. After all|
I am impelled by the genius of imprudence to tell you, that,
spite of Mr. Percival's cure iot Jirst loves, 1 consider love as
distemper that can be had but once.'
' As you acknowledge that you are not fit to hear yourseli
convinced,' said Belinda, ' I will not ai^e this point
' But you will allow,' said Lady Delacour, '
sung in Cupid's calendar, that —
s said Of
and she broke off the
by singing that beautifiit
LOVE ME, LOVE MV DOG
CHAPTER XXV
LOVE ME, LOVE MV DOG
P 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. Charapfort, as to
feel some satisfaction at his being safely lodged in Newgate.
The circumstance which led to this desirable catastrophe was
I the anonymous letter to Mr. Vincent. From the first moment
that Marriott saw or heard of the letter, she was convinced,
; said, that ' Mr. Champfort was at the bottom of it.' Lady
Delacour was equally convinced that Harriot Freke was the
author of the epistie ; 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 circum-
statice. 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 scrutinising eye. ' Lord bless
my stars ! my lady,' she exclaimed, 'this must be the paper —
nean 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 1 remember it as well as if it was yesterday.
" aw a parcel of black jags of paper littering the place, and
asked what had been going on F and was told, that it was only
Mr. Champfort who had been cutting some paper ; which, to
be sure, 1 concluded my lord had given to him, having no
forther 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, recog-
nised it immediately by a private mark which he had put
3" 353
1
BELINDA
ihe out^dc sbeet of a division of letter paper, which, indetd,
he had net'ct given lo Champfon, but which be had tniiseil
shout the lim* Marriott mentioned. Between the leaves of
this paper his lordship had pal, as it was ofteo his practice,
some Irank notes : they were notes but of small value, and when
he missed them he was easily persuaded by Champfon that, as
he had been much iatosicated the preceding night, he had
tbrOK-n them away with some useless papers. He rummaged
through his writing-desk in vain, and then gave up the search.
It was tnie 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 be could sicear
to his own private mark, and that he could identify his notes
by their numbers, etc, of which he had luckily a memorandum,
Lord Delacour, enraged to &nd himself both robbed and duped
by a favoinite servant, in wham he had placed impUdt conit
dence, was effectually roused from his natural indolence : he
took such active and successful measures, that Mr, Champfatt
was committed to gaol, to take his trial for the robbery. To
make peace for himself, he confessed that he had been in-
stigated by Mrs, Freke to get the anonymous letter written.
This kdy was now suffering jusl punishment for her Jrolki,
and Lady Delacour thought her fallen so much below indigna-
tion, that she advised Belinda to take no manner of notice of
her conduct, except by simply returning the letter to her, with
' Mbs Fortman's, Mr. Vincent's, and Lord and Lady Delacour's,
compliments and thanks to a sincere Jriend, who had been the
means of bringing villainy 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 firesh hope,
he pressed his suit with Belinda with all the ardour of his
sanguine temper. Though tittle 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
Herve/s arrival ; he was therefore impatient for the inter-
mediate day to pass, and it was with heartfelt joy that be 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
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG
disappointed by Clarence Herve/s not appearing, did not
attempt to delay their departure. She contented herself with
leaving a note, to be delivered to him or his arrival, which,
she still flattered herself, would induce him immediately to go
to Harrowgate. The trunks were fastened upon the carriages,
s 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
arcumstance' of glorious travelling — when an express arrived
from Oakly Part It was to delay their journey for a few
weeks. Mr. Percival and Lady Anne wrote word, that they
i unexpectedly called from home by . Lady Dela-
Eour did not stay to read by what, or by whom, she was so
much delighted by this reprieve. Mr. Vincent bore the dis-
appointment as well as could be expected ; particularly when
Belinda observed, to comfort him, that ' the mind is its own
; ' ; and that hers, she believed, would be the same at
Twickenham as at Oakly Park. Nor did she give him any
)n to regret that she was rot immediately under the
ence of his own friends. The dread of being unduly
biassed by Lady Delacour, and the strong desire Belinda felt
rt 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-aUer, were motives
which acted more powerfully in his favour than all that even
l-ady 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
, 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
355
BELINDA
hour increased. She was divided between her confidence in
him and her affection for Belinda j unwilling to give him up,
yet afraid to injure her happiness, or to offend her, by injudi-
cious 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
I 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
I expressing directly or indirectly her admiration of the prudence
and propriety of their doctrine.
Lady Delacour recollected her own promise, to give her
sincere cottgratuiafiotis to Ike mcfon'ous 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 stiU upon good
terms with odious Mrs. Luttridge. Helena, one morning, was
playing with Mr. Vincent's large dog, of which he was ex-
cessively fond. It was called Juba, after his faithful servant.
' Helena, my dear,' said Lady Delacour, ' take care I don't
trust your hand in that creature's monstrous mouth.'
' I can assure yoiu' 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. Percii-al tells you, everything 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,' re-
peated Mr. Vincent, with great eagerness. ' Juba is, without
exception, the best creature in the imiverse."
'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 candoiu-, 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
he room with her ; and now, whenever he sees her, he licks
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG
her hand as genlly 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.'
Ac the name of Luttridge, Lady Delacour changed counte-
nance, 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, ' 1 hope your antipathy to
~ious Mrs. Luttridge does not extend to everybody who
its her.'
'Tout au contraire,' cried Lady Delacour, starting from her
'Crie, 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
if grace : so you need not fear that Mr. Vincent should
fall under my royal displeasure for consorting with this siate
criminal. Though 1 can't sympathise with him, I forgive him,
both for liking that great dog, and that little woman ; especi-
ally, 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 1 I assure
you, 1 did not mean to hint that there was any serious, im-
proper attachment to the E O table ; only a little flirtation,
perhaps, to which his passion for you has, doubtless, put a
"' ' iee 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.'
1 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 unluckf
sfutll. What a nice grammarian a woman had need to be^
who would live weii with a husband inferior to her in under-
standing I With a superior or an equal, she might use shidl
and •will as inaccurately as she pleases. Glorious privileged
How I shall envy it you, my dear Belinda I But hov
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 c
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. Vin
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 ■•
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 t
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 I
The book dropped from Vincent's hand the instant that he
I heard his name. Lady Delacour's eyes sparkled with joy.
Belinda's colour rose, but her countenance maintained an
expression of calm dignity. Mr, Her\-ey, upon his first en-
trance, appeared prepared to support an air of philosophic
composure, which forsook him before he had walked :
4e room. He seemed overpowered by the kindness
which Lady Delacour received his congratulations or
recovery's truck by the reserve of Belinda's manner— -but not
surprised, or displeased, at the sight of Mr. Vincent. On the
contrarj-, he desired iTnmed\a.ve\'i W \k vM.ttidu.ced to him, witb^
IS*
LOVE ME, LOVE MV DOG
n 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. Heney, lo take any other notice of my last
Q to understand, 1 presume, by the manner in which
you desire me to introduce you to our friend Mr. Vincent, that
't has been received."
' Received ! Good Heavens ! have not you had my
mswer ? ' cried Clarence Hervey, with a voice and look of
extreme surprise and emotion ; ' Has not your ladyship re-
ceived a packet ? '
' 1 have had no packet^! have had no letter. Mr. Vincent,
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 everything for this single glance ; ' if I did you a
little injustice, Clarence, when I was angry, you must forgive
; 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,
. 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,
^r you certainly can speak as well as you can write ; nay,
■ better, I think. — though you don't write ill, neither — but you
0 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 Delacoui's
, dressing-room, if you please,' said she, opening the door of an
adjoining apartment, ' Lord Delacour will not be jealous if
I he find yon tSie-A-lSle with me, 1 promise you. But you
shall not be compelled. You look '
' 1 look,' said Mr. Hervey, affecting to laugh, ' as if 1 felt
Uie impossibility of putting half a volume into two words. It
a long story, and '
* And I must wait for the packet, whether I will or no —
.359
well, be it so,' said Lady Delacour. Struck with the extmtie
perturbation into which he was thrown, she pressed him with
no farther raillery, but instantly attempted to change the
conversation lo general subjects.
Again she had recourse lo '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) wai
an instance that genuine eloquence must spring from the
heart. Cicero was certainly right,' continued be, 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
Mr, \'incent coldly replied, ' This definition would exclnde
too many men of superior talents, to be easily admitted.'
'Perhaps the appearance of virtue,' said Belinda, 'mi^^
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 tittered
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 conversa-
tion ; and a dead siknce ensued.
Lady Delacour, who was naturally impatient in the extreme,
especially in the vindication of her friends, could not bear to
s she did by Belinda's coimtenance, that she had not
forgotten Marriott's story of Virginia St. Pierre ; and though
^ler ladyship was convinced that thefiacie/ would clear up all
teries, yet she coiild not endure that even in the interim
't Clarence ' should be unjustly suspected ; nor could she
"l from trying an espedient, which just occurred to her,
y herself and ever)*body present She was the first to
* To do ye justice, my friends, you are all good company Uus
I rooming. Mr. Vincent is excusable, because he is in love ; and
" " " reusable, because^because — Mr. Hervey, [Hi^
LOVE ME, LOVE MV DOG
am' ^
io I 1
help me to an excuse for Miss Portman's stupidity, for I
JreadfuUy afraid of blundering out the truth. But why do
tsV. you to help me? In your present condition, you
totally unable lo help yourself. — Not a word !— Run over the
commonplaces of conversation — ^ weather— fashion — scandal —
^ess — deaths — marriages. — Will none of these do ? Suppose,
then, you were to entertain me with other people's thoughts,
»nce you have none of your own unpacked — Forfeit to arbitrary
power,' continued her ladyship, playfully seizing Mr. Vincent's W
book. ' I have always observed that none submit with so good a I
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
jfliis charming little poem to us, Mr. Hervey, will you?'
going lo begin immediately, but Lady Delacour put
her hand upon the book, and stopped him.
Stay ; though 1 am tyrannical, I will not be treacherous.
1 warn you, then, that I have imposed upon you a difficult, a
dangerous task. If you have any "sins unwhipt of justice,"
ttiere are lines which I defy you to read without faltering — Usten
to the preface."
Her ladyship began as follows ;
' Mr, Day, indeed, retained during all the period of his life,
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 tan poetess in the following
banner.'
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
^loud the lines, to which she pointed.
' Swear by the dtead avengers of the lomb,
By all thy hopes, by death's tremendous gli
That ne'er by thee deceived, the lender maid
Shall moom her easy cooGdencc betiay'd,
3«'
BEUNDA
Nor weep in secret the tritunphant 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 6ivour*d course with rays divine.
And Heaven's best gift, a virtuous love, be thine ! '
Mr. Hervey read these lines with so much unaffected, unem-
barrassed 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
everything 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 1 — ^Yes, to be sure, I could have told
362
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG
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, a.nd ihe other
speaking.
' Fondly loves her ! ' reflated 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, ' 1
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
n't help saying, I feel quite rejoiced at your
meeting with such a match.' Belinda again altempfed to
declare that she was not going to be married ; but the in-
vincible 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 Port-
man sink to the centre of the earth, which I would not wish to
especially at such 3 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
But I have done now, I promise you ; I'll ask no
;: so don't run away, Miss Portman; I'll ask no
questions, I promise you.'
~ e the performance of the promise, Lady Deiacour
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 1 — Are you in earnest ? — Was there
inylhing so provoking ?^There have I been contradicting
the report, wherever 1 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
363
BELINDA
reformation itself your ladyship may depend upon, since \
hear it from my own lips.*
* Well, how amazing ! how incredible ! — Lord bless m
But your ladyship certainly is not in earnest ? for you look ju
the same, and speak just in the same sort of way : I see i
alteration, I confess.'
'And what alteration, my good Lady Boucher, did ym
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 — oflf — the — eaves.
Or did you expect that, in hopes of being a pattern for die
rising generation, I should hold my features in penance^ im-
movably, thus — ^like some of the poor ladies of Antiguai
after they have blistered their fsLces all over, to get a fine
plexion, are forced, whilst the new skin is coming, to sit
speaking, smiling, or moving muscle or feature, lest an u
wrinkle should be the consequence ? '
Lady Boucher was impatient to have this speech
for she had a piece of news to telL * Well ! ' cried she, * thereni
no knowing what to believe or disbelieve, one hears so many
strange reports ; but I have a piece of news for you, that yoo
may all depend upon. I have one secret worth knowing, I caa
tell your ladyship — and one, your ladyship and Miss Portman,
Tm 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 screen, dexter-
ously, 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. Herve/s
geneiBl character,' cried Lady Delacour.
lad His Jin: f ' said Lady D,
BEUNDA
' Oil, ao amiable woman, I uke for granted
is amiable of course, as the newspapeis tell us, when she a
going CO be married,' said the dowager: 'an amiable wc
to be sure ; but that means nothing. 1 have not bad a ]
from Miss Ponnian.'
* FroQi general character,' Belinda began, i
' Do not guess from general character, my dear Belinda,'
interrupted Lady Delacour ; 'for there is no judging, in thee
cases, from general character, of what people will lite or
'Then I will leave it to your ladyship to guess this time, tf
you please,' said Belinda.
' You will neither of you guess till doomsday I ' crted the
dowager ; ' I must tell you. Mr. Heney's going to many—
in the strangest sort of way I — a girl that nobody knows — a
daughter of a Mr. Hartley. The bcher can give her a good
fortune, it is true ; but one should not have supposed thai (
fortune »-as an object with Mr. Hen-ey, who has such a Bobk .
one of his own. It's really difficnil to belie\-c it.' J
'So difficult, that 1 lind it quite impossible,' said Lail| I
Delacour, «-ith an incredulous smile. I
' Depend upon it, my dear Lady Delacour,' said the dowagO', j
laying the convincing neight of her arm upon her ladyship'^
' depend upon it, my dear Lady Delacour, that my informatiaB
is correct. Guess whom I had it &om.'
'Willingly. But first let me tell yon, that 1 have sets
Mr. Hervey uithin this half hour, and 1 never saw a man look
less like a bridegroom.'
'Indeed! well, I've heard, loo, that he didn't like the match:
bol what a pity, when you saw him yourself this _
that you didn't get all the particulars out of him. But let him
tool: h*ke what he will, you'll find that my information is perfect^,
correct Guess whom I had it from — from Mrs. Margaret
Delacour : it was at her house that Clarence Her\-ey first met
Mr. Hartley, who, as I mentioned, is the father of the young
lady. There was a charming scene, and some romantic stotT^
about his finding the girl in a cottage, and calling her V'ii '
something or other, but I didn't clearly understand about that
However, this much is certain, that [he girl, as her &ther iM
Mis. Delacour, is desperately in lo« with Mr. Hency,
LOVE ME, LOVE MV DOG
l)e married im mediately. Depend upon it, you'll
Bnd my information correct. Good morning lo you. Lord
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
w 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
To determine ibis 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 I ah ! have I made a convert of you at last f ' 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
ahe goes to, of nothing but of my faith in anima of quassia ;
she will forget to make a gossiping story out of that most
iprudent hint ! gave her, about Clarence Hervey's having
I 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
Bway '
In a fit of jealousy, and 1 am glad of it.'
And I am sorry for it,' said Belinda ; ' sorry that he should
liave 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
foolishly if the man were your husband.
you privately married to him f — If you be not — for my
— for your own — for Mr. Vincent's — do not write till we
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
will not send your letter till the packet arrives,'
3^7
BEUNDA
* 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, b^;an to
reconsider the dowager's story; notwithstanding her unbelief
smile, it alarmed her, for she could not refuse to give it some
d^ree of credit, when she learnt that Mrs. Margaret Delacoor
was the authority from whom it came. Mrs. Delacour was a
woman of scrupulous veracity, and rigid in her dislike to gossip-
ing ; so that it was scarcely probable a report originating with
her, however it might be altered by the way, should prove to be
totsilly void of foundation. The name of Virginia coincided with
Sir Philip Baddel/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 — fuicied that it had stopped —
held it to her ear — ^rang 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, seat-
ing 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 tndtier (^Hre pMlosophe. 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
36^
LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG
know what people are goiiij; to say ; but when 1 know it
beforehand, 1 have an unfortunate habit of not being able to
1 one word. Now, my dear, let me anticipate your
speecli, 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, iviihout moving an eyelash.'
Belinda, as the most certain way of being heard, consented
ilo hear before she spoke.
' I will tell you,' pursued Lady Delacour, ' if not what you
; 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
too late. Let him say, or let him do, 'tis all the. same
—because — (now for the reasoning) — because things have
•gone so far with Mr. Vincent, that Lady Anne Percival and all
,lhe world (at Oakly Park) will blame me, if I retract In short,
.tiings hmie gone so far that 1 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 un-
icommon, 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
The fear of displeasing Mrs. Stanhope a little more or
s not to be put in competition with the hope of your
1 happiness for life, especially as you have contrived to exist
; months in a state of utter excommunication from her
i fevour. After all, you know she will not grieve for anything
I but the loss of Mr. Vincent's fortune i and Mr. Hervey's
1 fortune miglit do as well, or almost as well : at least she may
t compound with her pride for the difference, by considering that
fan English member of Parliament is, in the eyes of the world
I' (the only eyes with which she sees), a better connection than
J the son of a West India planter, even though he may be a
m.^rotegi oi Lady Anne Percival.
' Spare me your indignation, my dear 1 — -What a look was
I there 1 — Reasoning for Mrs, Stanhope, must not I reason as
[ Mrs. Stanhope does ?^Now I will put this stronger stilL Sup-
B 369
'it i^^n
BELINDA
I)ose that you had actually acknowledged that Mr. Vmcent
got beyond esteem with you ; suppose that you had in due f
consented to marry him ; suppose that preparations were at
moment making for the wedding ; even in that desperate
I should say to you, you are not a girl to marry because ;
wedding-go^Ti is made up. Some few guineas are thrown a'
perhaps ; do not throw away your whole happiness after t
— that would be sorry economy. Trust me, my dear, I £h
say, as I have to you, in time of need. Or, if you fear t<
obliged to one who never was afraid of being obliged to
ten to one the preparations for a wedding, though not
wedding, may be necessary immediately. No matter to ]
Franks who the bridegroom may be ; so that her bill be \
she would not care the turning of a feather whether it be
by Mrs. Vincent or Mrs. Hervey. 1 hope 1 have convin
I am sure I have made you blush, my dear, and that is s
satisfaction. A blush at this moment is an earnest of vici
lo, triumphe I Now I will open my packet ; my hand s
not be held an instant longer.'
* I absolve you from the penance of hearing me for an h
but I claim your promise to attend to me for a few minutes,
dear friend,* said Belinda : * I thank you most sincerely for ;
kindness ; and let me assure you that I should not hesitat
accept from you any species of obligation.*
* Thanks 1 thanks 1 — there*s a dear good girl I — my
Belinda I '
But indeed you totally misunderstand me ; your rea
ing '
* Show me the fault of it : I challenge all the logic of all
Pcrcivals.*
* Your reasoning is excellent, if your facts were not taker
granted. You have taken it for granted, that Mr. Hervey i
love with me.*
* No,* said Lady Delacour ; * I take nothing for granted
you will find when I open this packet.*
* You have taken it for granted,* continued Belinda, * th
am still secretly attached to him ; and you take it for grai
that I am restrained only by fear of Lady Anne Percival,
aunt, and the world, from breaking off with Mr. Vincent : If
will read the letter, which I was writing to him when you c;
into the room, perhaps you will be convinced of your mista!
VIRGINIA
' Read a letter to Mr. Vincent at such a lime as this I then
I will go and read my packet in my own room,' cried Lady
Uelacour, 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. O 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 Herve/s — be just to him, as you are to
Vincent, that's all I ask — give him a (air hearing : — now
for it."
CHAPTER XXVI
Clarence Hervey's packet contained a history of his con-
ion with Virginia St. Pierre.
'.o save our hero from the charge of egotism, we shall
reUte the principal circumstances in the third person.
It was about a year before he had seen Belinda that Clarence
j/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 gal-
lantry prevailed. Some circumstances in which he was per-
inally interested disgusted him strongly with the Parisian
belles J he felt that women who were full of vanity, affectation,
and artifice, whose tastes were perverted, and whose feelings
BELINDA
were depraved, \^8re 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 de-
clamations produced more than their just effect upon an imagi-
nation 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 firm-
^^ ness 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, how-
ever, 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 re-
flections 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
lu>;\i*so, retreated of his own accord. Clarence watched to see
which way he would go, and followed him, in hopes of meeting
with tho person to whom he belonged: he kept his guide in
^i^hl, till l»o came into a beautiful glp.de, in the midst of which
3T*
but very small cottage, with numerous beebi'
the garden, surrounded by a profusion of rose-trees which
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
coiuitenance, 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 (here
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
aims, and the ease and natural grace of her motions.
' Go in, Rachel,' repeated the old woman, in a still more
severe lone; '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 u'ay, etc.
severity vanished, as soon as her grand-daughter was safe
J J
Nr. Hcrvry ihh' a ysaH,
VIRGINIA
1 the house, and with much readiness she showed him the road
}r which he inquired.
As soon, however, as it was in his power, he relumed thither;
for he had laken 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 in-
babitants ; the roses had not been watered, many of them had
Bfaed their leaves ; and a basket half fiill of dead flowers was
a 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
1, and peeped in at the window. The room was
darkened, his eyes had been daziled by the sun, so that he
could not, at first, see any object distinctly ; but he heard the
□loaning 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 comer of the room, to which he had
not yet turned his eyes ; and as he drew aside more of the
e 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 ex-
pression 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,
' She cannot speak to me — she cannot move one side — she
s been so these three days — but she is not dead — she is not
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 1' Her face
grew black, her features convulsed, and she sunk down again ii
37 S
BELINDA
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 &r 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 &te. 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 l)dng 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 I —
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,
31^
Oh, promise me you
girl, and 1 shall die
VIRGINIA
God never made a better c:
I not be the ruin of my swec
Clnrence Hervey ivas touched. He instantly made the
required of him ; and, as nothing less would satisfy the
■r dying woman, confinned it by a solenm oath.
' Now I am easy,' said she, ' quite easy ; and may God bless
Aou for it 1 In the village here, there is a Mrs. Smith, a good
Bvmer's wife, who knows tw well ; she will see to have me
Becetitly buried, and then has promised to sell all the little 1
pave for my girl, and to take care of her. And you'll never
fome near her more ? '
' I did not promise that,' said Hervey.
The old woman again looked much disturbed,
' Ah, good young gentleman 1 ' said she, ' lake my advice ;
tt will be best for you both. If you see her again, you will love
fcer, sir — you can't help it ; and if she sees you — poor thing,
■tow innocently she smiled when she gave you the rose 1 — oh
AT, never come near her when I am gone I It is too late for
|toe now to get her out of your way. This night, I'm sure, will
pc my last in this world — oh, promise me you will never come
I ' After the oath I have taken,' replied Clarence, ' that
Kromise would be unnecessary. Trust to my honour.'
I ' Honour I Oh, that was the word the gentleman said that
Betrayed her poor mother, and lefl her afterwards to die 1 — Oh
I The violent emotion that she felt was too much for her — she
fell back exhausted — ^never spoke more — and an hour afterwards
j&e e.tpired in the arms of her grand-daughter. The poor girl
Bould not believe that she had breathed her last. She made a
pgn to the surgeon, and to Clarence Hervey, who stood beside
Ber, to be silent ; and listened, fancying that the corpse would
Ittcathe again. Then she kissed her cold lips, and the shrivelled
dieeks, and the eyelids that were closed for ever. She wanned
flie 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 1 ' 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
L 377
BELINDA
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 anything 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
rum of girls, to my mind, to be bred above their means — as it
31»
was of ber mother, sir. Then she would never ieacE
to write, for fear she should take to scrawling
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 1 even thought it would have been as well if the
girl had not learnt to read ; but that she did learn, and wns
always fond of, and I'm sure it was more plague than use too
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
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
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
Bmembering so much of the particularities of the dead, I
t say there never was an old lady who had more scrupu-
losities thaji 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 dehcacyjn,her dislike to it ; but
as 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, ami 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 lake a
fercy to her, 1 should make no objections, because she was
always a good, modest-behaved girl ; and, I'm sure^ would make
\ 379
A
BELINDA
a good wife, though too delicate for hard country work ; but,
as it pleases God to send you, madam, and the good gentle-
man, to take the charge of her off my hands, I am content it
should be so, and I will sell everything 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 litde bullfinch, of which she was very foni
One, and but one, circumstance about Rachel stopped the
current of Clarence Herve/s imagination, and this, con-
sequently, 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. Her\ey 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
anything beyond the walls of the garden that belonged to the
VIRGINIA
house in mhich she lived ; her present
greater than that to which she had long been accustomed, and
consequently she did not feel her seclusion from the wgrld as
any restraint ; with the circimistaiices 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 anything that reminded
her of her former way of life, and of her grandmother's cottage,
le was delighted.
One day Mr. Hervey asked her, wliether she should like
better to return to that cottage, or to remain where she "as ?
He trembled for her answer. She innocently replied, ' I
should like best to go back to the cottage, if you would go with
—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,
s he thought, of virtue and abilities in his charming pupil.
Her indifference to objects of show and ornament appeared to
I indisputable proof of her magnanimity, and of the
.superiority of her unprejudiced mind. What a difierence,
■fliought 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
isity 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
p, she laughed and said, ' How ! how can 1
make them hang f '
' Have you never observed that I wear earrings ?' said Mrs.
Ormond.
'Ay I but yours are not hke these, and^let me look — I
never saw how you fastened them — let me look — oh ! you have
■s i but I have none
ras no^^^
i__i_i
BELINDA
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 ttu^iing to Clarence,
* unless you wish it : — if you bid me, 1 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
\'irginia'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 excite-
ments 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 draw-
ings, 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 affec-
tions 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,
IZ2
VIRGINIA
itreaistible power over Mr. Hervey's mind ; ie t
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 feh proudly convinced, that if
he had not been bound by any such solemn engagement, no
temptation could have made him deceive and betray confiding
Conscious that his views were honourable, anticipating the
generous pleasure he should have in showing his su])erioriiy 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
' 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 1 — 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, 1 suppose,
you would be glad that your wife should, at least, know the
common things that everybody knows.'
' As to that,' said Clarence, ' 1 should be glad that my wiftf\
I were ignorant of what everybody kno-ais. Nothing is so tire- \ t^
I 1 some to a man of any taste or abilities as luhat everybody \
I I knows. 1 am rather desirous to have a wife who has an 1
I I uncommon than a common understanding.'
k* ' But you would choose, would not you,' said Mrs, Ormond,
■ faesiuting with an air of great deference, ' that your wife should
B loiow how to write ? '
^l ' To be sure,' replied Clarence, colouring. ' Does not
■MliiiiiiiHiH^^i^^H
BELINDA
'How should she?'aaL<l Mrs. Omtond : 'it isno&ultof
hers, poor girl— she was never taughL You know ii was her
grandmother's noiion that she should not learn lo write, lest
she should write love-letters.'
' But you promised that she should be taught to write, and
1 trusted to you, Mrs. Ormood.'
■She has been here only two months, and all thai time, 1
ajn sure, I have done everything in my power ; but when a
person comes to be sixteen or seventeen, it is uphill work.'
' I will teach her myself," cried Clarence : ' I am sure she
may be taught anything.'
' By you,' said Mrs. Ormond, smiiiny ; 'but not by me.'
' You have no doubts of her capacity, surely ? '
' 1 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, aJTectionate creature. I rather
think it is from indolence that she does not learn, and not
firom want of abilities.'
'AH indolence arises from want of excitement,' said
Clarence; 'if she had proper motives, she would conquer
her indolence.'
'Why, I daresay, if I were to tell her that she would never
have a letter from Mr. Hervey till she is able to
answer, she would learn to write very expedidously ; but I
thought that would not be a proper motive, because you
forbade me lo 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
Beriously, and then you would not know what to do with her j
and after entertaining hopes of becoming your wife, she would
be miserable, I am sure, with that aflectlonate tender heart (rf
hers, if you ivere 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
to suffer such obvious reflections to escape his attention. Mrs.
Ormond, a woman whom he had been accustomed lo consider
as fer his inferior in capacity, he now felt was superior to him
\
VIRGINIA
1 prudence, merely because she was undisturbed by passion.
He resolved lo master his oivn mind ; to consider that it
lot a mistress, but a wife he wanted in Virgini[t ; that a
without capacity or without literature could never be a
companion suited to him, let her beauty or sensibility be ever
o exquisite and captivating. The happiness ol hlS'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 i and his fair pupil, though she did not by any
: equal his hopes, astonished Mrs. Ormond by her
comparatively rapid progress.
' I always believed that you could make her anything 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. 1 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 attach-
ment 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 tind 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
K jGgret ; he did not foresee the probability that he should change
Vbs mind ; and notwithstanding Mrs. Ormond assured him
■ that Virginia's ^5ensibilit^_had increased, he was persuaded
[that she was mistaken, and that his pupil's heart and imagina-
ftion were yet untouched. The innocent openness with which
r she expressed her affection for him confirmed him, he said, in
lliis opinion. To do him justice, Clarence had none of the
a c 385
BELINDA
presumption which too often characterises men who have been
successful, as it is called, with the £eur 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 d
anything in the world — fonder of it, I am sure, than of me.'
' Oh 1 you cannot think so,' said Virginia, with an affec-
tionate smile.
* Well 1 fonder than you are of Mr. Hervey you will allow,
at least ? '
* No, indeed 1 ' cried she eagerly : * how can you think me
so foolish, so childish, so ungrateful, as to prefer a little worth-
less 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. Or-
mond'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 somethings my dear Virginia,' said Mrs.
Ormond, smiling.
* What did you think ?— What could you think 1 '
* I cannot — I mean, I would rather not at present tell you.
But do not look so grave ; I will tell you some lime or other,
if >'ou cannot guess.'
Virginia was silent, and stood abashed.
* I am sure, my sweet girl,' said Mrs. Ormond, ' I do not
mean, by anything I said, to confuse or blame you. It is very
natural that you should be grateful to Mr. Hervey, and that
yxsn, should admire, and, to a certain degree^ love him.'
Vii^inia looked up delighted, yel with •
■feer manner.
(indeed,' said Mrs. Ormond, 'one of the first of human
I beings : such even / have always thought him ; and I am sure
t like you the better, my dear, for your_s£nsitiilily,' said she,
kissing Virginia as she spoke ; ' only we must lake care of it,
this tenderness might go too far.'
' How so ?' said Virginia, returning her caresses with fond-
ss : 'can I love you and Mr. Hervey loo much ?'
' Not me.'
' Nor him, I'm sure — he is so good — so very good ! I am
afraid that 1 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 1 feel a sort of fear mixed with my love. I
■wish to piease him very much, but I should not quite like that
he should show hia love for me as you do — as you did just
' My dear, it would not be proper that he should ; you are
quite right not to wish it.'
' Am 1 ? 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
teok 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 f 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 (o 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 hen, sensibility till her educa-
tion is more finished ; by that time Mr. Hervey will find out
his mistake.'
la the meantime she could not help thinking that he was
387
BELINDA
blind, for he continued steady in his belief of Virginia's
indifference.
To dissipate his own mind, and to give time for the devdop-
ment of hers, he now, according to his resolution, left his popil
to the care of Mrs. Onnond, 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 £eunous day of the battle between the
turke>'s 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 everywhere appeared the fore-
most 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^morc
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 propor-
tion of his intellectual powers, and of his knowledge, was abso-
lutely useless to him in her company ; and this did not raise
her either in his love or esteem. ^ Her simplicity and naivetd^
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 acquaint-
ance 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 everything
that is desirable,' said he to himself : * a more brilliant char-
acter 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
r VIRGINIA ^^^1
^educated by the match-making Mrs. Stanhope prejudiced h^^^^^
gainst her ; but as he had opportunities of observing her con-
i^Ct, this prepossession was conquered, and when she had
Fsccured his esteem, he could no longer resist her power over his
(fceart. In comparison with Belinda, Vit^inia appeared lo him
^t an insipid, though innocent child : the one he found was
£is equal, the other his inferior ; the one he saw could be a
tcompanion, a friend to him for life ; the other would merely be
lius pupil, or his playtbing^. Belinda had cultivated taste, an
jVCtive understanding, a knowledge of literature, the power and
l^e habit of conducting herself; Vii^inia was ignorant and in-
BoleDt, she had few ideas, and no wish to extend her knowledge ;
Hie was so entirely unacquainted with the world, that it was
isbsolutely impossible she could conduct herself with that dis-
)ereiion, which must be the combined result of reasoning and
•experience. Mr. Hervey had felt gratuitous confidence in
rVirginia's innocence ; but on Belinda's prudence, which he had
'opportunities of seeing tried, he gradually learned to feel a
jdifierent and a higher species of reliance, which it is neither in
[our power to bestow nor to refiise. The virtues of Virginia
(Bprang from sentiment ; those of Belinda from reason.
V Clarence, whilst he made all these comparisons, became every
«ay more wisely and more fondly attached to Belinda ; and at
uength he became desirous to change the nature of his connec-
f&oa with Virginia, and to appear to her only in the light of a
Viend or a benefactor. He thought of giving her a suitable
{fortune and of leaving her under the care of Mrs. Ormond, till
Isome method of establishing her in the world should occur.
I'Unfortunateiy, just at the time when Mr. Hen'Cy formed this
|plan, and before it was communicated to Mrs. Ormond, diffi-
culties arose which prevented him from putting it into execu-
«on.
I Whilst he had been engaged in the gay world at Lady
jDelacour's, his pupil had necessarily been left much to the
Jna,nagement of Mrs. Ormond. This lady, with the best
bossible intentions, had not that reach of mind and variety of
resource necessary to direct the eKquisite 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 lo occupy her senses
and understanding, Virginia's mind was either perfectly ii> j
BELINDA
y ideas of 1
society, all 1
:<dent, or txaJled by romantic views, and visionary ideas
happiness. As she hailT ncv'cr seen anything of society,
her notions were drawn from books ; the severe
which her grandmother had early laid upon the choice of these
seemed lo 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 con-
versation was seldom entertaining, and Virginia had no longer
those occupations which filled a portion of her day at the cottage.
I Mr. Hervey had cautioned Mrs. Ormond against putting
fommon novels into her hands, but he made no objectioD to
'romances; these, he thought, breathed a spirit favourable to
female virtue, exalted the respect for chastity, and inspired en-
ithusiastic admiration of honour, generosity, truth, and all the
I 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 Ihey con-
tributed 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. Hen*ey had het
picture painted in this character; and these circumstances
strongly excited her curiosity to read the book. Mrs. Ormond
could not refijse to let her have it ; for, though it was not an
ancient romance, it did not exactly come under Ihe description
of a common novel, and Mr. Her%'ey was not at hand to give
his advice. Virginia sat down instantly to her volume, and
r 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
' continued she, offering to take the book, which hung
from her hand. Virginia started from her re>'erie, 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, 1 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
nsigniog Ihe book reluctaTvU-^.
■r
^Wbat can
VIRGINIA
make you so much afraid of me, my sweet girl ? '
afraid of you — but — of myself,' said Virginia,
ighing.
Mrs. Ormond read the following passage ;
' She thought of Paul's friendship, more pure than the waters
the fountain, stronger than the united palms, and sweeter
m the perfume of tlowers ; 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 hosom, she only wept.'
And am I not a mother to you, my beloved Virginia?'
said Mrs. Ormond. ' Though I cannot express my affection
such charming language as this, yet, believe me, no mother
s ever fonder of a child."
Virginia threw Jier arms round Mrs. Ormond, and laid her
head upon her friend's bosom, as if she wished to realise the
illusion, and to be the Virginia of whom she had been reading.
' I know all you think, and all you fee! : I know,' whispered
Irs. Ormond, 'the name that is on your lips.'
' No, indeed, you do not ; you cannot,' cried Virginia,
iddenly raising her head, and looking up in Mrs. Ormond's
ce, with surprise and timidity : ' how could yon possibly
sow all my thoughts and feelings ? I never told them to you ;
r, indeed, 1 have only confused ideas floaring in my imagina-
an from the books I have been reading. I do not distinctly
low my own feelings.'
* This is all very natiu*al, and a proof of your perfect
nocence and simplicity, tny child. But why did the passage
)u were reading Just now strike you so much ? '
' I was only considering,' said Virginia, 'whether it was the
ascription of — love."
' And your heart told you that it was ? '
' I don't know,' said she, sighing. ' Rut of this 1 am
(rtain, that I had not the name, which you were thinking of,
" kny lips.'
391
BEUNDA
Ah ! thought Mrs. Onnond^ she has not forgotten how
I checked her sensibility some time aga Poor girl I 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 — 1
cannot blame you : in your situation, it is impossible that yoa
could help loving Mr. Hervey.'
*Isit?'
* 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 ex-
presses : 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.'
d but 1
[was afraid lliat, perhaps, Mr. Hervey
if he knew ihat 1 ihoughi of anything in the world
'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
I 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 dis-
pleased 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
Irs, Ormoad. ' My dear,' said she, ' you carry your ideas of
delicacy and gratitude lo an extreme ; but it is very natural
you should; however, you need not be afraid; Mr. Hervey
it be jealous of those charming heroes, that never existed,
though they are not quite like him.'
1 very glad that he would not think me imgratefu!^
but if he knew that I dream of ihem sometimes ? '
would think you dreamed, as all people do, of what
they think of in the daytime.'
'And he would rot be angry ? I am very glad of it. But
once saw a picture '
' I know you did — well,' said Mrs. Ormond, ' and your
grandmother was frightened because it was the picture of a
—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 inore pictures, you would not see
s 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 I '
' The same sort of things that those heroes I read of say lo
their mistresses.'
393
I
BELINDA
* And do you never, in your dreams, hear Mr. Henrey say
this sort of things ? '
*No.'
< And do you never see Mr. Hervey in these dreams ?'
' Someiimes ; hut 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 I 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 ; maybe you may get him to marry you, child 1 '
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 cir-
cumstance would pass away from her pupil's mind ; but on the
contrary, it left the most forcible impression, Virginia became
S9^
I- silent and melancholy, and whole hours were spent in reverie.
■ Mrs. Ormond imagined, that notwilhslanding Virginia's entire
I ignorance of the world, she had acquired from books sufficient
I knowledge to be alarmed at the idea of being taken for
r Clarence Heney's mistress. She touched upon this subject
with much delicacy, and the answers that she received con-
firmed her opinion. Virginia had been inspired by romances\
with the most exalted notions of female delicacy and honour 1 '
I but from het perfect ignorance, these were rather vague ideas,'
than principles of conduct.
' We shall see Mr. Hen'ey 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. Her\'ey will
try to discover the persons who insulted you, and he will punish
them- They will never return here ; you need not fear that.
; is willing and able to protect you.'
' Yes, of that I am sure. But what did that strange roan
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
1 answer,
' You do rot 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 he his wife ? '
VIRGINIA
BEUNDA
* I cannot tell you that, my dearest Vii^g^nia. Time will
show us. Perhaps his heart has not yet decided.'
* I wish it would decide,' said Vii^nia, sighing deeply;
* and I wish that strange man had not told me anything aboot
the matter ; it has made me \'ery unhappy.'
She covered her eyes with her hand, bu{4]^g_;(ga£^riclded
between her fingers, and rolled £ist down her ann. Mi&
Ormond, quite overcome by the sight of her distress, was no
longer able to keep the secret with which she had been en-
trusted by Clarence Hcrvey. 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 1 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
case 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 everything he said; you «////, one of these days, be Mr.
Her\'ey*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.
30
VIRGINIA
' But I do not wish lo marry him — I do not wia^^ma^T
' You are a modest girl to say so ; and this modesty will
lake you ten times more amiable, especially in Mr. Hervey's
^5. Heaven forbid that I should lessen it 1 '
The next morning Virginia, who always slept in the same
Voom with Mrs. Ormond, wakened her, by crying out in her
sleep, with a voice of terror, ' Oh, save him ! — save Mr. Hervey I
I — Mr. Hervey (^forgive me 1 forgive me 1 '
Mrs. Ormond drew back the curtain, and saw Vii^inia lying
' fast asleep ; her beautiflil face convulsed with agony.
' He's dead I — Mr. Hervey I ' cried she, in a voice of
iqoisite distress : then starting up, and stretching out her
ms, she uttered a piercing cry, and awoke.
' My love, you have been dreaming frightfully,' said Mrs.
Onnond,
. all a dream ? ' cried Virginia, looking round fearfully,
a dream, my dear I ' said Mrs. Ormond, taking her
band.
(1 very, very glad of it 1 — -Let me breathe. It was, in-
deed, a frightful dream ! '
' Your hand still trembles,' said Mrs, Ormond j ' let me put
I back this hair from your poor face, and you will grow cool, and
k forget this foolish dream.'
No ; I must teli it you. I ought to tell it you. But it was
o confused, I can recollect only some parts of it. First, I
■remember that I thought I was not myself, but the Virginia
nhat we were reading of the other night ; and I was somewhere
n the Isle of France. I thought the place was something like
5 forest where my grandmother's cottage used to be, only
Bthere were high mountains and rocks, and cocoa-trees, and
■ftlan tains.'
' Such as you saw in the prints of that book I '
'Yes; only beautiful, beautiful beyond description I And
was moonlight, brighter and clearer than any moonlight I
fever before had seen : and the air was fresh yet perfumed ; and
s 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 1 ' said Mrs. Ormond, smiling : ' that is Mr. Hervey.'
' No ; not Mr. Hervey's fece, though il
397
BELINDA
— 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 everything 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 un-
horsed 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, un-
grateful 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 vvctorious ? '
i9^
A DISCOVERY
' Your poor little head is full of nothing but these ri
and love for Mr. Hervey. Il 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
4
Instead of the open, childish, affectionate famiharity 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
Kpirits, which she vainly strove to conceal, he eagerly inquired,
rom Mrs. Ormond, into the cause of this alteration.
Mrs. Ormond's answers, and her account of all that had
Ipassed during his absence, increased his anxiety. His in*
rdignation was roused by the insult which Virginia had been
iofifered by the strangers who had scaled the garden-walL All
Jlis endeavours to discover who they were proved ineffectual ;
but, lest they should venture to repeat their visit, he removed
ier from Windsor, and took her directly to Twickenham.
Here he stayed with her and Mrs. Ormond some days, to deter-
mine, by his own observation, how far the representations that
ha.d been made to him were just. Tii! this period he had been
.persuaded that Virginia's regard for him was rather that of
^^ latitude than of love ; and with this opinion, he thought that
ie bad no reason seriously to reproach himself for theimprudence
with which he had betrayed the partiality that he felt for her in
the beginning of tlieir 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 happi-
ness were uninjured, his reason told him that he was not in
lOtit bound to constancy. The case was now altered. Un-
399
ii
BELINDA
willing as he was to believe, he could no longer doubt Vii:ginia
could neither meet his eyes nor speak to him without a d^^ree
of embarrassment which she had not sufficient art to conceal:
she trembled whenever he came near her, and if he looked
grave, or forebore 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 everything 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 someUiing 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 re-
tirement : 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 retire-
ment, Clarence accidently 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.
1/ Mr. Hervey could not be insensible to her distress or to her
I delicacy. He saw her bloom fading daily, her spirits depressed,
her existence a burden to her, and he feared that his own im-
prudence 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 extraordinary desperate.
/ C'^But here's a girl, who is of a melancholy temperament, who has
/ \ a great deal of natural sensibility, whose affections have all been
L«oncentrated, who has lived in solitude, whose imagination has
dwelt, for a length of time, upon a certain set of ideas, who has
A DISCOVERY
but one object of hope ; in such a mind, .ind in such circum-
Hances, passion may rise to a paroxysm of despair.'
Pity, generosity, and honour, made him resolve not to
dbandon this unfortunate girl ; though he felt that every time-
lie saw Virginia, his love for Belinda increased. It was this
ttnigglc in his mind betwixt love and honour which produced
dl the apparent inconsistency and irresolution that puzzled Lady
[)el3cour and perplexed Belinda. The lock of beautiful hair,
irfaich so unluckily fell at Belinda's feet, was Virginia's ; he was
oing to take it to the painter, who had made the hair in her
icture considerably too dark. How this picture got into the
achibition must now be explained.
Whilst Mr. Herveys mind was in that painful slate of doubt
irhich has just been described, a circumstance happened that
Dromised him some relief from his embarrassment. Mr. More-
Ion, the clergyman who used to read prayers every Sunday for
Mrs. Ormond and Virginia, did not come one Sunday at the
isual time : the next morning he called on Mr. Hervey, with
h face that showed he had something of importance to
Eommunicate.
' I have hopes, my dear Clarence,' said he, ' that I have
bund out your Virginia's father. Yesterday, a musical friend
pf mine persuaded me to go with him lo hear the singing at
Bie Asylimi for children in St. George's Fields. There is a
firl there who has indeed a charming voice — but that's not to
^tc present purpose. After church was over, I happened to he
bne of the last that stayed ; for I am too old to love bustling
iirough a crowd. Perhaps, as you are impatient, you think
bat's nothing to the purpose ; and yet it is, as you shall hear.
Vhen the congregation had almost left the church, I observed
diat the children of the Asylum remained in their places, by
of one of the governors i and a middle-aged gentleman
round amongst the elder girls, examined their counten-
liBices with care, and inquired with much anxiety their ages,
id every particular relative to their parents. The stranger
miniature picture in his hand, with which he compared
ich face. I was not near enough to him,' continued Mr.
toreton, ' to see the miniature distinctly : but from the glimpse
ight of it, I thought that it was tike your Virginia, though
seemed to be the portrait of a child but four or five years old.
understand that this gentleman will be at the Asylum again
401 ~
1
I
BELINDA
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 directOTS,
who was looking at his miniature, that it was remarkably veQ
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
anything 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 At's poor Rachel^ who was deadj 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 Foimdling
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
anything more about him.
Mr. Hervey now inserted proper advertisements in all the
papers, but without producing any efTect. 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
guestions about it, which might lead to a discovery. The
402
A DISCOVERY
articular |
who had painted this picture, was under particular
obligations to Clarence, and he promised that he would faith-
fully 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 dosed, 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 I^dy 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 tu 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 affiuence
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
Clarence determined immediately to follow him to Ports-
mouth ; 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 ])is admiration of Miss
Portman, and that in a thousand instances he had betrayed
)iis passion. Yet of her love he dared not trust himself to
J
BELINDA
think, whilst his afTairs were in this doubtful state. He had,
it is true, some fiunt hopes that a change in Virginia's situation
might produce an alteration in her sentiments, and he resolved
to decide his ovm 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 ^hionable 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 o^n 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 realisation 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 anywhere. 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 Ports-
mouth, 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 Effing?iamy 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
404
A DISCOVERY
afore this j for he was plaguy crazy in his timbers, and
d wanted righling, I take it, if it was he. Jack, who
walk the deck, you luiow, with a bit of a picture in his
3 which he seemed to be mumbling his prayers from
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 wailed, 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 passeng'ers, 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 1 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 informa-
tion ; 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 excur-
sion 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 j she
40 s
J
BELINDA
was for ever present to his mind : but while he was writing to
Lady Delacour, her idea pressed more strong-ly upon his heart;
he recollected that it was she who first gave him a just inaglit
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 powerfuUy to exdte
him to fresh exertions, and the eloquence which touched Lady
Delacour so much in these ^edifying* letters, as she called
them, was in iaxX inspired by Belinda.
Whenever he thought distinctly upon his future plans, Vir-
ginia'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 aimounced 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 him-
self. 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.*
A DISCOVERY
' 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 creiiture in the whole
' 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 1 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 1
s shocked more than I can express. I need not teii you all
the particulars ; it is enough that I have made inquiries, and
re, of what 1 say, that nothing but your marriage
with Vii^inia 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
'Since my return,' said Clarence, in an embarrassed voice,
• I have scarcely heard a syllable from Miss St. Pierre's lips.'
' Aliss Si. Pierre/ — He used to call me Virginia,' said she,
turning to Mrs. Ormond ; ' he is angry with me — he used to
call me Virginia.'
a child then, you know, my love," said Mrs.
Ormond.
'And I wish I was stili 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,
iccept as proofs that I can conquer my natural indolence ?'
The drawings were views which she had painted fixjm
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
nisbed forcibly into Clarence Herve/s mind at the sight of
401 ^
BELINDA
this cottage. The channing 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 stem voice in which her
grandmother spoke to her, — the prophetic fears of her protect-
ress,— 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 ! ' ex-
claimed he.
* I knew he would like them ! I told you so I * 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 ! '
*0h, 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 can-
'noifeel without having been taught ?'
A DISCOVERY
Clarence uttered a deep sigh.
' But if you feel too much, my dearest Virginia,^ — if y<
way to your feelings in this manner,' said Mrs. Ormond,
win make both yourself and Mr. Hervey unhappy.
' Heaven forbid I The first wish of tny soul i:
paused. ' I should be the most imgrateful wretch in [he 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
' 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 1 am not happy ;
I am sure I ought to be happy.'
'Do you regret your cottage ?' said Clarence : 'these draw-
ings 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
ol 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 anything 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 1 1 do not wish to conceal anything, but 1
think sincerity is not always in our sex consistent with — I
mean- — ^I don't know what I mean, what I say, or wliat I
otight 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 pupi'
409
r
BELINDA
* Do not be in the least apprehensive, my dear Virginia, that
we should take ungenerous advantage of the openness and sim^
plicity of your character,' said Mr. Hervey.
< Oh no, no ; I cannot, do not apprehend anything ungene-
rous 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. O 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 moving 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 cniel to
do so.' And with an air of offended dignity she passed them,
and qmiitd the room.
410
A DISCOVERY
' I wish lo Heaven I ' exclaimed Mrs. Ormon3,
rtman was married, and oul of the way^I shall never for-
give myself 1 We bave used this poor girl cruelly amongst us ;
6he loves you lo dislraction, and I have encouraged her passion,
ind I have betrayed her — oh, fool that I was ! 1 told her that
■be would certainly be your wife.'
'You have told her sol — Did I not charge you, Mrs.
Ormond ■
' Yes ; but 1 could not help it, when 1 saw the sweet girl
fading away^ — and, besides, 1 am sure she thought it, from your
jnanner, long and long before I told it to her. Do you forget
how fond of her you were scarce one short year ago f And do
you forget how plainly you let her see your passion ? Oh, how
n 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 unliappy ; she does not deserve lo be so.'
He walked backward and forward, with hasty steps, for
)ine minutes ; then sal down and wrote a letter to Virginia.
When he had finished it, he put it into Mrs. Ormond's
bands.
' 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'
. 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.
!s 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,
I to repeat her praises, she perceived he was gone. After the
~ X which he had made, he wished for time to tmnquillise
Ellis mind, before he should again see Virginia. What her
iwer to this letter would be he could not doubt : his fate was
y decided, and he determined immediately to write to Lady
jDelacour to enplain his situation ; he felt that he had not
{.sufficient fortitude at this moment lo make such an explanation
Xin person. With all the strength of his mind, he endeavoured
) exclude Belinda from his thoughts, but curiosity — (for he
■would suffer himself to call it by no otiier name) — curiosity to
(know whether she were actually engaged to Mr. Vincent
obtruded itself with such force, that it could not be resisted.
411
BELINDA
next Sunday ; I heard him express a wish to see some of the
girls who happened last Sunday to be absent'
* Do you Imow 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
anything 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 Rizcheiy who was deadj 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
anything 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 imghx \^2A vq ^ discovery. The
402
A DISCOVERY
ist, who had painted tliis picture, was under paTtii
(bligations to Clarence, and he promised that he would faith-
ally comply with his request, to be at Somerset House
tegularly every morning, as soon as the exhibition opened;
hat he would stay there till it dosed, and watch whether any
f the spectators were particularly struck with the portrait of
Virginia, If any person should ask questions respecting the
lure, he was to let Mr. Hervey know immediately, and to
e the inquirer his address.
Now it happened that the very day when Lady Delacour
ind Belinda were at the exhibition, the painter called Clarence
' ^e, and infomned him that a gentleman had just inquired
n him very eagerly, whether the picture of Virginia was a
portrait. This gentleman proved to be rot the stranger who
I been at the Asylum, but an ejninent jeweller, who told
Ir. Hervey that his curiosity about the picture arose merely
' s striking likeness to a miniature, which had been lately
eft at his house to be new set. It belonged to a Mr. Hartley,
L gentleman who had made a considerable fortune in the
IVest Indies, but who was prevented from enjoying his affluence
y the loss of an only daughter, of whom the miniature was a
portrait, taken when she was not more than four or five years
tild. When Clarence heard all this, he was extremely impatient
0 know where Mr. Hartley was to be found ; but the jeweller
muld 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 Ports-
nouth ; he had not a moment to spare, for the wind was
ICtually favourable, and his only chance of seeing Mr. Hartley
i by reaching Portsmouth as soon as possible. This was
cause of his taking leave of Belinda in such an abrupt
nner ; painful indeed were his feelings at that moment, and
it the difficulty be felt in parting with her, without giving
my explanation of his conduct, which must have appeared to
:r capricious and mysterious. He was aware that he had
tplicitly avowed to Lady Delacour his admiration of Miss
fortman, and that in a thousand instances he had betrayed
is passion. Yet of her love he dared not trust himacVf
403
J
BELINDA
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 realisation 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 anywhere. 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 Ports-
mouth, 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 \dngdom c:wcv^, w more likely to
A disco\t;rv
1, afore this ; for he was plaguy cfazy in his timbeis, B
itiis 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 bis
'Iiand, to which he seemed to be mutnbhng his prayers from
moraiog to night. There's no use in sounding for him,
master j 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
mould not desist from his sounding ; because ba^-ing so lately
heard of bim at different places, he could not believe that he
ls gone either into Davy's locker or to Bedlam. He Jma^ned
that, by some accident, Mr. Hartley had been detained upon
lie road to Portsmouth ; and in tlie expectation that he would
ertainly arrive before the fleet should sail, Clarence waited
with tolerable patience. He wailed, 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 ihc
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 infonna-
tion ; 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
n the heart of Virginia. He made a tour along the picturesque
□asts of Dorset and Devonshire, and it was during this excur-
ion 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
Icentred in Belinda. If he saw new characters, he compared
ttiem 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
bis 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,
s because he dared not trust himself to speak of her ; she
40s
BELINDA
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 fi-esh 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, Vir-
ginia'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 him-
self. 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.^
406
1 recollect the
yours, — when
in the whole
A DISCOVERY
B sorry for it,' said Clarence.
'And why — oh why, Mr. Herveyf DonH y<
e when you were all impatience to call hei
roa thought her the most charming creaturt
rorld ? '
' 1 had not seen Belinda Portman then.'
' And I wish to Heaven you never had seen her ! But oh,
lirely, Mr. Hervey, you will not desert my Virginia 1 — -Must
N health, her happiness, her reputation, all be the sacrifice ? '
'Reputation I Mrs. Ormond.'
' Reputation, Mr. Hervey : you do not know in what a light
le is considered here ; nor did I till lately. But I tell yon her
mutation is injured — fatally injured. It is whispered, and
lore than whispered everywhere, that she is your mistress. A
1 came here the other day with the bullfinch, and she
ind spoke in such an extraordinary way, that 1
e than 1 can express. I need not tell you all
t is enough that I have made inquiries, and
;, of what I say, that nothing but your marriage
e her reputation ; or '
Mrs. Ormond stopped short, for at this instant Virginia
Dtered the room, walking in her slow manner, as if she were
k a deep reverie.
,' said Clarence, in an embarrassed voice,
1 have scarcely heard a syllable from Miss St. Pierre's lips.'
'Afist St. Pierre! — He used lo call me Virginia,' said she,
iming to Mrs. Ormond ; ' he is angry with me — he used to
1 me Virginia.'
' But you were a child then, you know, my love,' said Mrs,
ttmond.
'And I wish I was still a child,' said Virginia, Then, after
.long pause, she approached Mr. Hervey with extreme timidity,
nd, opening a portfolio which lay on the table, she said [o him,
If you are at leisure^if 1 do not interrupt you — would you
tt these drawings ; though they are not worth your seeing,
itcept as proofs that I can conquer my natural indolence ?'
The drawings were views which she had painted from
lemory, of scenes in the New Forest, near her grandmother's
Dttagc. That cottage was drawn with an exaclness that proved
ow fresh it was in her remembrance. Many recollections
Dshed forcibly into Ciarence Hervey's mind at the sight of
401
ESWL
lis iocT. — .±e g'^'^ :3e Trm^rsit
im^ciaesc rise a
ID his menKny.
jixLf' said Miginn; and tbea
; :bej are scrpiisiiigly irdl dcHie ! ' ex-
far-if* be.
M k-«T bs vrxJd Zke dtexn! ItDldyoaso!' akd Mis.
Onaxid, ir a tr-:zz.pca=r socc
'Ycc see." said \lrgir5a. 'that dioagli yoo lare heard
scarcely a syllable £:oLik 3^055 Si. Picfie^s hps smce your leliini,
yet she has zmc becc camindfel of yoor wishes m your absence.
Yoa tc^d her, s<MDe iroe ago, that yoa wished she would try to
improre in drawizkg. 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
graiituiU.
Mrs. Ormond pronounced it for her ; and added, * I can
answer for it, that Mrginia is not ungrateful'
* Ungrateful I * 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, aflfectionately 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 ! '
*0h, I am — I am — I am ungrateful to you,' cried she,
sobbing ; * but Mrs. Ormond never told me so ; do not blame
licr : she has never worked upon my sensibility. Do you
Ihink,' said she, looking up, while a transient expression of
indignation passed over her countenance, * do you think I can-
Yioi/ccl without having been taught?'
A DISCOVERY
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 1
will make both yourself and Mr. Hervey unhappy.'
' Heaven forbid ! The first wish of my soul is ' bhc
paused. * ! should be the most ungrateful wretch in the world,
if 1 were to make him unhappy,'
' But if he sees yoil miserable, Virginia ? ' .
' Then he shall not see it,' said she, wiping the tears from I
her face. '
' To imagine that you were unhappy, and that you concealed
it from us, would be still worse,' said Clarence.
' Cut why should you imagine it?' replied Virginia; 'you
are too good, too kind ; but do not fancy that 1 am not bappy :
1 am sure I ought to be happy.'
' Do you regret your cottage ? ' said Clarence ; ' these draw-
ings show how well you remember it,'
Virginia coloured ; and with some hesitation, answered, ' Is
t my fault if I cannot forget ? '
"'ou 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
orking 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 anything 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 I do not wish to conceal anything, but I
Qiink sincerity is not always in our sex consistent with — I
^^ ^I don't know what I mean, what I say, or what I
Bughl to say,' cried Virginia ; and she sunk down on a sofa, in
xtreme confusion.
'Why win you agitate lier, Mrs, Ormond, in this manner?'
aid Mr. Hervey, with an expression of sudden anger. It was
Wccceded by a look of such tender compassion for Virginia,
Oiat Mrs. Otmond rejoiced to have escJted his anger ; at any
e she wished to serve her beloved pupil.
409
i
BELINDA
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
anything 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 Rachely 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
anything 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, wYvicVv m\^\vX \^^.^ \ft ^ dx^covery. The
w
A DISCOVERY
young anisl, who had painted this picture, was under particuUr
obligations to Clarence, and he promised that he would faith-
fully 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 sfiectators 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
' y ihe loss of an only daughter, of whom the miniature was a
portrait, taken when she was not more than four or five years
When Clarence heard all this, he was extremely impatient
Jo 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
s leaving town in a great hurry to go to I'ortsmouth, to join
the West India fleet, which was to sail with the first favourable
wind-
Clarence determined immediately to follow him to Ports-
mouth : he had not a moment to spare, for the wind was
ictually favourable, aod his only chance of seeing Mr. Hartley
vas by reaching Portsmouth as soon as possible. This was
ause of his taking leave of Belinda in such an abrupt
ler i 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
lier capricious and mysterious. He was aware that he had
sxplicitly avowed to Lady Delacour his admiration of Miss
Portman, and that in a thousand instances he had betrayed
" ; passion. Yet of her love he dared not trust himself W
403
BEUNDA
Clarence instantly knew it to be Vii^nia ; but as he ns
upon the point of making some joyful exclamation, he fek Dl
X touch his shoulder, and lo(4dng up at Mr. Haitleyi be
saw in his countenance such strong wortdngs of passion, ftat
he prudently suppressed his own emotion, and calmly said,
* It would be cruel, sir, to give yon &lse hopes.'
''It would kill me — it would kill me^ sir! — or wone!—
worse ! a thousand times worse 1 ' cried Mr. Hardey, potdng
his hand to his forehead. < What,' continued he imp^ywrfly,
< what was the meaning of the look you gave, when you fint
saw that picture? Speak, if you have any humaahyl JXA
you ever see any one that resembles that jHCture ? '
U have seen, I think, a picture^' said Clarence Hfiifcy^
' that has some resemblance to it'
« When ? where ? *
< My good sir/ said Dr. X ^ * let me recommend it lo
you to consider that there is scarcely any possibility ofjviAgmg,
from the features of children, of what thdr feces may be vin
they grow up. Nothing can be more fellacious than-.4|||iB
accidental resemblances between the pictures of childrat^i^
of grown-up people.'
Mr. Hartley's countenance fell
* But,' added Clarence Hervey, * you will perliaps, sir, dunk
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 gvod 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.
■
ii« ^
IHtt
m
1
•
i
1
■
HI
Hi
Kk. 1
1 V^*
w^
11
UhlfMtlff ^11 lagtntS!, Mr. Ilartliy dmu Kiar
^
.d
BEUNDA
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 com-
mand 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 conunand, 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. Hartle/s mind was so intent that he
could not listen to anything, but at last Clarence engaged his
attention and suspended his anxiety, by giving him a history
of his own connection 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
^16
A DISCOVERY
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 lo
her own decision. It was necessary to make this stipulation
with her father i 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
acl 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 ;
ihen died, and left his widow absolutely in penury. This widow
was the old lady who lived in the cottage in the New Forest.
I[ 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, not-
withstanding the repeated, urgent entreaties of his wife and of
her mother, who was her only surviving relation. His wife,
I her death-bed, wrote to urge him to take charge of his
daughter ; and, to make the appeal stranger to his feelings,
ienl him a picture of his little girl, who was then about
I four years old. Mr. Hartley, however, was intent upon form-
i new connection 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, ■
1 schemes of aggrandisement. The boy lived till he was about
2E 417
tea jran old, «MH^^^^^H^^^^Hft al that tmie
tagcd in Jannira, imd, lAer a fav 'm^ Sness, died. His
motber sas curied offbr the nnc disease ; and >lr. Haitkf,
left akme in the midst of Us vcahfa, fell bow insufficient it
was to bapptocssL Renorae now seiied hint ; be recnnied to
Ellwand ia searcfa at his deserted da^^ht^. To this negleaed
clttld be BOW (ooked forvaid for the peace and happiness cf
ibe letnainder of his life. DisappointiDent in all his inquiries
for soote iDOfUfas pre^-ed opoin his spirits to such a degree, thai
bis intellects were at times disordered ; this deraageic^it was
tbe cause of bis not sooner recovering his child. He was in
COnfinenMOt during the time that Clarence Hervej''s advwtise-
inents were insertnl in the papers ; and his illness was also the
cause of his not going to Portsmouth, and s^bng in the Effing-
ham, as he had originally intended. The history of his conneclion
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 recovay
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 Hen'ty.
This is Ibe 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 Vii^^inia 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, everything 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.
I DISCOVERY
rThe first moment that Mrs. Ormond began to speak i«
Mr. Clarence Hervey's hopes of discovering her father, she
was transported with joy.
^Wy father! — How delightful that word ^//icr sounds 1 —
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 majte it the
whole business of my life to please him I '
' The -wlwh 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 f I wish that
my father may be vity rich.'
' That is the last wish that I should have expected to hear
from you, my Virginia.'
' But do you nut know why I wish it i" — 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."
would not love you the better, my dear,' said Mrs.
Ormond, ' if you had the wealth of the Indies. Perhaps your
&ther may not be rich ; therefore do not set your heart upon
ithis idea."
Virginia sighed : fear succeeded to hope, and her imagina-
,tion immediately reversed the bright picture that it had drawn.
' But I am afraid,' said she, ' that (his gentleman is not my
her — how disappointed 1 shall be ! 1 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 1 should ; and you may be sure he would not
e 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.
Ind, even if I were quite certain of his being my father, how
can I be certain tliat he will not disown me^he, who has
deserted me so long ? My grandmother, I remember, often
D say that he had no natural affection."
4ig
BELINDA
* Your grandmother was mistaken, then ; for he has heen '
searching for his child all over England, Mr. Harvey 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 caxmot 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 imagin-
ing 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
anybody else J
* 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 anything 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.
420
A DISCOVERY
' My child I — the image of her mother 1 '
Itoppiog short : he sunk upon a. chair.
' My father ! ' cried Virginia, springing forward, and throw-
Bg herself at his feet.
'The voice of her mother!' said Mr. Hartley, 'My
ilaughtet ! — My long lost child 1 '
He tried to raise her, but could not ; her arms were clasped
round his knee, her fn.ce rested upon it, and when he stooped
3 kiss her cheek, he found it cold — she had fainted.
When she came to her senses, and found herself in her
. lather's arms, she could scarcely believe that it was not a
' Your blessing ! — give me yout blessing, and then I shall
ow that you are indeed my father ! ' cried Vit^nia, kneeling
to him, and looking up with an enthusiastic expression of filial
piety in her countenance.
' God bless you, my sweet child 1 ' said he, laying his hand
upon her ; ' and Cod foi'give your fether I '
' My grandmother died without giving me her blessing,' said
Virginia ; 'but now I have been blessed by my father I Happy,
happy moment 1 — Oh that she could look down from heaven,
and see us at this instant I '
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 sen-
I^Sibility was over, she might, to an indifferent spectator, have
q)peared stupid and insensible. Mrs. Ormond, though far
1 indifferent spectator, was hy no means & penetrating
HUdge of the human heart : she seldom saw more than the
jitenial symptoms of feeling, and she was apt to be rather
mpatient with her friends if theirs did not accord with her own.
' Virginia, my dear,' said she, in rather a reproachful tone,
P Mr. Hervey, you see, has left the room, on purpose to leave
■t full liberty to talk to your father | and I am going — but
' I have so much to say, and my heart is so full I ' said
l/irginia.
' Yes, 1 know you told me of a thousand things that you
0 say to your father, btfore you saw him.'
tut now I see him, I have forgotten iliem all. I can
hink of nothing but of him.
431
iJ
BELINDA
* Of him and Mr. Hervey,' said Mrs. Onnond.
' I was not thinking of Mr. Hervey at that moment,' ssud
Virginia, hlushing.
* 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 further, 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 seduded.
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 com-
manding 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 re-
peatedly.
* 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 ! '
422
A DISCOVERY
And had you never anything to give to Mr. Hervey till
'Never! never! he has given me everything. Now— O
joyfu! day ! — I can prove to him that Virginia is not ungrateful ! '
' Dear, generous girl,' said her father, wiping the tears from
Is eyes, ' what a daughter have I found t But tell me, my
ichild,' 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 i Nay, do
not turn away that dear blushing face from me ; remember it
"s your faiker who speaks to you. Mr. Hervey will not take
your fortune without yourself, I am afraid ; what shall we do ?
" ' ist I refuse him your hand f '
' Refuse him ! do you think that I could refuse him any-
thing, who has given me everything ? — 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 il,
and tell me if you approve of it f '
' I do approve of it, my darling child : I will not read it^I
ow what it must be : he has a right to the preference he
s so nobly earned.'
'Oh, he has^he has, indeedl' cried Virginia, with an
expression of strong feeling ; ' and now is the time to show
him that 1 am not ungrateful.'
' How I love you for this, my child 1 ' cried her father,
fondly embracing her. ' This is exactly what 1 wished, though
J 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.'
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 1 was poor '-^ami deser/ed, she was near
saying, but she stopped herself,
BELINDA
< 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 in-
justice by imagining that my sentiments could alter with my
situation. He litde 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 — ^yoa
deser\'e 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 philo-
sophic composure to which, at his first entrance into the room,
he had worked up his mind. The tranquillity which he had
42 iv
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 ii\anner when she looked from him to Behnda, and from
Belinda to Mr. Vincent, persuaded him her ladyship wished
that he were in Mr, Vincent's place. Tlie idea was so de-
lightful, that his soul was entranced, and for a few minutes
Vii^inia, and everything 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 fell 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 ; hut
having brought up Clarence Hervey's affairs to the present
day, we shall continue his history.
CHAPTER XXVin
Though Clarence Hervey was not much disposed to see either
Virginia or her father whilst he was in the state of perturbation
o which he had been thrown by his interview with Belinda,
yet he did not delay to send his servant home with a note to
1. Ormond, to say that he would meet Mr, Hartley, when-
ever he pleased, at his lawyer's, to make whatever arrangements
might be necessary for proper settlements.
\s he saw no possibility of receding with honour, he, with
becoming resolution, desired to urge things forward as fast as
r possible, and to strengthen in his mind the sense of the
V necessity of the sacrifice that he was bound to make. His
L _L i-
J
BEUNDA
passions were naturally impetuous, but he had by persevering
ciTorts 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 fevour ; 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.
426
E O
He descanted at length upon the difficulties, as the world
goes, of meeting with a confidential friend, whom it is prudent
1 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
I 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, etc.
'And a lover of Miss Portman's— that is the most material
part of the story to me^ continued Lord Delacour; 'for other-
wise, you know, Mr. Vincent would be no more to me than
any other gentleman. But in that point of view-^I mean as
1. lover of Belinda Porfman, and I may say, not quite unlikely
:o be her husband — he is highly interesting to my Lady
Delacour, and to me, and to you, as Miss Portman's well-
wisher, doubdess.'
' 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
come to her (my Lady Delacour's) knowledge, that before
s Portman was at Oakly Park last summer, and after she
it this autumn, Mr, Vincent was a constant visitor at Mrs.
Luttridge's, whilst at Harrowgale, and used to play high
(though unknown to the Percivals, of course) at billiards
with Mr. Lutlridge^a man, I confess, 1 disliked always,
even when 1 carried the election for them. But no matter ;
s not from enmity 1 speak now. But it is very well known
BELINDA
that Luttridge has but a small fbrttine, 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, 1 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 connection
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.
0 Mr. Hervey, you do not — ^you cannot know her merit, as
1 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
everyday 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
42^
E O
such. I always — hut this is between ourselves — suspected
that I did not lose my litst 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
bis confidence was not misplaced. His lordship little suspected
that he had heen 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 under-
standing 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 he disturbed
by his coming so early ; and, fortunately, Mrs. Luttridge was
detained some minutes by Lady Newland's lingering glass of
Madeira. In the meantime, 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
BELINDA
that the table was not perfectly horizontal ; and it occurred to
him, that perhaps the £ O table might be so contrived as to
put the fortunes of all who played at it in the power of tbe
proprietor. Clarence had sufficient ingenuity to invent the
method by which this might be done ; and he had the in-
fallible means in his possession of detecting the fraud. The
£ 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 conse-
quence 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 fete,
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 upstairs.
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
\7P
' circumstances of his own situalion. During three hours lliat
he stayed at Mrs. Luttridge's, Mr. Vincent never joined any of
the parties at play ; but, just a.s he was going away, he heard
someone say — ■' How comes it, Vincent, that you've been idle
all night f ' This question revived Mr. Hervey's suspicions ;
and, uncertain what report he should make to Lord Deiacour,
he resolved to defer making any, till he had farther oppor-
tunities of judging.
When Mr. Hervey asked himself how it was possible that
die 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 tlien confined to (rifles, it had been passed
over, as a thing of no consequence, a boyish folly, (hat would
never grow up with him : his father used to see him, day af^er
day, playing with eagerness at games ofchance, 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 I
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 Jn 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 i
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 Ae
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/ee/irigs of a man of honour
were to be his guide in the first and bst appeal ; and for his
43'
Jd
BELINDA
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 in-
experienced, sanguine minds ! — ^Whilst young Vincent was
immediately under his g^uardian'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
^ecause 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
.. , acted, and suffered i
1 Belinda Mt tJakl)' Park "lor (
onsequent to violeot passion became insupportable ; and to
]sole himself for her absence he fleiv to the billiard-table.
notion of some kind or other was become necessary to him ;
lie said that not to feel was' not to live ; and soon the
nispense, the anxiety, the hopes, the fears, the perpetual ]
' ;situdes of a gamester's life, seemed to him almost as
ielightful as those of a lover's. Deceived by these appear-
, Mrs. Luttridge thought that his affection for Belinda
cither was or might be conquered, and her hopes of obtaining
;liis fortune for her niece Annabella revived. As Mr. Vincent
cotdd 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
~ vour, by representing her indignation at Harriofs conduct to
! such that it had occasioned a total breach in their friend-
ship. Mrs. Freke's sudden departure from Harrowgate con-
iGnned the probability of this quarrel ; yet these two ladies
*ere secretly leagued together in a design of breaking off Mr,
Vincent's match with Belinda, against whom Mrs, Freke had
rowed revenge. The anonymous letter, which she hoped
Jrould work her purpose, produced, however, an effect totally
tmexpected upon his generous mind ; he did not guess the
irriter ; but his indignation against such base accusations
lurst forth with a violence that astounded Mrs. Luttridge.
^ for Belinda appeared ten times more enthusiastic
n before — the moment she was accused, he felt himself her
jflefender, as well as her lover. He was dispossessed of the
*vil spirit of gambling as if by a miracle; and the billiard-
lable, and Mrs. Luttridge, and Miss Annabella, vanished from
He breathed nothing but love ; he would ask no
5n, he would wait for none from Belinda ; he declared
t instant he would set out in search of her, and he would
r that infamous letter to atoms in her presence ; he would
iw her how impossible suspicion was to his nature. The first
riolence of the huiTicane Mrs. Luttridge could not stand, and
bought not of opposing ; but whilst his horses and curricle
re getting ready, she took such an affectionate leave of his
J Juba, and she protested so much that she and Annabella
lould not know how to live without poor Juba, that Mr.
433 ~
BELINDA
\'incent, who was excessively fScmd of his dog, could not help
s>-mpathising in their sorrow : reasoning* just as well as they
wished, he extended his belief in their afTection 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 her-
self 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 desen-es 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 \\'ith 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
Ipelinda 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
J her and lo her aunt ' the most extraordinary thing upon
earth ' ; and when it was contrasted with their excessive fond-
j, it seemed lo him indeed unaccountable. From pure
consideration for her ladyship's nerves, Mrs. Luttridge peti-
tioned Vincent to leave the dog with her, that Helena might
"□ such imminent danger from 'the animal's monstrous
jaws.' The petition was granted ; and as Ihe petitioners fore-
Tuba became to them a most useful auxiliary. Joba's
r 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
's 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 unin-
terested where all were busy and eager in one common pursuit ;
0 his generous temper it seemed un gentleman I ike 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 cou/d 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 Anna-
bella's succeeding, even with the assistance of Juba and delicate
fSgBgibility. So the aunt, careless of her niece's disappointment,
determined that Mr. Vincent should be ^ervictim; and sensible
that she must not give him time for reflection, she hurried him
m, 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
■ &ivour, if he tried her with sufficient perseverance.
The horror, the agony of mind, which he endured at this
idden niin which seemed impending over him — the recoUec-
435 I
BEUXDA
tion of Belinda, of Mr. PercK-al, almost drove him to distraction.
He retreated from the £ O taUe one night, swearing that he
never would hazard another guinea. But his ruin was not yet
romplcte — 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 r^iain
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
Her\-ey 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 everything 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 re-
ceived by Annabella and her aunt ; but after diimer, when one
of the ser\'ants whispered to Mrs. Luttndge, 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 nught 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 £ 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 Ys 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 Anna-
bella, 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
43^
E O
had occasioned it. He could not endure, after his high
e himself humbled by his rash confidence in him-
self^ and he secretly vowed, that if he could but reinstate himself,
by one night's good luck, he would forever quit the society of
gamblers. A few months before Ibis 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 hia^nrida
V reconciled him to the meanness of concealment ; and here,
acuteaess of his feelings was to his own mind an excuse for
dissimulation : so fallacious is mora! 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
3 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 stupefied ; the hum of voices scarcely reached
V 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
rotised 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?
e again to-night to watch me ? — to enjoy my ruin ?^ — to be
1-eady to carry the first news of it to Belinda ? '
At (his last thought, Vincent struck his closed hand with
violence against his forehead ; and rushing by Mr. Hervey, who
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 de-
termined to brave the observing eyes of Clarence Hervey, who
e table, he affected extravagant gaiety ; he ate,
drank, talked, and laughed, more than any of the company.
Toward the end of the supper, his dug, who was an inmate at
437
BELINDA
Mrs. Luttridge's, licked his hand to put him in mind that lie
had given him noihing to eat.
' Drink, Juba I — drink, and never have done, boy ! ' oW
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 ihe flowers, which ornamented the table, he swore thai Jute
should henceforward be called Anacreon, and that he deserved
to be crowned with roses by the band of beauty. The to
Annabella instandy 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
'Down, Juba I — down, sir, down !' cried Mrs, Luttridge, in
' Down, Juba I — down, sir ! ' repeated Mr. Vincent, in a tone
of bitter feeling, al! his assumed gaiety forsaking him at this
instant : ' Down, Juba ! — down, sir, down 1 ' as low as yooT
master, thought he ; and pushing back his chair, he rose fi^m
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 Aima-
beila smiled with a grace as attractive j 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 firoin
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 couid tell, for no one had seen him ; the only information
he could gain was, that he might possibly be heard of at Nerot^
Hotel, or at Governor Montford's, in Portland Place. The
hotel was but a few 'j^ti& (torn Wn, l-uttridge's, Clarence
out.
'ent there directly, He asked for Mr, Vincent. One of the
aiters said, that be was not yet come in ; but another called
Mr. Vincent, sir, did you say ? I have just shown him
'Which is the roo
' Not to-nighl — you
won't let you in, I can '.
minutes ago, with somf
but he would not let mi
and he swore terribly.
- — for my life I dare no
'Where is his own
here ? — Mr. Vincent's r
-I 1
I see him instantly,' cried
can't see him now, sir. Mr. Vincent
ssure you, sir. I went up myself three
letters, that came whilst he was away,
in. 1 heard him double-lock the door,
I can't go up again at this time o'night
n? — Has Mr. Vincent any servant
! ' cried Clarence ; ' let me see him 1 '
'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 un-
lock 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 heaxd 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
I
E O
'"^covering the power of speech, 'Is this ihe conduct of a
Sentleman, Mr. Hervey — of a man of honour,' cried he, ' thus
to intrude upon my privacy ; to be a spy upon my actions ; to
t-riumph in my ruin ; to witness my despair ; to rob me of the
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 — 1 know it ; you are my rival ;
I know it ; Belinda loves you 1 Nay, affect not to start — this
le 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
duel. Vou have been a spy upon my actions — -1 demand
Ltisfaction. If you have one spark of honour or of courage
idiin you, Mr. Hervey, show it now^ — tight me, sir, openly as
to man, rival to rival, enemy to enemy — fire.'
If you fire upon me, j-ou will repent it,' replied Clarence
calmly ; 'for 1 am not your enemy — I am not your rival'
YoQ are' interrupted Vincent, raising his voice to the
highest pitch of indignation; 'you are my rival, though you
^rc not avow it 1 The denial is base, false, unmanly. O
Belinda, is this the being you prefer to mef Gamester —
wretch, as I am, my soul never stooped to felsehood ! 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, ' 1 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 he 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 ^.iii/ the action of an enemy?
^jsejajiiLteaaon^
' 1 cannot,' said Vincent, striking his forehead ; ' I know
not what to think— I am not master of myself 1 conjure you,
for your own sake, to leave me.'
■ For my <nvn sake ! ' repeated Hervey, disdainfully : ' I am
BELINDA
not thinking of myself; nor can anything you have said pro-
voke 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 Herveys 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 1 — 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 re-
morse 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 1
believe to be true, that Ihe agoiv^ ^ou V^sln^ felt this night, the
7
E O
Qear-bought experience you have had, will be for ever a
Warning.'
' A warning ! ' interrupted Vincent : ' Oh, (hat it could yet
be useful to me I — But I tell you il comes too late — nothing
■7" 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 losL'
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 bas 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 Jet 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
approbat ion '
Farewell, good night,' interrupted Clarence ; ' I see that I
have made a friend — I was determined that Belinda's husband
should be my friend — 1 have succeeded beyond my hopes. And
now I will intrude no longer,' said he, as he closed the doot
after him. His sensations at this instant were more delightfuA
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 1
BELINDA
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.
1 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 Vie was seivl fox b^ his uncle, Governor
A JEW
__._. 1, 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 leller 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
1 Mr. Hervey, and learnt from him the news
pf his approaching marriage. Miss Fortman, at the conclusion
rf her letter, informed him that Lady Delacour purposed being
I Berkeley Square the next day ; that they were to spend
tt week in town, on account of Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who
"lad promised her ladyship a visit ; and to go to Twickenham
would be a formidable journey to an infirm old lady, who
(cldom 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
lelinda's room, with an air of more than usual sprighdiness
md satisfaction. ' Great news ! — ^Great news ! — Extraordinary
s very imprudent to excite your expectations,
giy dear Belinda. Fray, did you hear a wonderful noise in the
e a little while ago ? '
'Yes, I thought I heard a great bustle; but Marriott
ftppeased my curiosity, by saying that it was only a battle
two dogs.'
s well if this battle between two dogs do not end in a
due! between two men,' said Lady Delacour.
' This prospect of mischief seems to have put your ladyship
1 wonderfully good spiiits,' 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
lerfect as he is, was flattered by the little coquette ; and
lerhaps he condescends to repay her in "
ake it for granted — for I always fill up the gaps in a siory my
iwn way — 1 take it for granted that Mr. Vincent got int
445
BELINDA
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 re-
quest 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 ntaillard^
vulgarly called blind maris 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, un-
conscious of his dignity as an ambassador, or rather as a
chargJ d^affairesy set out on his way home. As he was cross-
ing 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 ttc\avm^d. Vvvs* r£\a.ster's property with
A JEW
^M great intrepidity; and a gentlGman who was present took his
^P part immediately.
W ' In the meantime, Lord Delacour, who had been looking
I at the battle from out breakfast-room window, determined to
V go over to Dangerfield's, to see what was the matter, and how
I all this would end. He entered the library just as the gentle-
I man who had volunteered in fevour of poor Juba was disputing
P 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 livery extraordinary,
damme 1 "—or words to that effect.
' Now, Lord Delacour, besides being a man of honour, is
also a man of humanity. 1 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
I gentleman who had joined in his defence, he brought Juba
across the square to our house. Guess for what ; — to try upon
tiie strained ankle an infallible qnack balsam recommended to
him by the Dowager Lady Boucher. 1 was in the hall when
Ihey brought the poor fellow in ; Marriott was called. " Mrs.
Marriott," cried my lord, " pray let us have Lady Boucher's
mfeliible balsam — this instant ! " Had you but seen the eager-
ness of face, or heard the emphasis, with which he said
"/n^/A"i/e 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 1 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, 1 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
vay suspicions about E O were unfounded ; and I am truly
BELINDA
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
1 impulse than of steady principle. But when the tide of passion
had swept away the landmarks, he had no method of ascertain-
ing the boundaries of right and wrong. Upon the present
occasion his love for Belinda confounded all his moral calcula-
tions : 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 vacillat-
ing 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 un-
suspecting 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 -'
A JEW
'You would say wrong, then,' replied Mr. Vincent,
mstrained voice. He was upon the point of telling the truth
It to gain a reprieve of a few minutes, he entered into a
iefence of his conduct towards Miss Luttridge.
The sudden return of Lady Delacour relieved him from his
pmbarrassmenC, and they conversed only on general subjects
during the remainder of the evening ; and he at last departed,
ecretly rejoicing that he was, as he fancied, under the necessity
"postponing his explanation ; he even thought of suppressing
le history of his transaction with Mrs. Luttridge. He knew
lat his secret was safe with Clarence Hervey : Mrs. Luttridge
rould be silent for her own sake ; and neither Lady Delacour
Belinda had any connection with her society.
I. few days afterward, Mr. Vincent went to Gray, the
Eweller, for some trinkets which he had bespoken. Lord
Jelacour was there, speaking about the diamond ring, which
Sray had promised to dispose of for him. Whilst his lordship
Mr. Vincent were busy about their own affairs. Sir Philip
laddely and Mr. Rochfort came into the shop. Sir Philip and
"Ir. Vincent had never before met. Lord Delacour, to prevent
m from getting into a quarrel about a lady who was so little
rorth fighting for as Miss Annabella Luttridge, had positively
efused to tell Mr. Vincent what he knew of the affair, or to let
n know the name of the gentleman who was concerned in it.
The shopman addressed Mr. Vincent by his name, and
lamediately Sir Philip whispered to Rochfort, that Mr. Vincent
the master of the black.' Vincent, who unluckily over-
eard him, instantly asked Lord Delacour if that was the
entleman who had behaved so ill to his servant ? Lord
Jelacour told him that it was now of no consequence to inquire.
If,' said his lordship, 'either of these gentlemen choose to
ccost you, I shall think you do rightly to retort ; but for
leaven's sake do not begin the attack \ '
Vincent's impetuosity was not to be restrained ; he de-
,nded from Sir Philip, whether he was the person who had
servant ? Sir Philip readily obliged him with an
the affirmative ; and the consequence was the loss
a finger to the baronet, and a wound in the side to Mr.
icent, which, though it did not endanger his life, yet con-
taed him to his room for several days. The impatience of
mind increased his fever, and retarded his recovery.
-449
;, M^^
BELINDA
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 re-
straint 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,
downstairs, 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, precipit-
ately returned to his own room, and threw himself into a chair,
breathless with agitation. He listened, expecting to hear Mr.
Percival coming upstairs, and endeavoured to compose him-
self, 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, PercivaFs note was as follows ; —
4S^
A JEW
My dear Friend! — Am not I a happy man, to find a
End in my ci-devant ■wxed ? Bui I have no time for sentiment ;
does it become the character, in which I am now writing to
—that of a DUN. You are so rich, and so prudent, that the
d in capital letters cannot frighten you. Lady Anne's cousin,
r Mr. Carysfort, is dead. I am guardian id his boys ; they
Ee but ill provided for. 1 have fortunately obtained a partner-
good house for the second son. Ten thousand
Dunds are wanting to establish him — we cannot raise the
mney amongst us, without dunning poor Mr. Vincent. En-
tosed is your bond for the purchase-money of the little estate
bought from me last summer. I know that you have
Duble the sum we want in ready money — so I make no
aremony. Let me have the ten thousand this evening, if you
I wish to leave town as soon as possible, — Yours most
ncerely, Henry Percival.'
Now Mr. Vincent had lost, and had actually paid to Mrs.
^tridge, the ready money which had been destined to dis-
liarge his debt to Mr. Percival : he expected fresh remit-
ices from the West Indies in the course of a few weeks ;
t, in the meantime, he must raise this money immediately :
5 he could only do by having recourse to Jews-^a desperate
[pedient. The Jew, to whom he applied, no sooner dis-
jvered that Mr, Vincent was under a necessity of having this
before eight o'clock in the evening than he became ex-
ibitant in his demands ; and the more impatient this un-
Rtunate young man became, the more difGculties he raised.
last, a bargain was concluded between them, in which
Incent knew that he was grossly imposed upon i but lo this
submitted, for he had no alternative. The Jew promised
bring him ten thousand pounds at five o'clock in the
rening, but it was half after seven before he made his appear-
; and then he was so dilatory and circumspect, in reading
and signing the bonds, and in completing the formalities
$ the transaction, that before the money was actually in
Scent's possession, one of the waiters of the hotel knocked
the door to let him know that Mr. Percival was coming up-
lairs. Vincent hurried the Jew into an adjoining apartment,
nd bid him wait there, till he should come to finish (he
isiness. Though totally unsuspicious, Mr. Percival could
451 ~
BELINDA
not help being struck ivith the peituTbaiion in which he fbund
his young friend. Vincent immediateiy began to talk of the
duel, and his friend was led to conclude that his anxiety
from this affair. He endeavoured lo 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.
' 1 hope,' said he, observing that Vincent grew
embarrassed, ' that my dunning you for this money
'Not in the least— not in the least. I have the money
ready — in a few moments — if you'l! be so good as lo wait here
— I have the money ready in ihe next room.'
At this instant a loud noise was heard— the rais
of two people quarrelling. It was Juba, the black, and
A JEW
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
his master's bedchamber, to read at his leisure a letter
which he had just received from his wife. He did not at first
; the Jew, and he was spelling out the words of his wife's
letter.
' My dear Juba,
' I lake this op-por-tu — '
— nity he would have said ; but ihe Jew, who had held his
breath in to avoid discovery, till he could hold it no longer,
V drew it so ioud, 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
Irere out of the question, our negro was a man of courage ; he
^lad no doubt that the man who was concealed behind the
surtain was a robber, but the idea of a robber did not unnerve
lim like that of an Obeah woman. With presence of mind
irorthy of a greater dang'er, Juba took down his master's pistol,
hrhich hung over the chimney-piece, and marching dehberalely
p 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 ex-
|>Iained who he was, and producing his large purse, assured
[uba that he was come to lend money, and not to take it from
\a% master ; but this appeared highly improbable to Juba, who
t>elieved 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 shmnk from
the negro with strong signs of aversion. Juba would not
relinquish his hold ; each went on talking in his own angry
'igibberish as loud as he could, till at last the negro fairly
lagged the Jew into the presence of his master and Mr.
Percival.
: is impossible to describe Mr. Vincent's confiision, 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, incap-
ible of uttering a single syllable.
L 4S3
BELINDA
* There is no necessity to borrow this money on my account/
said Mr. Percival, calmly ; * and if there were, we could prob-
ably 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 downstairs
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 mortifica-
tion ! 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 con-
sent. * 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 intelli-
gence,' 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 com-
mitted.
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.
A JEW
promised you that, whenever my own mind should
:ided, 1 would not hold yours in suspense
I find it difficult to keep my word.
Instead of lamenting, as you have often done, that my
sm for your many excellent qualities never rose beyond the
bounds of friendship, we have now reason to rejoice at this,
much useless pain. It spares me the
tffRculty of conquering a passion that might be fatal to my
happiness ; and it will diminisli the regret which you may feel
separation. 1 am now obliged to say, that circum-
stances have made me certain we could not add to our mutual
fclicity by any nearer connection.
The hope of enjoying domestic happiness with a person ■
whose manners, temper, and tastes suited my own, inclined
your addresses. But this happiness 1 could
Bever enjoy with one who has any propensity to the love of
play.
' For my own sake, as well as for yours, 1 rejoice that your
ibrlune ha£ not been materially injured ; as this relieves me
^m 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 1 should scarcely have
reason to apprehend from you such a suspicion.
' The absolute impossibility of my forming at present a con-
nection with another, will prevent you from imagining that I
am secretly influenced by sentiments different from those which 1
avow; nor can any weak doubts on this subject expose me to
Dwn reproaches.
You perceive, sir, that I am not willing utterly to lose
■ esteem, even when 1 renounce, in the most unequivocal
manner, all claim upon your affections. If anything should
appear to you harsh in this letter, 1 beg you to impute it to
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
bimself into a post-chaise, and set out for Germany. He saw
tiliat all hopes of being united to Belinda were over, and he
llurried as &r from her as possible. Her letter rather soothed
455
iid'i^^l
)thed I
BELINDA
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 suffici-
ently 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, ex-
pressed 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 daresay he will find in the upper or lower
circles of the empire some heroine in the Kotzebue taste, who
will a/temately make him misetabl^ Ull he is happy, and happy
r
NEWS
|l be is miserable. He is one of those men who require great
fine lovers these make (or stage effect— but the
h)rst husbands in the world I
'I hope, Belinda, you give me credit, for having judged
;tter of Mr. Vincent Ihan Lady Anne Percival did ? '
' For having judged worse of him, you mean ? Lady Anne
ways judges as ivell as possible of everybody.'
' I will allow you to play upon uords in a friend's defence,
Hit do not be alarmed for the reputation of Lady Anne's
Qdgment. If it will be any satisfaction to you, I can with
liorough sincerity assure you that I never liked her so well
B my life as since I have detected her in a mistake. It saves
my imagination, from the odium of being a perfect
iiaracter.'
' And there was something so handsome in her manner of
ting to me, when she found out her error,' said Belinda.
' Very true, and my friend Mr. Percival behaved handsomely.
IVhere friendships clash, it is not every tnan who has clearness
rf head sufficient to know his duty to his neighbour. Mr.
Percival said no more than just the thing he ought, for his
prard. VoQ have reason to be obliged to him : and as we are
etuming thanks to all persons concerned in our deliverance
rom this imminent danger, juba, the dog, and Juba, the
Uack, and Solomon, the Jew, ought to come in for their share ;
ithout that wrestling match of theirs, the truth might
have been dragged to light, and Mr. Vincent would have
|»een in due course of time your lord and master. But the
Janger is over ; you need not look so terrified : do not be like
3ie man who dropped down dead with terror, when he was
iwn by daylight the broken bridge which he had galloped
:r in the dark.'
Lady Delacour was in such high spirits that, without regard
connection, she ran on from one subject to another.
' You have proved to me, my dear,' said she, ' that you are
. a girl to marry, because the day was fixed, or because things
%adgone so for. I give you infinite credit for your ci-vil courage,
IS Dr. X— — calls it : military courage, as he said to me yester-
day—military courage, that seeks the bubble reputation even in
0ie cannon's mouth, may be had for sixpence a day. But civil
gourage, such as enabled the Princess Parizade, in the Arabian
Fales, to go straight up the hill to her object, though the
457
J
BELINDA
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 in-
stant, would you spurn him from you ? '
* Spurn him ! no — I would neither spurn him, nor tnotion
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, / am sure?
* Oh, you would tell him that you were not accustomed \.o him ?'
* Not exactly in those words, perhaps.*
* Well, we shall not quarrel about words,' said Lady Dela-
cour ; * 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.'
NEWS
S against me ? '
' They are evidently as applicable to second a:
t think."
' Perhaps they are,' said Belinda; 'but I really a:
not inclined to think of love at present ; particularly as there i*
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
bough ts.
' if Clarence Hervey,' cried she, ' were not the most honour-
able of blockheads, he might be the most happy of men. This
'Virginia l^oh, how 1 hate her I — 1 am sure poor Clarence
cannot love her.'
' Because you hate her — or because you hate her without
baving ever seen her ? ' said Belinda. ^
' Oh, I know what she must be,' replied Lady Delacour : ' a J
loft, sighing, dying damsel, who puts bullfinches into her bosom, i
Smile, smile, my dear ; you cannot help it ; in spite of alT
|rour generosity, I know you must think as 1 do, and wish
Is I do, that she were at the bottom of the Black Sea this
instant.'
Lady Delacour stood for some minutes musing, and then ex-
daimed, ' I will move heaven and earth to break off this absurd
' Good Heavens ! my dear Lady Delacour, what do you
'Meanl my dear — I mean what I say, which very few
people do ; no wonder I should surprise you.'
' 1 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,
jny dear, 1 will do nothing that shall injure i/iat dignity of mind
and delicacy of character, which I admire and love, as much as ^
Clarence Hervey did, and does. Trust lo me : not Lady Anne J
Percival herself can be more delicate in her notions "f pmprif ly
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. ' 1 don't ask you to go out
writh me, my dear Belinda ; I give you leave to sit in this arm-
Cliair till I come hack again, with your feet upon the fender, a
459
i J
BELINDA
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 eulog^um upon her own delicate
sense of prrmp^fy^ Miss Portman could not confide, with perfect
^ resignation, in her_gruifincp.
* 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 meantime, trust that everything 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?"'i
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 pre-
sence 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
^60
NEWS
Hartley. I told you it was to be, and tioiv it is over ; and a
■very extraordinary match Mr. Hervey liaa 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 lo
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 laiown.'
' I thought the bishop was at Spa,' interposed a gentleman,
■whilst the dowager drew breath.
* Oh 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
' My dear Lady Boucher,' interrupted Lord Delacour, 'you
I must be misinformed in that particular : fortune is no object to
Clarence Hen-ey ; he is too generous a fellow to marry for
fortune. What do you think — -what do you say, Lady Dela-
' 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 I ' said the dowager. ' Then if it were
not for the sake of the fortune, pray why did Mr. Hervey
marry at all ? Can anybody guess ? '
' I should guess because he was in love,' said Lord Dela-
cour ; ' 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 lired 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.'
mighty glad you think so, Mrs. Delacour j but I
BELINDA
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 &mily 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 anybody 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 lady-
ship is going to several parties this evening, I think it but
charitable to set you right in these particulars, and I hope you
ivjJJ be so charitable as to contradict the report of Miss
Hartleys having been CYaxetice^s m\?»\x^?a,'
^62
NEWS
* 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
bafHing 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 comer, she
carried everything 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 roimd 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 Baddel/s
on again — Lord bless me, what a match would that be for her !
Why, Mrs. Stanhope might then, indeed, deserve to be called
463
BELINDA
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 dinouement!
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 meantime, Mrs. Delacour, unconscious of the curi-
osity 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 firiend
of mine — 2l gentleman who, as I once imagined, was an admirer
of yours 1 '
* I will do anything 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.
*0h, 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 gouvemante. They came to me this
morning ; but what can I do ? I am only one old woman
against a confederacy oi vexticaxi gossips ; but if I could
NEW-S
gam you and Lady Delacour for my allies, I should fear no ,
adversaries. Virginia is to slay 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 dclisacy about the matter — I have none ; be-
lieving, 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 l!ie courage, my good
Miss Portman, to be the first to do a benevolent action f 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 anything that I thought im-
proper. But foi^ive me for pressing this point ; I am anxious I
to have your suffrage in her favour : Miss Belinda Portman's 1 I
character for prudence and propriety stands so high, and is^ '
fixed so firmly, that she may venture to let us chng to it ; and i
I am as we!) 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
465
NEWS
'■«e same means of infonnation would have changed hers ;
*^ce convinced, it is impossible to relapse into suspicion.'
'Impossible lo 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 t for praising you so much.'
' I have not a right to your admiration,' said Belinda ; ' for
1 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 1 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 Poriman, 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 1 cannot help iL 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. 1 hesitated
merely on your account : I fancied that you would not like the
visit, and that if 1 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. DelacouHs.
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 Lutt-
ridge, and her biilet-doux.
; of my high crimes and misdemeanours, you
467
BELINDA
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 lale m \Yv^ ^"a.-^, "Bwt Mrs, Delacour
THE DENOUEMENT
lately went for her, and in a few minutes she made
adehe^l!
[ appeal
Belinda and Lady Delacour exchanged a glance of siirprise
and admiration. There was a grace and simplicity in her .
manner, joined to an air of^£fli2£^_that made an irresistible /
impression in her favour. Lady Delacour, however, after the
fii'st 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
; talked with ease and even
with freedom. Virginia examined Miss Portman's countenance
with a species of artless curiosity and interest, that was not
t restrained by factitious politeness. This examination was not
peciiliarly 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 tliat 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,'
r of solemn mystery in her ladyship's manner, as she
i pronounced these words, excited general attention. There was
' a dead silence, which lasted several minutes ; some feeble
1 attempts were then made by each of the company to start a
fresh subject of conversation ; but it would not do — all relapsed
1 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 I' cried Lady
Delacour, laughing. ' Do you know, Clarence, that they arc
all dying with impatience to see un gage iPamitU 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,
itisfy your curiosity till Clarence Har\-ey arrives."
Now follow me, my friends i and if you be disappointed, lay
the blame, not on me, but on your own imaginations.'
469
pns.' II
BELINDA
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 com-
panion 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 mt\i \v^i o\3X o^ i\ve room.
4no
THE DENOUEMENT
'ou, M^^^^
[f Mr, Hartley should come, keep him with you, 1
'elacour,' said Clarence Hervey. ' Is her pulse quite gone ? '
' No ; it heats stronger and stronger," said Belinda.
' Her colour is retuniing,' said Lady Delacour. ' There !
l^se her a Uttle, dear Belinda ; she is coming to herself.'
' Had not you belter 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 — belter than 1 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 Behnda 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 I '
' Shall 1 tell you, Virginia ? And will yoti believe me ? '
' Yes, yes, yes 1 '
' You ought to say — the truth, whatever it may be.'
' But you will think me the most ungrateful of human
' 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 I What is a!! 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 1 ' cried Vitginia ; she would
have sunk at his feet, if he had not prevented her.
' I will — I can forgive anything but deceit. Do not look at
471
BELINDA
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 I " — 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 ^vitness, 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 con-
cealed nothing from her.'
* But she has concealed everything 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 a 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
4T2
TIIK DENOUEMENT
m
'And Mrs. Ormond knew of this f ' pursued Clarence.
'Yes ; but she told me that you would not be displeased
at it'
Mr. Hervcy made another hasty step toward the door, but
restraining his impetuous temper, he again stopped, and leaning
over 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. '1 knew, I knew,' cried she, 'that
you ivDu/dhe 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 1 hopie you may forgive yourself: nor
can it be my wish to extort from you any mortifying confes-
sions. 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 everything to secure to you the object of your affections,
if you will, in this last moment of our connection, 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 test friend 1 1
am the most ungrateful of human beings ! But I am sure 1
never wished, I never intended, lo 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 Vir^nia.
'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, dinging to him. ' Not trust you ! — I ! — not trust
you 1 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?'
II only love his figure, I believe,' said Virginia.
t73
BELINDA
* 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 I 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
tfte strongest proof of my aff^cUotv'
THE DENOUEMENT
Viiginia now spoke in so consistent a manner that Clarence
"^^uld not doubt that she was in the clear possession of her
Vwderslanding. She repeated to him all that she had said to
^rs. Ormond ; and he began to hope that, without any inten-
tion to deceive, Mrs. Ormond's ignorance of the human heart
kd her into a belief that Virginia was in love with him ; whilst,
in fact, her imagination, exalted by solitude and romance, em-
bodied 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 lo 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 crea-
rture but yourself.'
' But Mrs. Ormond told me that you loved me, and that you
tad 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
BO ungratefiil as to say I do not love you ? That I do not Imie
you I — Oh ! Ihal I cannot say ; for 1 do love you better than
any one Uving 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 t knew was only a picture, a
dream ; and I thought that I ought al 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 — 1 thought them right.
Only tell me what I can do to make you happy, as 1 am sure
I I wish to do ; to that wish I would sacrifice every other
I feeling.'
<Sacn0ce nothing, dear Virginia. We may both
arenc^^^l
475
;very otner i
h be happy I
iU
BELINDA
without making any sacrifice of our feelings,' cried Clarence.
And, transported at regaining his own freedom, Virginia's sim-
plicity never appeared to him so charming as at this moment
* Dearest Virginia, forgive me for suspecting you for one instant
of anything 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, affec-
tionate, 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 mis-
taken ? 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 can-
not 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 affec-
tion 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, ex-
claiming—
* 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
/Vl6
THE DENOUEMENT
* My dear Clarence, I never doubted it for an instant. But
are you at liberty to own it to anybody 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 in-
formed 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 happi-
ness 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 1
Belinda's penetration,' said Clarence ; * but I like her a thousand I
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.' - y
* Well,' said Lady Delacour, * we have all of us seen Pamela
maritata — let us now see Belinda in love^ if that be possible.
Jfl 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 passioiT than any of the dear senti-|
mental young ladies, whose motto is
' All for love, or the world well lost.'
'That is just my opinion,' said Mrs, Margaret D^\aK53^x..
477
I
BELINDA
< 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 dialJ
*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 anybody, 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 I explain \ m^ d^^t\.^^>j Y3^\a.cour^' cried Mrs.
THE DENOUEMENT
R' I am afiaid I am grown almost a
ler. Explain 1 explain ! '
' Most wiliingly,' said Lady Delacour, ' To Marriott's
aling: passion for birds you are all of you indebted for this
iscovery. Some time ago, whilst we were at Twickenham, as
Jarriott was waiting at a stationer's, to bid her last adieus to a
nUfinch, a gentleman came into the shop where she and Bobby
i she calls this bird) were coquetting, and the gentleman was
Iruck even more than Marriott with the bullfinch. He went
imost distracted on hearing a particular tune, which this bird
I suspected, from the symptoms, that the gentleman
aust be, or must have been, in love with the bullfinch's mistress.
r the bullfinch was traced home to the ci-devant Virginia
St. Pierre, the present Miss Hartley. I had my reasons for
)eing curious about her loves and lovers, and as soon as 1
Tied the story from Marriott, I determined, if possible, to
Bnd out who this stranger, with the strange passion for buU-
^ches, 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
ome time with Mrs. Ormond Forgive me, Mr. Hervey,
for what I am going to say — forgive me, Mrs. Ormond —
Ecandal, like death, is common to all It was believed that
Virginia was Mr. Herve/s mistress. My stranger no sooner
learned this than he swore that he would think of her no
e ; 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
My inquiries after him were indefatigable, but for some
time unsuccessful ; and so they might have continued, and we
night have been all making one another unhappy at this
noment, if it had not been for Mr. Vincent's great dog Juba —
Miss Annabella Luttridge's biliet-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.
479
BELINDA
*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 bull-
finch. 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 J and who would not permit anybody 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 wit\i Mrs. Sm\lVv, v^lvo gave it to Virginia,
THE DENOUEMENT
Mfithoul telling to whom it had belonged, lest her grandmother
ittiighl be displeased.
' I really thought that all this showed too nice a moral sense
tfor a young dashing lieutenant in the navy, and I was persuaded
that my gentleman was only keeping his mistress's secret like a
n of honour. With this belief, I regretted that Clarence
iHervey should throw himself away upon a girl who was
Wn worthy of him.'
' 1 hope,' interrupted Clarence, ' you are perfectly convinced
of your mistake.' ^ .
' Perfectly ! perfectly ! — I am convinced that Virginia isonlyV y
balf 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. 1 told him I trampled on
impossibilities. In short, he got the picture for me, as yoti 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
:ret to conceal, she will betray herself on the sudden appear-
;e 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, 1 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
BELINDA
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
everybody 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 ! Oh 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
THE DENOUEMENT
Belinda, ' that there is nothing in which novelists are so apt to
err as in hurrying things toward the conclusion ; in not allow-
ing 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 lime 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 times tut if I might conclude the business in two
lines, 1 should say,
' Oh, that would he 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 1 own I like to hear some-
thing 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 lairy tale — and so they inere all married, and they IS-ued
very happily all the rest of their days'
' We are not in much danger of hearing such an account
of modem marriages,' said Lady Delacour. ' But how shall I
please you all? — -Some people cry, "Tell me everything";
others say, that,
' Le secret d'ennuyer est celui de tout diie.
'Something must be left to the imagination. Positively 1
will not describe wedding-dresses, or a procession lo 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 charac-
teristic letter of congratulation from Mrs. Stanhope to her
483
THE DENOUEMENT
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 Sunder-
land— 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. Hal 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 I Yes,
* Our tale contains a moral ; and, no doubt,
You all have wit enough to find it out.'
THE END
Printed 3y R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh
20712-3
r:
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