Tales and Novels, vol 3 | Page 6

the protection of her husband, the
world might whisper, but would not speak out; that as to Belinda's own
principles, she would be utterly inexcusable if, after the education she
had received, they could be hurt by any bad examples; that she could
not be too cautious in her management of a man of ----'s character; that
she could have no serious cause for jealousy in the quarter she
apprehended, as marriage there could not be the object; and there was
such a difference of age, that no permanent influence could probably be
obtained by the lady; that the most certain method for Miss Portman to
expose herself to the ridicule of one of the parties, and to the total
neglect of the other, would be to betray anxiety or jealousy; that, in
short, if she were fool enough to lose her own heart, there would be
little chance of her being wise enough to win that of------, who was
evidently a man of gallantry rather than of sentiment, and who was
known to play his cards well, and to have good luck whenever hearts
were trumps.
Belinda's fears of Lady Delacour, as a dangerous rival, were much
quieted by the artful insinuations of Mrs. Stanhope, with respect to her
age, &c.; and in proportion as her fears subsided, she blamed herself for
having written too harshly of her ladyship's conduct. The idea that
whilst she appeared as Lady Delacour's friend she ought not to
propagate any stories to her disadvantage, operated powerfully upon
Belinda's mind, and she reproached herself for having told even her

aunt what she had seen in private. She thought that she had been guilty
of treachery, and she wrote again immediately to Mrs. Stanhope, to
conjure her to burn her last letter; to forget, if possible, its contents; and
to believe that not a syllable of a similar nature should ever more be
heard from her: she was just concluding with the words--"I hope my
dear aunt will consider all this as an error of my judgment, and not of
my heart," when Lady Delacour burst into the room, exclaiming, in a
tone of gaiety, "Tragedy or comedy, Belinda? The masquerade dresses
are come. But how's this?" added she, looking full in Belinda's
face--"tears in the eyes! blushes in the cheeks! tremors in the joints!
and letters shuffling away! But, you novice of novices, how awkwardly
shuffled!--A niece of Mrs. Stanhope's, and so unpractised a
shuffler!--And is it credible she should tremble in this ridiculous way
about a love-letter or two?"
"No love-letters, indeed, Lady Delacour," said Belinda, holding the
paper fast, as her ladyship, half in play, half in earnest, attempted to
snatch it from her.
"No love-letters! then it must be treason; and see it I must, by all that's
good, or by all that's bad--I see the name of Delacour!"--and her
ladyship absolutely seized the letters by force, in spite of all Belinda's
struggles and entreaties.
"I beg, I request, I conjure you not to read it!" cried Miss Portman,
clasping her hands. "Read mine, read mine, if you must, but don't read
my aunt Stanhope's--Oh! I beg, I entreat, I conjure you!" and she threw
herself upon her knees.
"You beg! you entreat! you conjure! Why, this is like the Duchess de
Brinvilliers, who wrote on her paper of poisons, 'Whoever finds this, I
entreat, I conjure them, in the name of more saints than I can remember,
not to open the paper any farther.'--What a simpleton, to know so little
of the nature of curiosity!"
As she spoke, Lady Delacour opened Mrs. Stanhope's letter, read it
from beginning to end, folded it up coolly when she had finished it, and
simply said, "The person alluded to is almost as bad as her name at full

length: does Mrs. Stanhope think no one can make out an inuendo in a
libel, or fill up a blank, but an attorney-general?" pointing to a blank in
Mrs. Stanhope's letter, left for the name of Clarence Hervey.
Belinda was in too much confusion either to speak or think.
"You were right to swear they were not love-letters," pursued her
ladyship, laying down the papers. "I protest I snatched them by way of
frolic--I beg pardon. All I can do now is not to read the rest."
"Nay--I beg--I wish--I insist upon your reading mine," said Belinda.
When Lady Delacour had read it, her countenance suddenly
changed--"Worth a hundred of your aunt's, I declare," said she, patting
Belinda's cheek. "What a treasure to meet with any thing like a new
heart!--all hearts, now-a-days, are second-hand, at best."
Lady Delacour spoke with a tone of feeling which Belinda had never
heard from her before, and which at this moment touched her so much,
that she took her ladyship's