Tales and Novels Volume III Part 45

Mr. Vincent, who had by this time seen his dog fed, which was one of his daily pleasures, returned, and politely a.s.sured Lady Delacour that Juba should not again intrude. To make her peace with Mr. Vincent, and to drive the E O table from Belinda's thoughts, her ladys.h.i.+p now turned the conversation from Juba the dog, to Juba the man. She talked of Harriot Freke's phosphoric Obeah woman, of whom, she said, she had heard an account from Miss Portman. From thence she went on to the African slave trade, by way of contrast, and she finished precisely where she intended, and where Mr. Vincent could have wished, by praising a poem called 'The dying Negro,' which he had the preceding evening brought to read to Belinda. This praise was peculiarly agreeable, because he was not perfectly sure of his own critical judgment, and his knowledge of English literature was not as extensive as Clarence Hervey's; a circ.u.mstance which Lady Delacour had discovered one morning, when they went to see Pope's famous villa at Twickenham. Flattered by her present confirmation of his taste, Mr. Vincent readily complied with a request to read the poem to Belinda. They were all deeply engaged by the charms of poetry, when they were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of--Clarence Hervey!

The book dropped from Vincent's hand the instant that he heard his name.

Lady Delacour's eyes sparkled with joy. Belinda's colour rose, but her countenance maintained an expression of calm dignity. Mr. Hervey, upon his first entrance, appeared prepared to support an air of philosophic composure, which forsook him before he had walked across the room. He seemed overpowered by the kindness with which Lady Delacour received his congratulations on her recovery--struck by the reserve of Belinda's manner--but not surprised, or displeased, at the sight of Mr. Vincent.

On the contrary, he desired immediately to be introduced to him, with the air of a man resolute to cultivate his friends.h.i.+p. Provoked and perplexed, Lady Delacour, in a tone of mingled reproach and astonishment, exclaimed, "Though you have not done me the honour, Mr.

Hervey, to take any other notice of my last letter, I am to understand, I presume, by the manner in which you desire me to introduce you to our friend Mr. Vincent, that it has been received."

"Received! Good Heavens! have not you had my answer?" cried Clarence Hervey, with a voice and look of extreme surprise and emotion: "Has not your ladys.h.i.+p received a packet?"

"I have had no packet--I have had no letter. Mr. Vincent, do me the favour to ring the bell," cried Lady Delacour, eagerly: "I'll know, this instant, what's become of it."

"Your ladys.h.i.+p must have thought me--," and, as he spoke, his eye involuntarily glanced towards Belinda.

"No matter what I thought you," cried Lady Delacour, who forgave him every thing for this single glance; "if I did you a little injustice, Clarence, when I was angry, you must forgive me; for, I a.s.sure you, I do you a great deal of justice at other times."

"Did any letter, any packet, come here for me? Inquire, inquire," said she, impatiently, to the servant who came in. No letter or packet was to be heard of. It had been directed, Mr. Hervey now remembered, to her ladys.h.i.+p's house in town. She gave orders to have it immediately sent for; but scarcely had she given them, when, turning to Mr. Hervey, she laughed and said, "A very foolish compliment to you and your letter, for you certainly can speak as well as you can write; nay, better, I think--though you don't write ill, neither--but you can tell me, in two words, what in writing would take half a volume. Leave this gentleman and lady to 'the dying Negro,' and let me hear your two words in Lord Delacour's dressing-room, if you please," said she, opening the door of an adjoining apartment. "Lord Delacour will not be jealous if he find you tete-a-tete with me, I promise you. But you shall not be compelled.

You look--"

"I look," said Mr. Hervey, affecting to laugh, "as if I felt the impossibility of putting half a volume into two words. It is a long story, and--"

"And I must wait for the packet, whether I will or no--well, be it so,"

said Lady Delacour. Struck with the extreme perturbation into which he was thrown, she pressed him with no farther raillery, but instantly attempted to change the conversation to general subjects.

Again she had recourse to 'the dying Negro.' Mr. Vincent, to whom she now addressed herself, said, "For my part, I neither have, nor pretend to have, much critical taste; but I admire in this poem the manly, energetic spirit of virtue which it breathes." From the poem, an easy transition was made to the author; and Clarence Hervey, exerting himself to join in the conversation, observed, "that this writer (Mr. Day) was an instance that genuine eloquence must spring from the heart. Cicero was certainly right," continued he, addressing himself to Mr. Vincent, "in his definition of a great orator, to make it one of the first requisites, that he should be a good man."

Mr. Vincent coldly replied, "This definition would exclude too many men of superior talents, to be easily admitted."

"Perhaps the appearance of virtue," said Belinda, "might, on many occasions, succeed as well as the reality."

"Yes, if the man be as good an actor as Mr. Hervey," said, Lady Delacour, "and if he suit 'the action to the word'--'the word to the action.'"

Belinda never raised her eyes whilst her ladys.h.i.+p uttered these words; Mr. Vincent was, or seemed to be, so deeply engaged in looking for something in the book, which he held in his hand, that he could take no farther part in the conversation; and a dead silence ensued.

Lady Delacour, who was naturally impatient in the extreme, especially in the vindication of her friends, could not bear to see, as she did by Belinda's countenance, that she had not forgotten Marriott's story of Virginia St. Pierre; and though her ladys.h.i.+p was convinced that the _packet_ would clear up all mysteries, yet she could not endure that even in the interim 'poor Clarence' should he unjustly suspected; nor could she refrain from trying an expedient, which just occurred to her, to satisfy herself and every body present. She was the first to break silence.

"To do ye justice, my friends, you are all good company this morning.

Mr. Vincent is excusable, because he is in love; and Belinda is excusable, because--because--Mr. Hervey, pray help me to an excuse for Miss Portman's stupidity, for I am dreadfully afraid of blundering out the truth. But why do I ask _you_ to help me? In your present condition, you seem totally unable to help yourself.--Not a word!--Run over the common-places of conversation--weather--fas.h.i.+on--scandal--dress--deaths-- marriages.--Will none of these do? Suppose, then, you were to entertain me with other people's thoughts, since you have none of your own unpacked--Forfeit to arbitrary power," continued her ladys.h.i.+p, playfully seizing Mr. Vincent's book. "I have always observed that none submit with so good a grace to arbitrary power from our s.e.x as your true men of spirit, who would shed the last drop of their blood to resist it from one of their own. Inconsistent creatures, the best of you! So read this charming little poem to us, Mr. Hervey, will you?"

He was going to begin immediately, but Lady Delacour put her hand upon the book, and stopped him.

"Stay; though I am tyrannical, I will not be treacherous. I warn you, then, that I have imposed upon you a difficult, a dangerous task. If you have any 'sins unwhipt of justice,' there are lines which I defy you to read without faltering--listen to the preface."

Her ladys.h.i.+p began as follows:

"Mr. Day, indeed, retained during all the period of his life, as might be expected from his character, a strong detestation of female seduction----Happening to see some verses, written by a young lady, on a recent event of this nature, which was succeeded by a fatal catastrophe--the unhappy young woman, who had been a victim to the perfidy of a lover, overpowered by her sensibility of shame, having died of a broken heart--he expresses his sympathy with the fair poetess in the following manner."

Lady Delacour paused, and fixed her eyes upon Clarence Hervey. He, with all the appearance of conscious innocence, received the book, without hesitation, from her hands, and read aloud the lines, to which she pointed.

"Swear by the dread avengers of the tomb, By all thy hopes, by death's tremendous gloom, That ne'er by thee deceived, the tender maid Shall mourn her easy confidence betray'd, Nor weep in secret the triumphant art, With bitter anguish rankling in her heart; So may each blessing, which impartial fate Throws on the good, but s.n.a.t.c.hes from the great, Adorn thy favour'd course with rays divine, And Heaven's best gift, a virtuous love, be thine!"

Mr. Hervey read these lines with so much unaffected, unembarra.s.sed energy, that Lady Delacour could not help casting a triumphant look at Belinda, which said or seemed to say--you see I was right in my opinion of Clarence!

Had Mr. Vincent been left to his own observations, he would have seen the simple truth; but he was alarmed and deceived by Lady Delacour's imprudent expressions of joy, and by the significant looks that she gave her friend Miss Portman, which seemed to be _looks of mutual intelligence_. He scarcely dared to turn his eyes toward his mistress, or upon him whom he thought his rival: but he kept them anxiously fixed upon her ladys.h.i.+p, in whose face, as in a gla.s.s, he seemed to study every thing that was pa.s.sing.

"Pray, have you ever played at chess, since we saw you last?" said Lady Delacour to Clarence. "I hope you do not forget that you are _my knight_. I do not forget it, I a.s.sure you--I own you as my knight to all the world, in public and private--do not I, Belinda?"

A dark cloud overspread Mr. Vincent's brow--he listened not to Belinda's answer. Seized with a transport of jealousy, he darted at Mr. Hervey a glance of mingled scorn and rage; and, after saying a few unintelligible words to Miss Portman and Lady Delacour, he left the room.

Clarence Hervey, who seemed afraid to trust himself longer with Belinda, withdrew a few minutes afterward.

"My dear Belinda," exclaimed Lady Delacour, the moment that he was out of the room, "how glad I am he is gone, that I may say all the good I think of him! In the first place, Clarence Hervey loves you. Never was I so fully convinced of it as this day. Why had we not that letter of his sooner? that will explain all to us: but I ask for no explanation, I ask for no letter, to confirm my opinion, my conviction--that he _loves_ you: on this point I _cannot_ be mistaken--he fondly loves you."

"He fondly loves her!--Yes, to be sure, I could have told you that news long ago," cried the dowager Lady Boucher, who was in the room before they were aware of her entrance; they had both been so eager, the one listening, and the other speaking.

"Fondly loves her!" repeated the dowager: "yes; and no secret, I promise you, Lady Delacour:" and then, turning to Belinda, she began a congratulatory speech, upon the report of her approaching marriage with Mr. Vincent. Belinda absolutely denied the truth of this report: but the dowager continued, "I distress you, I see, and it's quite out of rule, I am sensible, to speak in this sort of way, Miss Portman; but as I'm an old acquaintance, and an old friend, and an old woman, you'll excuse me.

I can't help saying, I feel quite rejoiced at your meeting with such a match." Belinda again attempted to declare that she was not going to be married; but the invincible dowager went on: "Every way eligible, and every way agreeable. A charming young man, I hear, Lady Delacour: I see I must only speak to you, or I shall make Miss Portman sink to the centre of the earth, which I would not wish to do, especially at such a critical moment as this. A charming young man, I hear, with a n.o.ble West Indian fortune, and a n.o.ble spirit, and well connected, and pa.s.sionately in love--no wonder. But I have done now, I promise you; I'll ask no questions: so don't run away, Miss Portman; I'll ask no questions, I promise you."

To ensure the performance of the promise, Lady Delacour asked what news there was in the world? This question, she knew, would keep the dowager in delightful employment. "I live quite out of the world here; but since Lady Boucher has the charity to come to see me, we shall hear all the 'secrets worth knowing,' from the best authority."

"Then, the first piece of news I have for you is, that my Lord and my Lady Delacour are absolutely reconciled; and that they are the happiest couple that ever lived."

"All very true," replied Lady Delacour.

"True!" repeated Lady Boucher: "why, my dear Lady Delacour, you amaze me!--Are you in earnest?--Was there ever any thing so provoking?--There have I been contradicting the report, wherever I went; for I was convinced that the whole story was a mistake, and a fabrication."

"The history of the reformation might not be exact, but the reformation itself your ladys.h.i.+p may depend upon, since you hear it from my own lips."

"Well, how amazing! how incredible!--Lord bless me! But your ladys.h.i.+p certainly is not in earnest? for you look just the same, and speak just in the same sort of way: I see no alteration, I confess."

"And what alteration, my good Lady Boucher, did you expect to see? Did you think that, by way of being exemplarily virtuous, I should, like Lady Q----, let my sentences come out of my mouth only at the rate of a word a minute?

'Like--minute--drops--from--off--the--eaves.'

Or did you expect that, in hopes of being a pattern for the rising generation, I should hold my features in penance, immoveably, thus--like some of the poor ladies of Antigua, who, after they have blistered their faces all over, to get a fine complexion, are forced, whilst the new skin is coming, to sit without speaking, smiling, or moving muscle or feature, lest an indelible wrinkle should be the consequence?"

Lady Boucher was impatient to have this speech finished, for she had a piece of news to tell. "Well!" cried she, "there's no knowing what to believe or disbelieve, one hears so many strange reports; but I have a piece of news for you, that you may all depend upon. I have one secret worth knowing, I can tell your ladys.h.i.+p--and one, your ladys.h.i.+p and Miss Portman, I'm sure, will be rejoiced to hear. Your friend, Clarence Hervey, is going to be married."

"Married! married!" cried Lady Delacour.

"Ay, ay, your ladys.h.i.+p may look as much astonished as you please, you cannot be more so than I was when I heard it. Clarence Hervey, Miss Portman, that was looked upon so completely, you know, as not a marrying man; and now the last man upon earth that your ladys.h.i.+p would suspect of marrying in this sort of way!"

"In what sort of way?--My dear Belinda, how can you stand this fire?"

said Lady Delacour, placing a skreen, dexterously, to hide her face from the dowager's observation.

"Now only guess whom he is going to marry," continued Lady Boucher: "whom do _you_ guess, Miss Portman?"

"An amiable woman, I should guess, from Mr. Hervey's general character,"

cried Lady Delacour.

"Oh, an amiable woman, I take for granted; every woman is amiable of course, as the newspapers tell us, when she is going to be married,"