Stanhope could do with her I often wondered; but she took courage, rouged her up, set her a going as a dasher, and she dashed herself into Tom Levit’s curricle, and Tom couldn’t get her out again till she was the honourable Mrs. Levit: she then took the reins into her own hands, and I hear she’s driving him and herself the road to ruin as fast as they can gallop. As for this Belinda Portman, ’twas a good hit to send her to Lady Delacour’s; but, I take it she hangs upon hand; for last winter, when I was at Bath, she was hawked about everywhere, and the aunt was puffing her with might and main. You heard of nothing, wherever you went, but of Belinda Portman, and Belinda Portman’s accomplishments: Belinda Portman, and her accomplishments, I’ll swear, were as well advertised as Packwood’s razor strops.”

“Mrs. Stanhope overdid the business, I think,” resumed the gentleman who began the conversation: “girls brought to the hammer this way don’t go off well. It’s true, Christie himself is no match for dame Stanhope. Many of my acquaintance were tempted to go and look at the premises, but not one, you may be sure, had a thought of becoming a tenant for life.”

“That’s an honour reserved for you, Clarence Hervey,” said another, tapping him upon the shoulder.—“Give ye joy, Hervey; give ye joy!”

“Me!” said Clarence, starting.

“I’ll be hanged if he didn’t change colour,” said his facetious companion; and all the young men again joined in a laugh.

“Laugh on, my merry men all!” cried Clarence; “but the devil’s in it if I don’t know my own mind better than any of you. You don’t imagine I go to Lady Delacour’s to look for a wife?—Belinda Portman’s a good pretty girl, but what then? Do you think I’m an idiot?—do you think I could be taken in by one of the Stanhope school? Do you think I don’t see as plainly as any of you that Belinda Portman’s a composition of art and affectation?”

“Hush—not so loud, Clarence; here she comes,” said his companion. “The comic muse, is not she—?”

Lady Delacour, at this moment, came lightly tripping towards them, and addressing herself, in the character of the comic muse, to Hervey, exclaimed,

“Hervey! my Hervey! most favoured of my votaries, why do you forsake me?

‘Why mourns my friend, why weeps his downcast eye?
That eye where mirth and fancy used to shine.’

Though you have lost your serpent’s form, yet you may please any of the fair daughters of Eve in your own.”

Mr. Hervey bowed; all the gentlemen who stood near him smiled; the tragic muse gave an involuntary sigh.

“Could I borrow a sigh, or a tear, from my tragic sister,” pursued Lady Delacour, “however unbecoming to my character, I would, if only sighs or tears can win the heart of Clarence Hervey—let me practise”—and her ladyship practised sighing with much comic effect.

“Persuasive words and more persuasive sighs,” said Clarence Hervey.

“A good bold Stanhope cast of the net, faith,” whispered one of his companions. “Melpomene, hast thou forgot thyself to marble?” pursued Lady Delacour. “I am not very well,” whispered Miss Portman to her ladyship: “could we get away?”

“Get away from Clarence Hervey, do you mean?” replied her ladyship, in a whisper: “’tis not easy, but we’ll try what can be done, if it is necessary.”

Belinda had no power to reply to this raillery; indeed, she scarcely heard the words that were said to her; but she put her arm within Lady Delacour’s, who, to her great relief, had the good nature to leave the room with her immediately. Her ladyship, though she would sacrifice the feelings of others, without compunction, to her vanity, whenever the power of her wit was disputed, yet towards those by whom it was acknowledged she showed some mercy.

“What is the matter with the child?” said she, as she went down the staircase.

“Nothing, if I could have air,” said Belinda. There was a crowd of servants in the hall.

“Why does Lady Delacour avoid me so pertinaciously? What crime have I committed, that I was not favoured with one word?” said Clarence Hervey, who had followed them down stairs, and overtook them in the hall.

“Do see if you can find any of my people,” cried Lady Delacour.

“Lady Delacour, the comic muse!” exclaimed Mr. Hervey. “I thought—”

“No matter what you thought,” interrupted her ladyship. “Let my carriage draw up, for here’s a young friend of yours trembling so about nothing, that I am half afraid she will faint; and you know it would not be so pleasant to faint here amongst footmen. Stay! this room is empty. O, I did not mean to tell you to stay,” said she to Hervey, who involuntarily followed her in the utmost consternation.

“I’m perfectly well, now—perfectly well,” said Belinda.