Lady Delacour rallied her upon her prudery, but in vain. Clarence Hervey seemed to think that her ladyship had not fulfilled her part of the bargain.—“Is not smiling,” said he, “the epithet always applied to peace? yet I have not been able to obtain one smile from Miss Portman since I have been promised peace.” Embarrassed by Mr. Hervey’s reproaches, and provoked to find that Belinda was proof against all her raillery, Lady Delacour grew quite ill-humoured towards her. Belinda, unconscious of having given any just cause of offence, was unmoved; and her ladyship’s embarrassment increased. At last, resuming all her former appearance of friendship and confidence, she suddenly exclaimed one night after she had flattered Belinda into high spirits—

“Do you know, my dear, that I have been so ashamed of ashamed of myself for this week past, that I have hardly dared to look you in the face. I am sensible I was downright rude and cross to you one day, and ever since I have been penitent; and, as all penitents are, very stupid and disagreeable, I am sure: but tell me you forgive my caprice, and Lady Delacour will be herself again.”

It was not difficult to obtain Belinda’s forgiveness.

“Indeed,” continued Lady Delacour, “you are too good; but then in my own justification I must say, that I have more things to make me ill-humoured than most people have. Now, my dear, that most obstinate of human beings, Lord Delacour, has reduced me to the most terrible situation—I have made Clarence Hervey buy a pair of horses for me, and I cannot make my Lord Delacour pay for them; but I forgot to tell you that I took your name—not in vain indeed—in this business. I told Clarence, that upon condition he would do this job for me, you would forgive him for all his sins, and—nay, my dear, why do you look as if I had stabbed you to the heart?—after all, I only drew upon your pretty mouth for a few smiles. Pray let me see whether it has actually forgotten how to smile.”

Belinda was too much vexed at this instant to understand raillery. She was inspired by anger with unwonted courage, and, losing all fear of Lady Delacour’s wit, she very seriously expostulated with her ladyship upon having thus used her name without her consent or knowledge. Belinda felt she was now in danger of being led into a situation which might be fatal to her reputation and her happiness; and she was the more surprised at her ladyship, when she recollected the history she had so lately heard of Harriot Freke and Colonel Lawless.

“You cannot but be sensible, Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “that after the contempt I have heard Mr. Hervey express for matchmaking with Mrs. Stanhope’s nieces, I should degrade myself by any attempts to attract his attention. No wit, no eloquence, can change my opinion upon this subject—I cannot endure contempt.”

“Very likely—no doubt”—interrupted Lady Delacour; “but if you would only open your eyes, which heroines make it a principle never to do—or else there would be an end of the novel—if you would only open your eyes, you would see that this man is in love with you; and whilst you are afraid of his contempt, he is a hundred times more afraid of yours; and as long as you are each of you in such fear of you know not what, you must excuse me if I indulge myself in a little wholesome raillery.”—Belinda smiled.—“There now; one such smile as that for Clarence Hervey, and I’m out of debt and danger,” said Lady Delacour.

“O Lady Delacour, why, why will you try your power over me in this manner?” said Belinda. “You know that I ought not to be persuaded to do what I am conscious is wrong. But a few days ago you told me yourself that Mr. Hervey is—is not a marrying man; and a woman of your penetration must see that—that he only means to flirt with me. I am not a match for Mr. Hervey in any respect. He is a man of wit and gallantry—I am unpractised in the ways of the world. I was not educated by my aunt Stanhope—I have only been with her a few years—I wish I had never been with her in my life.”

“I’ll take care Mr. Hervey shall know that,” said Lady Delacour; “but in the meantime I do think any fair appraiser of delicate distresses would decide that I am, all the circumstances considered, more to be pitied at this present moment than you are: for the catastrophe of the business evidently is, that I must pay two hundred guineas for the horses somehow or other.”

“I can pay for them,” exclaimed Belinda, “and will with the greatest pleasure. I will not go to the birth-night—my dress is not bespoke. Will two hundred guineas pay for the horses? Oh, take the money—pay Mr. Hervey, dear Lady Delacour, and it will all be right.”

“You are a charming girl,” said Lady Delacour, embracing her; “but how can I answer for it to my conscience, or to your aunt Stanhope, if you don’t appear on the birth-night? That cannot be, my dear; besides, you know Mrs. Franks will send home your drawing-room dress today, and it would be so foolish to be presented for nothing—not to go to the birth-night afterwards. If you say a you must say b.”

“Then,” said Belinda, “I will not go to the drawing room.”—“Not go, my dear! What! throw away fifty guineas for nothing! Really I never saw anyone so lavish of her money, and so economic of her smiles.”

“Surely,” said Miss Portman, “it is better for me to throw away fifty guineas, poor as I am, than to hazard the happiness of my life.