said the dowager: "an amiable woman, to be sure; but that means nothing.

I have not had a guess from Miss Portman."

"From general character," Belinda began, in a constrained voice.

"Do not guess from general character, my dear Belinda," interrupted Lady Delacour; "for there is no judging, in these cases, from general character, of what people will like or dislike."

"Then I will leave it to your ladyship to guess this time, if you please," said Belinda.

"You will neither of you guess till doomsday!" cried the dowager; "I must tell you. Mr. Hervey's going to marry--in the strangest sort of way!--a girl that n.o.body knows--a daughter of a Mr. Hartley. The father can give her a good fortune, it is true; but one should not have supposed that fortune was an object with Mr. Hervey, who has such a n.o.ble one of his own. It's really difficult to believe it."

"So difficult, that I find it quite impossible," said Lady Delacour, with an incredulous smile.

"Depend upon it, my dear Lady Delacour," said the dowager, laying the convincing weight of her arm upon her ladyship's, "depend upon it, my dear Lady Delacour, that my information is correct. Guess whom I had it from."

"Willingly. But first let me tell you, that I have seen Mr. Hervey within this half hour, and I never saw a man look less like a bridegroom."

"Indeed! well, I've heard, too, that he didn't like the match: but what a pity, when you saw him yourself this morning, that you didn't get all the particulars out of him. But let him look like what he will, you'll find that my information is perfectly correct. Guess whom I had it from--from Mrs. Margaret Delacour: it was at her house that Clarence Hervey first met Mr. Hartley, who, as I mentioned, is the father of the young lady. There was a charming scene, and some romantic story, about his finding the girl in a cottage, and calling her Virginia something or other, but I didn't clearly understand about that. However, this much is certain, that the girl, as her father told Mrs. Delacour, is desperately in love with Mr. Hervey, and they are to be married immediately. Depend upon it, you'll find my information correct. Good morning to you. Lord bless me! now I recollect, I once heard that Mr. Hervey was a great admirer of Miss Portman," said the dowager.

The inquisitive dowager, whose curiosity was put upon a new scent, immediately fastened her eyes upon Belinda's face; but from that she could make out nothing. Was it because she had not the best eyes, or because there was nothing to be seen? To determine this question, she looked through her gla.s.s, 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 qua.s.sia."

"Ah! ah! have I made a convert of you at last?" said the dowager; and, satisfied with the glory of this conversion, she departed.

"Admire my knowledge of human nature, my dear Belinda," said Lady Delacour. "Now she will talk, at the next place she goes to, of nothing but of my faith in anima of qua.s.sia; and she will forget to make a gossiping story out of that most imprudent hint I gave her, about Clarence Hervey's having been an admirer of yours."

"Do not leave the room, Belinda; I have a thousand things to say to you, my dear."

"Excuse me, at present, my dear Lady Delacour; I am impatient to write a few lines to Mr. Vincent. He went away--"

"In a fit of jealousy, and I am glad of it."

"And I am sorry for it," said Belinda; "sorry that he should have so little confidence in me as to feel jealousy without cause--without sufficient cause, I should say; for certainly your ladyship gave pain, by the manner in which you received Mr. Hervey."

"Lord, my dear, you would spoil any man upon earth. You could not act more foolishly if the man were your husband. Are you privately married to him?--If you be not--for my sake--for your own--for Mr. Vincent's--do not write till we see the contents of Clarence Hervey's packet."

"It _can_ make no alteration in what I write," said Belinda.

"Well, my dear, write what you please; but I only hope you will not send your letter till the packet arrives."

"Pardon me, I shall send it as soon as I possibly can: the 'dear delight of giving pain' does not suit my taste."

Lady Delacour, as soon as she was left alone, began to reconsider the dowager's story; notwithstanding her unbelieving smile, it alarmed her, for she could not refuse to give it some degree of credit, when she learnt that Mrs. Margaret Delacour was the authority from whom it came.

Mrs. Delacour was a woman of scrupulous veracity, and rigid in her dislike to gossiping; so that it was scarcely probable a report originating with her, however it might be altered by the way, should prove to be totally void of foundation. The name of Virginia coincided with Sir Philip Baddely's hints, and with Marriott's discoveries: these circ.u.mstances considered, Lady Delacour knew not what opinion to form; and her eagerness to receive Mr. Hervey's packet every moment increased.

She walked up and down the room--looked at her watch--fancied that it had stopped--held it to her ear--ran the bell every quarter of an hour, to inquire whether the messenger was not _yet_ come back. At last, the long-expected packet arrived. She seized it, and hurried with it immediately to Belinda's room.

"Clarence Hervey's packet, my love!--Now, woe be to the person who interrupts us!" She bolted the door as she spoke--. rolled an arm-chair to the fire--"Now for it!" said she, seating herself. "The devil upon two sticks, if he were looking down upon me from the house-top, or Champfort, who is the worse devil of the two, would, if he were peeping through the keyhole, swear I was going to open a love-letter--and so I hope I am. Now for it!" cried she, breaking the seal.

"My dear friend," said Belinda, laying her hand upon Lady Delacour's, "before we open this packet, let me speak to you, whilst our minds are calm."

"Calm! It is the strangest time for your mind to be calm. But I must not affront you by my incredulity. Speak, then, but be quick, for I do not pretend to be calm; it not being, thank my stars, _'mon metier d'etre philosophe.'_ Crack goes the last seal--speak now, or for ever after hold your tongue, my _calm philosopher _of Oakly-park: but do you wish me to attend to what you are going to say?"

"Yes," replied Belinda, smiling; "that is the usual wish of those who speak."

"Very true: and I can listen tolerably well, when I don't know what people are going to say; but when I know it all beforehand, I have an unfortunate habit of not being able to attend to one word. Now, my dear, let me antic.i.p.ate your speech, and if my antic.i.p.ation be wrong, then you shall rise to explain; and I will," said she, (putting her finger on her lips,) "listen to you, like Harpocrates, without moving an eyelash."

Belinda, as the most certain way of being heard, consented to hear before she spoke.

"I will tell you," pursued Lady Delacour, "if not what you are going to say to me, at least what you say to yourself, which is fully as much to the purpose. You say to yourself, 'Let this packet of Clarence Hervey contain what it may, it comes too late. Let him say, or let him do, 'tis all the same to me--because--(now for the reasoning)--because things have gone so far with Mr. Vincent, that Lady Anne Percival and all the world (at Oakly-park) will blame me, if I retract. In short, _things have gone so far_ that I cannot recede; because--_things have gone so far_.' This is the rondeau of your argument. Nay, hear me out, then you shall have your turn, my dear, for an hour, if you please. Let things have gone ever so far, they can stop, and turn about again, cannot they?

Lady Anne Percival is your friend, of course can wish only for your happiness. You think she is 'the thing that's most uncommon, a reasonable woman:' then she cannot be angry with you for being happy your own way. So I need not, as the orators say, _labour this point any more_. Now, as to your aunt. The fear of displeasing Mrs. Stanhope a little more or less is not to be put in compet.i.tion with the hope of your happiness for life, especially as you have contrived to exist some months in a state of utter excommunication from her favour. After all, you know she will not grieve for any thing but the loss of Mr. Vincent's fortune; and Mr. Hervey's fortune might do as well, or almost as well: at least, she may compound with her pride for the difference, by considering that an English member of parliament is, in the eyes of the world (the only eyes with which she sees), a better connexion than the son of a West India planter, even though he may be a protege of Lady Anne Percival.

"Spare me your indignation, my dear!--What a look was there!--Reasoning for Mrs. Stanhope, must not I reason as Mrs. Stanhope does?--Now I will put this stronger still. Suppose that you had actually acknowledged that Mr. Vincent had got beyond esteem with you; suppose that you had in due form consented to marry him; suppose that preparations were at this moment making for the wedding; even in that desperate case I should say to you, you are not a girl to marry because your wedding-gown is made up. Some few guineas are thrown away, perhaps; do not throw away your whole happiness after them--that would be sorry economy. Trust me, my dear, I should say, as I have to you, in time of need. Or, if you fear to be obliged to one who never was afraid of being obliged to you, ten to one the preparations for _a_ wedding, though not _the_ wedding, may be necessary immediately. No matter to Mrs. Franks who the bridegroom may be; so that her bill be paid, she would not care the turning of a feather whether it be paid by Mrs. Vincent or Mrs. Hervey. I hope I have convinced, I am sure I have made you blush, my dear, and that is some satisfaction. A blush at this moment is an earnest of victory. Lo, triumphe! Now I will open my packet; my hand shall not be held an instant longer."

"I absolve you from the penance of hearing me for an hour, but I claim your promise to attend to me for a few minutes, my dear friend," said Belinda: "I thank you most sincerely for your kindness; and let me a.s.sure you that I should not hesitate to accept from you any species of obligation."

"Thanks! thanks!--there's a dear good girl!--my own Belinda!"

"But indeed you totally misunderstand me; your reasoning--"

"Show me the fault of it: I challenge all the logic of all the Percivals."

"Your reasoning is excellent, if your facts were not taken for granted.

You have taken it for granted, that Mr. Hervey is in love with me."

"No," said Lady Delacour; "I take nothing for granted, as you will find when I open this packet."

"You have taken it for granted," continued Belinda, "that I am still secretly attached to him; and you take it for granted that I am restrained only by fear of Lady Anne Percival, my aunt, and the world, from breaking off with Mr. Vincent: if you will read the letter, which I was writing to him when you came into the room, perhaps you will be convinced of your mistake."

"Read a letter to Mr. Vincent at such a time as this! then I will go and read my packet in my own room," cried Lady Delacour, rising hastily, with evident displeasure.

"Not even your displeasure, my dear friend," said Belinda, "can alter my determination to behave with consistency and openness towards Mr.

Vincent; and I can bear your anger, for I know it arises from your regard for me."

"I never loved you so little as at this instant, Belinda."

"You will do me justice when you are cool."

"Cool!" repeated Lady Delacour, as she was about to leave the room, "I never wish to be as cool as you are, Belinda! So, after all, you love Mr. Vincent--you'll marry Mr. Vincent!"

"I never said so," replied Belinda: "you have not read my letter. Oh, Lady Delacour, at this instant--you should not reproach me."

"I did you injustice," cried Lady Delacour, as she now looked at Belinda's letter. "Send it--send it--you have said the very thing you ought; and now sit down with me to this packet of Clarence Hervey's--be just to him, as you are to Mr. Vincent, that's all I ask--give him a fair hearing:--now for it."

CHAPTER XXVI.

VIRGINIA