Stanhope. She was conscious that she had no right to lend this money to Lady Delacour, if her aunt had expressly desired that she should spend it only on her court-dress; but this had not distinctly been expressed when Mrs. Stanhope sent her niece the draft. That lady was in the habit of speaking and writing ambiguously, so that even those who knew her best were frequently in doubt how to interpret her words. Yet she was extremely displeased when her hints and her half-expressed wishes were not understood. Beside the concern she felt from the thoughts of having displeased her aunt, Belinda was both vexed and mortified to perceive that in Clarence Hervey’s manner towards her there was not the change which she had expected that her conduct would naturally produce.

One day she was surprised at his reproaching her for caprice in having given up her intentions of going to court. Lady Delacour’s embarrassment whilst Mr. Hervey spoke, Belinda attributed to her ladyship’s desire that Clarence should not know that she had been obliged to borrow the money to pay him for the horses. Belinda thought that this was a species of mean pride; but she made it a point to keep her ladyship’s secret—she therefore slightly answered Mr. Hervey, “that she wondered that a man who was so well acquainted with the female sex should be surprised at any instance of caprice from a woman.” The conversation then took another turn, and whilst they were talking of indifferent subjects, in came Lord Delacour’s man, Champfort, with Mrs. Stanhope’s draft for two hundred guineas, which the coachmaker’s man had just brought hack because Miss Portman had forgotten to endorse it. Belinda’s astonishment was almost as great at this instant as Lady Delacour’s confusion.

“Come this way, my dear, and we’ll find you a pen and ink. You need not wait, Champfort; but tell the man to wait for the draft—Miss Portman will endorse it immediately.”—And she took Belinda into another room.

“Good Heavens! Has not this money been paid to Mr. Hervey?” exclaimed Belinda.

“No, my dear; but I will take all the blame upon myself, or, which will do just as well for you, throw it all upon my better half. My Lord Delacour would not pay for my new carriage. The coachmaker, insolent animal, would not let it out of his yard without two hundred guineas in ready money. Now you know I had the horses, and what could I do with the horses without the carriage? Clarence Hervey, I knew, could wait for his money better than a poor devil of a coachmaker; so I paid the coachmaker, and a few months sooner or later can make no difference to Clarence, who rolls in gold, my dear—if that will be any comfort to you, as I hope it will.”

“Oh, what will he think of me!” said Belinda.

“Nay, what will he think of me, child!”

“Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, in a firmer tone than she had ever before spoken, “I must insist upon this draft being given to Mr. Hervey.”

“Absolutely impossible, my dear.—I cannot take it from the coachmaker; he has sent home the carriage: the thing’s done, and cannot be undone. But come, since I know nothing else will make you easy, I will take this mighty favour from Mr. Hervey entirely upon my own conscience: you cannot object to that, for you are not the keeper of my conscience. I will tell Clarence the whole business, and do you honour due, my dear: so endorse the check, whilst I go and sound both the praises of your dignity of mind, and simplicity of character, etc. etc. etc. etc.”

Her ladyship broke away from Belinda, returned to Clarence Hervey, and told the whole affair with that peculiar grace with which she knew how to make a good story of a bad one. Clarence was as favourable an auditor at this time as she could possibly have found; for no human being could value money less than he did, and all sense of her ladyship’s meanness was lost in his joy at discovering that Belinda was worthy of his esteem.