LITMIR.BIZ

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was in hopes, from the reserve with which Miss Portman began to treat Clarence, that he should, without making any distinct charge, succeed in disgusting her with his rival. Mr. Hervey was about this time less assiduous than formerly in his visits at Lady Delacour’s; Sir Philip was there every day, and often for Miss Portman’s entertainment exerted himself so far as to tell the news of the town. One morning, when Clarence Hervey happened to be present, the baronet thought it incumbent upon him to eclipse his rival in conversation, and he began to talk of the last fête champêtre at Frogmore.

      “What a cursed unlucky overturn that was of yours, Lady Delacour, with those famous young horses! Why, what with this sprain, and this nervous business, you’ve not been able to stir out since the birthday, and you’ve missed the breakfast, and all that, at Frogmore — why, all the world stayed broiling in town on purpose for it, and you that had a card too — how damned provoking!”

      “I regret extremely that my illness prevented me from being at this charming fête; I regret it more on Miss Portman’s account than on my own,” said her ladyship. Belinda assured her that she felt no mortification from the disappointment.

      “O, damme! but I would have driven you in my curricle,” said Sir Philip: “it was the finest sight and best conducted I ever saw, and only wanted Miss Portman to make it complete. We had gipsies, and Mrs. Mills the actress for the queen of the gipsies; and she gave us a famous good song, Rochfort, you know — and then there was two children upon an ass— damme, I don’t know how they came there, for they’re things one sees every day — and belonged only to two of the soldiers’ wives — for we had the whole band of the Staffordshire playing at dinner, and we had some famous glees — and Fawcett gave us his laughing song, and then we had the launching of the ship, and only it was a boat, it would have been well enough — but damme, the song of Polly Oliver was worth the whole — except the Flemish Hercules, Ducrow, you know, dressed in light blue and silver, and — Miss Portman, I wish you had seen this — three great coach-wheels on his chin, and a ladder and two chairs and two children on them — and after that, he sported a musquet and bayonet with the point of the bayonet on his chin — faith! that was really famous! But I forgot the Pyrrhic dance, Miss Portman, which was damned fine too —— danced in boots and spurs by those Hungarian fellows — they jump and turn about, and clap their knees with their hands, and put themselves in all sorts of ways — and then we had that song of Polly Oliver, as I told you before, and Mrs. Mills gave us — no, no — it was a drummer of the Staffordshire dressed as a gipsy girl, gave us the cottage on the moor, the most charming thing, and would suit your voice, Miss Portman — damme, you’d sing it like an angel —— But where was I? — Oh, then they had tea — and fireplaces built of brick, out in the air — and then the entrance to the ball-room was all a colonnade done with lamps and flowers, and that sort of thing — and there was some bon-mot (but that was in the morning) amongst the gipsies about an orange and the stadtholder — and then there was a Turkish dance, and a Polonese dance, all very fine, but nothing to come up to the Pyrrhic touch, which was a great deal the most knowing, in boots and spurs — damme, now, I can’t describe the thing to you, ’tis a cursed pity you weren’t there, damme.”

      Lady Delacour assured Sir Philip that she had been more entertained by the description than she could have been by the reality. —“Clarence, was not it the best description you ever heard? But pray favour us with a touch of the Pyrrhic dance, Sir Philip.”

      Lady Delacour spoke with such polite earnestness, and the baronet had so little penetration and so much conceit, that he did not suspect her of irony: he eagerly began to exhibit the Pyrrhic dance, but in such a manner that it was impossible for human gravity to withstand the sight — Rochfort laughed first, Lady Delacour followed him, and Clarence Hervey and Belinda could no longer restrain themselves.

      “Damme, now I believe you’ve all been quizzing me,” cried the baronet, and he fell into a sulky silence, eyeing Clarence Hervey and Miss Portman from time to time with what he meant for a knowing look. His silence and sulkiness lasted till Clarence took his leave. Soon afterward Belinda retired to the music-room. Sir Philip then begged to speak a few words to Lady Delacour, with a face of much importance: and after a preamble of nonsensical expletives, he said that his regard for her ladyship and Miss Portman made him wish to explain hints which had been dropped from him at times, and which he could not explain to her satisfaction, without a promise of inviolable secresy. “As Hervey is or was a sort of a friend, I can’t mention this sort of thing without such a preliminary.”— Lady Delacour gave the preliminary promise, and Sir Philip informed her, that people began to take notice that Hervey was an admirer of Miss Portman, and that it might be a disadvantage to the young lady, as Mr. Hervey could have no serious intentions, because he had an attachment, to his certain knowledge, elsewhere.

      “A matrimonial attachment?” said Lady Delacour.

      “Why, damme, as to matrimony, I can’t say; but the girl’s so famously beautiful, and Clary has been constant to her so many years ——”

      “Many years! then she is not young?”

      “Oh, damme, yes, she is not more than seventeen — and, let her be what else she will, she’s a famous fine girl. I had a sight of her once at Windsor, by stealth.”

      And then the baronet described her after his manner. —“Where Clary keeps her now, I can’t make out; but he has taken her away from Windsor. She was then with a gouvernante, and is as proud as the devil, which smells like matrimony for Clary.”

      “And do you know this peerless damsel’s name?”

      “I think the old Jezebel called her Miss St. Pierre — ay, damme, it was Virginia too — Virginia St. Pierre.”

      “Virginia St. Pierre, a pretty romantic name,” said Lady Delacour: “Miss Portman and I are extremely obliged by your attention to the preservation of our hearts, and I promise you we shall keep your counsel and our own.”

      Sir Philip then, with more than his usual complement of oaths, pronounced Miss Portman to be the finest girl he had ever seen, and took his leave.

      When Lady Delacour repeated this story to Belinda, she concluded by saying, “Now, my dear, you know Sir Philip Baddely has his own views in telling us all this — in telling you, all this; for evidently he admires you, and consequently hates Clarence. So I believe only half the man says; and the other half, though it has made you turn so horribly pale, my love, I consider as a thing of no manner of consequence to you.”

      “Of no manner of consequence to me, I assure your ladyship,” said Belinda; “I have always considered Mr. Hervey as —”

      “Oh, as a common acquaintance, no doubt — but we’ll pass over all those pretty speeches: I was going to say that this ‘mistress in the wood’ can be of no consequence to your happiness, because, whatever that fool Sir Philip may think, Clarence Hervey is not a man to go and marry a girl who has been his mistress for half a dozen years. Do not look so shocked, my dear — I really cannot help laughing. I congratulate you, however, that the thing is no worse — it is all in rule and in course — when a man marries, he sets up new equipages, and casts off old mistresses; or if you like to see the thing as a woman of sentiment rather than as a woman of the world, here is the prettiest opportunity for your lover’s making a sacrifice. I am sorry I cannot make you smile, my dear; but consider, as nobody knows this naughty thing but ourselves, we are not called upon to bristle up our morality, and the most moral ladies in the world do not expect men to be as moral as themselves: so we may suit the measure of our external indignation to our real feelings. Sir Philip cannot stir in the business, for he knows Clarence would call him out if his secret viz to Virginia were to come to light. I advise you d’aller votre train with Clarence, without seeming to suspect him in the least; there is nothing like innocence in these cases, my dear: but I know by the Spanish haughtiness of your air at this instant, that you would sooner die the death of the sentimental-than follow my advice.”

      Belinda, without any haughtiness, but with firm gentleness, replied, that she had no designs whatever upon Mr. Hervey, and that therefore there could be no necessity for any manoeuvring

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