"Very handsome, upon my word!" said Lady Delacour, coldly, and she fixed her eyes upon the fringe, which was black and orange: "Miss Portman's taste, I see!"

"Did you not say black and orange fringe, my dear?"

"No. I said blue and white, my lord."

His lordship declared he did not know how the mistake had happened; it was merely a mistake:--but her ladyship was convinced that it was done on purpose. And she said to herself, "Miss Portman will order my liveries next! I have not even the shadow of power left in my own house!

I am not treated with even a decent show of respect! But this shall go on till I have full conviction of her views."

Dissembling her displeasure, she praised the hammer-cloth, and especially the fringe. Lord Delacour retired satisfied; and Miss Portman sat down to read the following letter from her aunt Stanhope.

CHAPTER XV.

JEALOUSY.

"Crescent, Bath, July--Wednesday.

"MY DEAR NIECE,

"I received safely the bank notes for my two hundred guineas, enclosed in your last. But you should never trust unnecessarily in this manner to the post--always, when you are obliged to send bank notes by post, cut them in two, and send half by one post and half by another. This is what is done by all prudent people. Prudence, whether in trifles or in matters of consequence, can be learned only by experience (which is often too dearly bought), or by listening, which costs nothing, to the suggestions of those who have a thorough knowledge of the world.

"A report has just reached me concerning you and _a certain lord_, which gives me the most heartfelt concern. I always knew, and told you, that you were _a great favourite_ with the person in question. I depended on your prudence, delicacy, and principles, to understand this hint properly, and I trusted that you would conduct yourself accordingly.

It is too plain, (from the report alluded to,) that there has been some misconduct or mis-management somewhere. The misconduct I cannot--the mis-management I must, attribute to you, my dear; for let a man's admiration for any woman be ever so great, unless she suffer herself to be dazzled by vanity, or unless she be naturally of an inconsiderate temper, she can surely prevent his partiality from becoming so glaring as to excite envy: envy is always to be dreaded by handsome young women, as being, sooner or later, infallibly followed by scandal. Of this, I fear, you have not been sufficiently aware, and you see the consequences--consequences which, to a female of genuine delicacy or of real good sense, must be extremely alarming. Men of contracted minds and cold tempers, who are absolutely incapable of feeling generous pa.s.sion for our s.e.x, are often unaccountably ambitious to gain the reputation of being _well_ with any woman whose beauty, accomplishments, or connexions, may have brought her into fashion. Whatever affection may be pretended, this is frequently the _ultimate_ and _sole_ object of these selfish creatures. Whether or not the person I have in my eye deserves to be included in this cla.s.s, I will not presume positively to determine; but you, who have personal opportunities of observation, may decide this point (if you have any curiosity on the subject) by observing whether he most affects to pay his devoirs to you in public or in private. If the latter be the case, it is the most dangerous; because a man even of the most contracted understanding has always sense or instinct enough to feel that the slightest taint in the reputation of the woman who is, or who is to be, his wife, would affect his own private peace, or his honour in the eyes of the world. A husband who has in a first marriage been, as it is said, in constant fear both of matrimonial subjugation and disgrace, would, in his choice of a second lady, be peculiarly nice, and probably _tardy_. Any degree of favour that might have been shown him, any report that may have been raised, and above all, any restraint he might feel himself under from implied engagement, or from the discovery or reputation of superior understanding and talents in the object beloved, would operate infallibly against her, to the confusion of all her plans, and the ruin at once of her reputation, her peace of mind, and her hopes of an establishment. Nay, supposing the best that could possibly happen--that, after playing with the utmost dexterity this desperate game, the pool were absolutely your own; yet, if there were any suspicions of unfair play buzzed about amongst the by-standers, you would not in the main be a gainer; for my dear, without character, what is even wealth, or all that wealth can bestow? I do not mean to trouble you with stale wise sayings, which young people hate; nor musty morality, which is seldom fit for use in the world, or which smells too much of books to be brought into good company. This is not my way of giving advice; but I only beg you to observe what actually pa.s.ses before your eyes in the circle in which we live. Ladies of the best families, with rank and fortune, and beauty and fashion, and every thing in their favour, cannot (as yet in this country) dispense with the strictest observance of the rules of virtue and decorum. Some have fancied themselves raised so high above the vulgar as to be in no danger from the thunder and lightning of public opinion; but these ladies in the clouds have found themselves mistaken--they have been blasted, and have fallen n.o.body knows where!

What is become of Lady ----, and the Countess of ----, and others I could mention, who were as high as envy could look? I remember seeing the Countess of ----, who was then the most beautiful creature my eyes ever beheld, and the most admired that ever was heard of, come into the Opera-house, and sit the whole night in her box without any woman's speaking or courtesying to her, or taking any more notice of her than you would of a post, or a beggar-woman. Even a coronet cannot protect a woman, you see, from disgrace: if she falls, she and it, and all together, are trampled under foot. But why should I address all this to my dear niece? Whither have the terror and confusion I was thrown into by this strange report about you and Lord ---- led me? And yet one cannot be too cautious--'Ce n'est que le premier _mot_ qui coute'--Scandal never stops after the first word, unless she be instantly gagged by a dexterous hand. Nothing shall be wanting on my part, but you alone are the person who can do any thing effectual Do not imagine that I would have you quit Lady----; that is the first idea, I know, that will come into your silly little head, but put it out directly. If you were upon this attack to quit the field of battle, you yield the victory to your enemies. To leave Lady----'s house would be folly and madness. As long as she is your friend, or _appears_ such, all is safe; but any coolness on her part would, in the present circ.u.mstances, 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 a.s.sign as a reason the report alluded to. People who have not yet believed it would then conclude that it must be true; and thus by your cowardice you would furnish an incontrovertible argument against your innocence. I therefore desire that you will not, upon any account, think of coming home to me at present; indeed, I hope your own good sense would prevent you from wishing it, after the reasons that I have given. Far from quitting Lady ---- from false delicacy, it is your business, from consideration for her peace, as well as your own, to redouble your attentions to her in private, and, above all things, to appear as much as possible with her in public. I am glad to hear her health is so far reestablished, that she _can_ appear again in public; her spirits, as you may hint, will be the better for a little amus.e.m.e.nt. Luckily, you have it completely in your power to convince her and all the world of the correctness of your mind. I believe I certainly should have fainted, my dear, when I first heard this shocking report, if I had not just afterward received a letter from Sir Philip Baddely which revived me. His proposal at this crisis for you, my dear, is a charming thing. You have nothing to do but to encourage his addresses immediately,--the report dies away of itself, and all is just as your best friends wish. Such an establishment for you, my dear, is indeed beyond their most sanguine expectations. Sir Philip hints in his letter, that my influence might be wanting with you in his favour; but this surely cannot be. As I have told him, he has merely mistaken becoming female reserve for a want of sensibility on your part, which would be equally unnatural and absurd. Do you know, my dear, that Sir Philip Baddely has an estate of fifteen thousand a-year in Wiltshire? and his uncle Barton's estate in Norfolk will, in due time, pay his debts. Then, as to family--look in the lists of baronets in your pocket-book; and surely, my love, an old baronetage in actual possession is worth something more than the reversion of a new coronet; supposing that such a thing could properly be thought of, which Heaven forbid! So I see no possible objection to Sir Philip, my dear Belinda!

and I am sure you have too much candour and good sense to make any childish or romantic difficulties. Sir Philip is not, I know, a man of what you call genius. So much the better, my dear--those men of genius are dangerous husbands; they have so many oddities and eccentricities, there is no managing them, though they are mighty pleasant men in company to enliven conversation; for example, your favourite, Clarence Hervey. As it is well known he is not a marrying man, you never can have thought of him. You are not a girl to expose yourself to the ridicule, &c., of all your female acquaintance by romance and nonsense. I cannot conceive that a niece of mine could degrade herself by a mean prepossession for a man who has never made any declaration of his attachment to her, and who, I am sure, feels no such attachment.

That you may not deceive yourself, it is fit I should tell you, what otherwise it might not be so proper to mention to a young lady, that he keeps and has kept a mistress for some years; and those who are most intimately in his confidence have a.s.sured me that, if ever he marries any body, he will marry this girl; which is not impossible, considering that she is, they say, the most beautiful young creature that ever was seen, and he _a man of genius_. If you have any sense or spirit, I have said enough. So adieu!--Let me hear, by return of the post, that every thing is going on as it should do. I am impatient to write to your sister Tollemache this good news. I always foretold that my Belinda would marry better than her sister, or any of her cousins, and take place of them all. Are not you obliged to me for sending you this winter to town to Lady ----? It was an admirable hit. Pray tell Lady Delacour, with my best compliments, that our _aloe_ friend (her ladyship will understand me) cheated a gentleman of my acquaintance the other day, at casino, out of seventy guineas. He hates the sight of her odious red wig as much now as we always did. I knew, and told Lady D----, as she will do me the justice to remember, that Mrs.----cheated at play. What a contemptible character!--Pray, my dear, do not forget to tell Lady Delacour, that I have a charming anecdote for her, about another _friend_ of ours, who has lately gone over to the enemy. Has her ladyship seen a ma.n.u.script that is handed about as a great secret, and said to be by ----, a parallel between _our friend_ and the Chevalier d'Eon? It is done with infinite wit and humour, in the manner of Plutarch. I would send a copy, but am afraid my frank would be too heavy if I began upon another sheet. So once more adieu, my dear niece! Write to me without fail, and mention Sir Philip. I have written to him to give my approbation, &c.

"Yours sincerely,

"SELINA STANHOPE."

"Mrs. Stanhope seems to have written you a volume instead of a letter, Bliss Portman," cried Lady Delacour, as Belinda turned over the sheets of her aunt's long epistle. She did not attempt to read it regularly through: some pa.s.sages here and there were sufficient to astonish and shock her extremely. "No bad news, I hope?" said Lady Delacour, again looking up from her writing at Belinda, who sat motionless, leaning her head upon her hand, as if deep in thought, Mrs. Stanhope's unfolded letter hanging from her hand. In the midst of the variety of embarra.s.sing, painful, and alarming feelings excited by this letter, she had sufficient strength of mind to adhere to her resolution of speaking the exact truth to Lady Delacour. When she was roused by her ladyship's question, "No bad news, I hope, Miss Portman?" she instantly answered, with all the firmness she could command. "Yes. My aunt has been alarmed by a strange report which I heard myself for the first time this morning from Mr. Hervey. I am sure I am much obliged to him for having the courage to speak the truth to me." Here she repeated what Mr. Hervey had said to her. Lady Delacour never raised her eyes whilst Belinda spoke, but went on scratching out some words in what she was writing. Through the mask of paint which she wore no change of colour could be visible; and as Belinda did not see the expression of her ladyship's eyes, she could not in the least judge of what was pa.s.sing in her mind.

"Mr. Hervey has acted like a man of honour and sense," said Lady Delacour; "but it is a pity, for your sake, he did not speak sooner--before this report became so public--before it reached Bath, and your aunt. Though it could not surprise her much, she has such a perfect knowledge of the world, and ----"

Lady Delacour uttered these broken sentences in a voice of suppressed anger; cleared her throat several times, and at last, unable to speak, stopped short, and then began with much precipitation to put wafers into several notes that she had been writing. So it has reached Bath, thought she--the report is public! I never till now heard a hint of any such thing except from Sir Philip Baddely; but it has doubtless been the common talk of the town, and I am laughed at as a dupe and an idiot, as I am. And now, when the thing can he concealed no longer, she comes to me with that face of simplicity, and knowing my generous temper, throws herself on my mercy, and trusts that her speaking to me with this audacious plainness will convince me of her innocence. "You have acted in the most prudent manner possible, Miss Portman," said her ladyship, as she went on sealing her notes, "by speaking at once to me of this strange, scandalous, absurd report. Do you act from your aunt Stanhope's advice, or entirely from your own judgment and knowledge of my character?"

"From my own judgment and knowledge of your character, in which I hope--I am not--I cannot be mistaken," said Belinda, looking at her with a mixture of doubt and astonishment.

"No--you calculated admirably--'twas the best, the only thing you could do. Only," said her ladyship, falling back in her chair with an hysteric laugh, "only the blunder of Champfort, and the entrance of my Lord Delacour, and the hammercloth with the orange and black fringe--forgive me, my dear; for the soul of me I can't help laughing--it was rather unlucky; so awkward, such a contretemps! But you," added she, wiping her eyes, as if recovering from laughter, "you have such admirable presence of mind, nothing disconcerts you! You are equal to all situations, and stand in no need of such long letters of advice from your aunt Stanhope," pointing to the two folio sheets which lay at Belinda's feet.

The rapid, unconnected manner in which Lady Delacour spoke, the hurry of her motions, the quick, suspicious, angry glances of her eye, her laugh, her unintelligible words, all conspired at this moment to give Belinda the idea that her intellects were suddenly disordered. She was so firmly persuaded of her ladyship's utter indifference to Lord Delacour, that she never conceived the possibility of her being actuated by the pa.s.sion of jealousy--by the jealousy of power--a species of jealousy which she had never felt, and could not comprehend. But she had sometimes seen Lady Delacour in starts of pa.s.sion that seemed to border on insanity, and the idea of her losing all command of her reason now struck Belinda with irresistible force. She felt the necessity of preserving her own composure; and with all the calmness that she could a.s.sume, she took up her aunt Stanhope's letter, and looked for the pa.s.sage in which Mrs.

Luttridge and Harriot Freke were mentioned. If I can turn the course of Lady Delacour's mind, thought she, or catch her attention, perhaps she will recover herself. "Here is a message to you, my dear Lady Delacour,"

cried she, "from my aunt Stanhope, about--about Mrs. Luttridge."

Miss Portman's hand trembled as she turned over the pages of the letter.

"I am all attention," said Lady Delacour, with a composed voice; "only take care, don't make a mistake: I'm in no hurry; don't read any thing Mrs. Stanhope might not wish. It is dangerous to garble letters, almost as dangerous as to s.n.a.t.c.h them out of a friend's hand, as I once did, you know--but you need not now be under the least alarm."

Conscious that this letter was not fit for her ladyship to see, Belinda neither offered to show it to her, nor attempted any apology for her reserve and embarra.s.sment, but hastily began to read the message relative to Mrs. Luttridge; her voice gaining confidence as she went on, as she observed that she had fixed Lady Delacour's attention, who now sat listening to her, calm and motionless. But when Miss Portman came to the words, "Do not forget to tell Lady D ----, that I have a charming anecdote for her about another _friend_ of hers, who lately went over to the enemy," her ladyship exclaimed with great vehemence, "_Friend_!--Harriot Freke!--Yes, like all other friends--Harriot Freke!--What was she compared to? 'Tis too much for me--too much!" and she put her hand to her head.

"Compose yourself, my dear _friend_," said Belinda, in a calm, gentle tone; and she went toward her with an intention of soothing her by caresses; but, at her approach, Lady Delacour pushed the table on which she had been writing from her with violence, started up, flung back the veil which fell over her face as she rose, and darted upon Belinda a look, which fixed her to the spot where she stood. It said, "Come not a step nearer, at your peril!" Belinda's blood ran cold--she had no longer any doubt that this was insanity. She shut the penknife which lay upon the table, and put it into her pocket.

"Cowardly creature!" cried Lady Delacour, and her countenance changed to the expression of ineffable contempt; "what is it you fear?"

"That you should injure yourself. Sit down--for Heaven's sake listen to me, to your friend, to Belinda!"

"My friend! my Belinda!" cried Lady Delacour, and she turned from her, and walked away some steps in silence; then suddenly clasping her hands, she raised her eyes to heaven with a fervent but wild expression of devotion, and exclaimed, "Great G.o.d of heaven, my punishment is just!

the death of Lawless is avenged. May the present agony of my soul expiate my folly! Of guilt--deliberate guilt--of hypocrisy--treachery--I have not--oh, never may I have--to repent!"

She paused--her eyes involuntarily returned upon Belinda. "Oh, Belinda!

You, whom I have so loved--so trusted!"

The tears rolled fast down her painted cheeks; she wiped them hastily away, and so roughly, that her face became a strange and ghastly spectacle. Unconscious of her disordered appearance, she rushed past Belinda, who vainly attempted to stop her, threw up the sash, and stretching herself far out of the window, gasped for breath. Miss Portman drew her back, and closed the window, saying, "The rouge is all off your face, my dear Lady Delacour; you are not fit to be seen. Sit down upon this sofa, and I will ring for Marriott, and get some fresh rouge. Look at your face in this gla.s.s--you see--"

"I see," interrupted Lady Delacour, looking full at Belinda, "that she who I thought had the n.o.blest of souls has the meanest! I see that she is incapable of feeling. _Rouge! not fit to be seen_!--At such a time as this, to talk to me in this manner! Oh, niece of Mrs.

Stanhope!--dupe!--dupe that I am!" She flung herself upon the sofa, and struck her forehead with her hand violently several times. Belinda catching her arm, and holding it with all her force, cried in a tone of authority, "Command yourself, Lady Delacour, I conjure you, or you will go out of your senses; and if you do, your secret will be discovered by the whole world."

"Hold me not--you have no right," cried Lady Delacour, struggling to free her hand. "All-powerful as you are in this house, you have no longer any power over me! I am not going out of my senses! You cannot get me into Bedlam, all-powerful, all-artful as you are. You have done enough to drive me mad--but I am not mad. No wonder you cannot believe me--no wonder you are astonished at the strong expression of feelings that are foreign to your nature--no wonder that you mistake the writhings of the heart, the agony of a generous soul, for madness! Look not so terrified; I will do you no injury. Do not you hear that I can lower my voice?--do not you see that I can be calm? Could Mrs. Stanhope herself--could _you_, Miss Portman, speak in a softer, milder, more polite, more proper tone than I do now? Are you pleased, are you satisfied?"

"I am better satisfied--a little better satisfied," said Belinda.

"That's well; but still you tremble. There's not the least occasion for apprehension--you see I can command myself, and smile upon you."

"Oh, do not smile in that horrid manner!"

"Why not?--'Horrid!--Don't you love deceit?"

"I detest it from my soul."

"Indeed!" said Lady Delacour, still speaking in the same low, soft, unnatural voice: "then why do you practise it, my love?"

"I never practised it for a moment--I am incapable of deceit. When you are _really_ calm, when you can _really_ command yourself, you will do me justice, Lady Delacour; but now it is my business, if I can, to bear with you."

"You are goodness itself, and gentleness, and prudence personified. You know perfectly how to _manage_ a friend, whom you fear you have driven just to the verge of madness. But tell me, good, gentle, prudent Miss Portman, why need you dread so much that I should go mad? You know, if I went mad, n.o.body would mind, n.o.body would believe whatever I say--I should be no evidence against you, and I should be out of your way sufficiently, shouldn't I? And you would have all the power in your own hands, would not you? And would not this be almost as well as if I were dead and buried? No; your calculations are better than mine. The poor mad wife would still be in your way, would yet stand between you and the fond object of your secret soul--a coronet!"

As she p.r.o.nounced the word _coronet_, she pointed to a coronet set in diamonds on her watch-case, which lay on the table. Then suddenly seizing the watch, she dashed it upon the marble hearth with all her force--"Vile bauble!" cried she; "must I lose my only friend for such a thing as you? Oh, Belinda! do you see that a coronet cannot confer happiness?"

"I have seen it long: I pity you from the bottom of my soul," said Belinda, bursting into tears.

"Pity me not. I cannot endure your pity, treacherous woman!" cried Lady Delacour, and she stamped with a look of rage--"most perfidious of women!"

"Yes, call me perfidious, treacherous--stamp at me--say, do what you will; I can and will bear it all--all patiently; for I am innocent, and you are mistaken and unhappy," said Belinda. "You will love me when you return to your senses; then how can I be angry with you?"

"Fondle me not," said Lady Delacour, starting back from Belinda's caresses: "do not degrade yourself to no purpose--I never more can be your dupe. Your protestations of innocence are wasted on me--I am not so blind as you imagine--dupe as you think me, I have seen much in silence.

The whole world, you find, suspects you now. To save your reputation, you want my friendship--you want--"