"I am heartily glad of it--I shall be infinitely overpaid for my journey, by having the pleasure of going back with you."

After some conversation upon different subjects, Mr. Vincent, with an air of frankness which was peculiarly pleasing to Belinda, put into her hands an anonymous letter, which he had received the preceding day.

"It is not worth your reading," said he; "but I know you too well to fear that it should give you any pain; and I hope you know me too well, to apprehend that it could make any impression on my mind."

Belinda read with some surprise:--

"Rash young man! beware of connecting yourself with the lady to whom you have lately been drawn in to pay your addresses: she is the most artful of women. She has been educated, as you may find upon inquiry, by one, whose successful trade it has been to draw in young men of fortune for her nieces, whence she has obtained the appellation of _the match-maker general_. The only niece whom she could not get rid of any other way, she sent to the most dissipated and unprincipled viscountess in town.

The viscountess fell sick, and, as it was universally reported last winter, the young lady was immediately, upon her friend's death, to have been married to the viscount widower. But the viscountess detected the connexion, and the young lady, to escape from her friend's rage, and from public shame, was obliged to retreat to certain shades in the neighbourhood of Harrowgate; where she pa.s.sed herself for a saint upon those who were too honourable themselves to be suspicious of others.

"At length the quarrel between her and the viscountess was made up, by her address and boldness in declaring, that if she was not recalled, she would divulge some secrets respecting a certain mysterious boudoir in her ladyship's house: this threat terrified the viscountess, who sent off express for her late discarded humble companion. The quarrel was hushed up, and the young lady is now with her n.o.ble friend at Twickenham. The person who used to be let up the private stairs into the boudoir, by Mrs. Marriott, is now more conveniently received at Twickenham."

Much more was said by the letter-writer in the same strain. The name of Clarence Hervey, in the last page, caught Belinda's eye; and with a trepidation which she did not feel at the beginning of this epistle, she read the conclusion.

"The viscount is not supposed to have been unrivalled in the young lady's favour. A young gentleman, of large fortune, great talents, and uncommon powers of pleasing, has, for some months, been her secret object; but he has been prudent enough to escape her matrimonial snares, though he carries on a correspondence with her, through the means of her friend the viscountess, to whom he privately writes. The n.o.ble lady has bargained to make over to her confidante all her interest in Hervey's heart. He is expected every day to return from his tour; and, if the schemes upon him can be brought to bear, the promised return to the neighbourhood of Harrowgate will never be thought of. Mr. Vincent will be left in the lurch; he will not even have the lady's fair hand--her _fair_ heart is Clarence Hervey's, at all events. Further particulars shall be communicated to Mr. Vincent, if he pays due attention to this warning from

"A SINCERE FRIEND."

As soon as Belinda had finished this curious production, she thanked Mr.

Vincent, with more kindness than she had ever before shown him, for the confidence he placed in her, and for the openness with which he treated her. She begged his permission to show this letter to Lady Delacour, though he had previously dreaded the effect which it might have upon her ladyship's feelings.

Her first exclamation was, "This is one of Harriot Freke's frolics;" but as her ladyship's indignation against Mrs. Freke had long since subsided into utter contempt, she did not waste another thought upon the writer of this horrible letter; but instantly the whole energy of her mind and fire of her eloquence burst forth in an eulogium upon her friend.

Careless of all that concerned herself, she explained, without a moment's hesitation, every thing that could exalt Belinda: she described all the difficult circ.u.mstances in which her friend had been placed; she mentioned the secret with which she had been intrusted; the honour with which, even at the hazard of her own reputation, she had kept her promise of secrecy inviolable, when Lord Delacour, in a fit of intoxication and jealousy, had endeavoured to wrest from Marriott the key of _the mysterious boudoir_. She confessed her own absurd jealousy, explained how it had been excited by the artifices of Champfort and Sir Philip Baddely, how slight circ.u.mstances had worked her mind up almost to frenzy. "The temper, the dignity, the gentleness, the humanity, with which Belinda bore with me, during this paroxysm of madness," said Lady Delacour, "I never can forget; nor the spirit with which she left my house, when she saw me unworthy of her esteem, and ungrateful for her kindness; nor the magnanimity with which she returned to me, when I thought myself upon my death-bed: all this has made an impression upon my soul, which never, whilst I have life and reason, can be effaced. She has saved my life. She has made my life worth saving. She has made me feel my own value. She has made me know my own happiness. She has reconciled me to my husband. She has united me with my child. She has been my guardian angel.--_She_, the confidante of my intrigues!--_she_ leagued with me in vice!--No, I am bound to her by ties stronger than vice ever felt; than vice, even in the utmost ingenuity of its depravity, can devise."

Exhausted by the vehemence with which she had spoken, Lady Delacour paused; but Vincent, who sympathized in her enthusiasm, kept his eyes fixed upon her, in hopes that she had yet more to say.

"I might, perhaps, you will think," continued she, smiling, "have spared you this history of myself, and of my own affairs, Mr. Vincent; but I thought it necessary to tell you the plain facts, which malice has distorted into the most odious form. This is the quarrel, this is the reconciliation, of which your anonymous friend has been so well informed. Now, as to Clarence Hervey."

"I have explained to Mr. Vincent," interrupted Belinda, "every thing that he could wish to know on that subject, and I now wish you to tell him that I faithfully remembered my promise to return to Oakly-park, and that we were actually preparing for the journey."

"Look here, sir," cried Lady Delacour, opening the door of her dressing-room, in which Marriott was upon her knees, locking a trunk, "here's dreadful note of preparation."

"You are a happier man than you yet know, Mr. Vincent," continued Lady Delacour; "for I can tell you, that some persuasion, some raillery, and some wit, I flatter myself, have been used, to detain Miss Portman from you."

"From Oakly-park," interrupted Belinda.

"From Oakly-park, &c. a few days longer. Shall I be frank with you, Mr.

Vincent?--Yes, for I cannot help it--I am not of the nature of anonymous letter-writers; I cannot, either secretly or publicly, sign or say myself a _sincere friend_, without being one to the utmost extent of my influence. I never give my vote without my interest, nor my interest without my vote. Now Clarence Hervey is my friend. Start not at all, sir,--you have no reason; for if he is my friend, Miss Portman is yours: which has the better bargain? But, as I was going to tell you, Mr.

Clarence Hervey is my friend, and I am his. My vote, interest, and influence, have consequently been all in his favour. I had reason to believe that he has long admired _the dignity_ of Miss Portman's _mind, and the simplicity of her character_," continued her ladyship, with an arch look at Belinda; "and though he was too much a man of genius to begin with the present tense of the indicative mood, 'I love,' yet I was, and am, convinced, that he does love her."

"Can you, dear Lady Delacour," cried Belinda, "speak in this manner, and recollect all we heard from Marriott this morning? And to what purpose all this?"

"To what purpose, my dear? To convince your friend, Mr. Vincent, that I am neither fool nor knave; but that I deal fairly by you, by him, and by all the world. Mr. Hervey's conduct towards Miss Portman has, I acknowledge, sir, been undecided. Some circ.u.mstances have lately come to my knowledge which throw doubts upon his honour and integrity--doubts which, I firmly believe, he will clear up to _my_ satisfaction at least, as soon as I see him, or as soon as it is in his power; with this conviction, and believing, as I do, that no man upon earth is so well suited to my friend,--pardon me, Mr. Vincent, if my wishes differ from yours: though my sincerity may give you present, it may save you from future, pain."

"Your ladyship's sincerity, whatever pain it may give me, I admire,"

said Mr. Vincent, with some pride in his manner; "but I see that I must despair of the honour of your ladyship's congratulations."

"Pardon me," interrupted Lady Delacour; "there you are quite mistaken: the man of Belinda's choice _must_ receive my congratulations; he must do more--he must become my friend I would never rest till I had won his regard, nor should I in the least be apprehensive that he would not have sufficient greatness of mind to forgive my having treated him with a degree of sincerity which the common forms of politeness cannot justify, and at which common souls would be scandalized past recovery."

Mr. Vincent's pride was entirely vanquished by this speech; and with that frankness by which his manners were usually characterized, he thanked her for having distinguished him from _common souls_; and a.s.sured her that such sincerity as hers was infinitely more to his taste than that refined politeness of which he was aware no one was more perfect mistress than Lady Delacour.

Here their conversation ended, and Mr. Vincent, as it was now late, took his leave.

"Really, my dear Belinda," said Lady Delacour, when he was gone, "I am not surprised at your impatience to return to Oakly-park; I am not so partial to my knight, as to compare him, in personal accomplishments, with your hero. I acknowledge, also, that there is something vastly prepossessing in the frankness of his manners; he has behaved admirably well about this abominable letter; but, what is better than all in a lady's eyes he is _eperdument amoureux_."

"Not _eperdument_, I hope," said Belinda.

"Then, as you do not think it necessary for your hero to be _eperdument amoureux_, I presume," said Lady Delacour, "you do not think it necessary that a heroine should be in love at all. So love and marriage are to be separated by philosophy, as well as by fashion. This is Lady Anne Percival's doctrine! I give Mr. Percival joy. I remember the time, when he fancied love essential to happiness."

"I believe he not only fancies, but is sure of it now, from experience,"

said Belinda.

"Then he interdicts love only to his friends? He does not think it essential that you should know any thing about the matter. You may marry his ward, and welcome, without being in love with him."

"But not without loving him," said Belinda.

"I am not casuist enough in these matters to understand the subtle distinction you make, with the true Percival emphasis, between loving and falling in love. But I suppose I am to understand by loving, loving as half the world do when they marry."

"As it would be happy for half the world if they did," replied Belinda, mildly, but with a firmness of tone that her ladyship felt. "I should despise myself and deserve no pity from any human being, if, after all I have seen, I could think of marrying for convenience or interest."

"Oh! pardon me; I meant not to insinuate such an idea: even your worst enemy, Sir Philip Baddely, would acquit you there. I meant but to hint, my dear Belinda, that a heart such as yours is formed for love in its highest, purest, happiest state."

A pause ensued.

"Such happiness can be secured only," resumed Belinda, "by a union with a man of sense and virtue."

"A man of sense and virtue, I suppose, means Mr. Vincent," said Lady Delacour: "no doubt you have lately learned in the same sober style that a little love will suffice with a great deal of esteem."

"I hope I have learned lately that a great deal of esteem is the best foundation for a great deal of love."

"Possibly," said Lady Delacour; "but we often see people working at the foundation all their lives without getting any farther."

"And those who build their castles of happiness in the air," said Belinda, "are they more secure, wiser, or happier?"

"Wiser! I know nothing about that," said Lady Delacour; "but happier I do believe they are; for the castle-building is always a _labour of love_, but the foundation of drudgery is generally _love's labour lost_.

Poor Vincent will find it so."

"Perhaps not," said Belinda; "for already his solid good qualities--"

"Solid good qualities!" interrupted Lady Delacour: "I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but, my dear, you know we never fall in love with good qualities, except, indeed, when they are joined to an aquiline nose--oh! that aquiline nose of Mr. Vincent's! I am more afraid of it than of all his solid good qualities. He has again, I acknowledge it, much the advantage of Clarence Hervey in personal accomplishments. But you are not a woman to be decided by personal accomplishments."

"And you will not allow me to be decided by solid good qualities," said Belinda. "So by what must I be determined?"

"By your heart, my dear; by your heart: trust your heart only."

"Alas!" said Belinda, "how many, many women have deplored their having trusted to their hearts only."

"_Their_ hearts! but I said _your_ heart: mind your p.r.o.nouns, my dear; that makes all the difference. But, to be serious, tell me, do you really and _bona fide_, as my old uncle the lawyer used to say, love Mr.

Vincent?"