Tales and Novels, vol 3 | Page 7

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 whilst we are making speeches to one another, poor Marriott is 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 the other.
"I 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 could be disputed.
"Your ladyship's taller than Miss Portman by half ahead," said Marriott, "and to be sure will best become tragedy with this long train; besides, I had settled all the rest of your ladyship'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--I'll say no more," cried she, throwing down the dresses.
"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 these furies about nothing? Have patience with us, and you shall be satisfied."
"That's another affair," said Marriott.
"Miss Portman," continued her ladyship, "don't talk of not having spirits, you that are all life!--What say you, Belinda?--O yes, you must be the comic muse; and I, it seems, must be tragedy, because Marriott has a passion for seeing me 'come sweeping by.' And because Marriott must have her own way in every thing--she rules me with a rod of iron, my dear, so tragedy I needs must be.--Marriott knows her power."
There was an air of extreme vexation in Lady Delacour's countenance 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 despotic authority over her mistress; and she had seen, with surprise, that a lady, who would not yield an iota of power to her husband, submitted herself to every caprice of the most insolent of waiting-women. For some time, Belinda imagined that this submission was merely an air, as she had seen some other fine ladies proud of appearing to be governed by a favourite maid; but she was soon convinced that Marriott was no favourite with Lady Delacour; that her ladyship's was not proud humility, but fear. It seemed certain that a woman, extravagantly fond of her own will, 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 any body but Marriott to obtain admission. Miss Portman at first imagined that Lady Delacour dreaded the discovery of her cosmetic 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 suffer Belinda to follow her into the boudoir. All these things Belinda recollected in the space of a few seconds, as she stood contemplating 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