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      “Nay, pray, ma’am, do me the favour — I only ask for information sake — is it to Sir Philip Baddely’s fortune, 15,000l. a year, you object, or to his family, or to his person? — Oh, curse it!” said he, changing his tone, “you’re only quizzing me to see how I should look — damn me, you did it too well, you little coquet!”

      Belinda again assured him that she was entirely in earnest, and that she was incapable of the sort of coquetry which he ascribed to her.

      “Oh, damme, ma’am, then I’ve no more to say — a coquet is a thing I understand as well as another, and if we had been only talking in the air, it would have been another thing; but when I come at once to a proposal in form, and a woman seriously tells me she has objections that cannot be obviated, damme, what must I, or what must the world conclude, but that she’s very unaccountable, or that she’s engaged — which last I presume to be the case, and it would have been a satisfaction to me to have known it sooner — at any rate, it is a satisfaction to me to know it now.”

      “I am sorry to deprive you of so much satisfaction,” said Miss Portman, “by assuring you, that I am not engaged to any one.”

      Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Lord Delacour, who came to inquire of Miss Portman how his lady did. The baronet, after twisting his little black stick into all manner of shapes, finished by breaking it, and then having no other resource, suddenly wished Miss Portman a good morning, and decamped with a look of silly ill-humour. He was determined to write to Mrs. Stanhope, whose influence over her niece he had no doubt would be decisive in his favour. “Sir Philip seems to be a little out of sorts this morning,” said Lord Delacour: “I am afraid he’s angry with me for interrupting his conversation; but really I did not know he was here, and I wanted to catch you a moment alone, that I might, in the first place, thank you for all your goodness to Lady Delacour. She has had a tedious sprain of it; these nervous fevers and convulsions — I don’t understand them, but I think Dr. X——‘s prescriptions seem to have done her good, for she is certainly better of late, and I am glad to hear music and people again in the house, because I know all this is what my Lady Delacour likes, and there is no reasonable indulgence that I would not willingly allow a wife; but I think there is a medium in all things. I am not a man to be governed by a wife, and when I have once said a thing, I like to be steady and always shall. And I am sure Miss Portman has too much good sense to think me wrong: for now, Miss Portman, in that quarrel about the coach and horses, which you heard part of one morning at breakfast — I must tell you the beginning of that quarrel.”

      “Excuse me, my lord, but I would rather hear of the end than of the beginning of quarrels.”

      “That shows your good sense as well as your good nature. I wish you could make my Lady Delacour of your taste — she does not want sense — but then (I speak to you freely of all that lies upon my mind, Miss Portman, for I know — I know you have no delight in making mischief in a house,) between you and me, her sense is not of the right kind. A woman may have too much wit — now too much is as bad as too little, and in a woman, worse; and when two people come to quarrel, then wit on either side, but more especially on the wife’s, you know is very provoking —’tis like concealed weapons, which are wisely forbidden by law. If a person kill another in a fray, with a concealed weapon, ma’am, by a sword in a cane, for instance, ’tis murder by the law. Now even if it were not contrary to law, I would never have such a thing in my cane to carry about with me; for when a man’s in a passion he forgets every thing, and would as soon lay about him with a sword as with a cane: so it is better such a thing should not be in his power. And it is the same with wit, which would be safest and best out of the power of some people.”