A SPECTRE.
The surgeon who was to attend Lady Delacour was prevented from going
to her on the day appointed; he was one of the surgeons of the queen’s
household, and his attendance was required at the palace. This delay was
extremely irksome to Lady Delacour, who had worked up her courage to the
highest point, but who had not prepared herself to endure suspense. She
spent nearly a week at Twickenham in this anxious state, and Belinda
observed that she every day became more and more thoughtful and
reserved. She seemed as if she had some secret subject of meditation,
from which she could not bear to be distracted. When Helena was present,
she exerted herself to converse in her usual sprightly strain; but as
soon as she could escape, as she thought, unobserved, she would shut
herself up in her own apartment, and remain there for hours.
“I wish to Heaven, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, coming one morning
into her room with a portentous face, “I wish to Heaven, ma’am, that you
could any way persuade my lady not to spend so many hours of the day and
night as she does in reading those methodistical books that she keeps to
herself!--I’m sure that they do her no good, but a great deal of harm,
especially now when her spirits should be kept up as much as possible.
I am sensible, ma’am, that ‘tis those books that have made my lady
melancholy of a sudden. Ma’am, my lady has let drop very odd
hints within these two or three days, and she speaks in a strange
_disconnected_ sort of style, and at times I do not think she is quite
right in her head.”
When Belinda questioned Marriott more particularly about the strange
hints which her lady had let fall, she with looks of embarrassment
and horror declined repeating the words that had been said to her; yet
persisted in asserting that Lady Delacour had been very _strange_ for
these two or three days. “And I’m sure, ma’am, you’d be shocked if you
were to see my lady in a morning, when she wakens, or rather when I
first go into the room--for, as to wakening, that’s out of the question.
I am certain she does not sleep during the whole night. You’ll find,
ma’am, it is as I tell you, those books will quite turn her poor head,
and I wish they were burnt. I know the mischief that the same sort of
things did to a poor cousin of my own, who was driven melancholy mad
by a methodist preacher, and came to an untimely end. Oh, ma’am! if you
knew as much as I do, you’d be as much alarmed for my lady as I am.”
It was impossible to prevail upon Marriott to explain herself more
distinctly. The only circumstances that could be drawn from her seemed
to Belinda so trifling as to be scarcely worth mentioning. For instance,
that Lady Delacour, contrary to Marriott’s advice, had insisted on
sleeping in a bedchamber upon the ground floor, and had refused to let
a curtain be put up before a glass door that was at the foot of her bed.
“When I offered to put up the curtain, ma’am,” said Marriott, “my lady
said she liked the moonlight, and that she would not have it put up till
the fine nights were over. Now, Miss Portman, to hear my lady talk of
the moon, and moonlights, and liking the moon, is rather extraordinary
and unaccountable; for I never heard her say any thing of the sort in
her life before; I question whether she ever knew there was a moon or
not from one year’s end to another. But they say the moon has a great
deal to do with mad people; and, from my own experience, I’m perfectly
sensible, ma’am, it had in my own cousin’s case; for, before he came to
the worst, he took a prodigious fancy to the moon, and was always for
walking by moonlight, and talking to one of the beauty of the moon, and
such melancholy nonsense, ma’am.”
Belinda could not forbear smiling at this melancholy nonsense; though
she was inclined to be of Marriott’s opinion about the methodistical
books, and she determined to talk to Lady Delacour on the subject.
The moment that she made the attempt, her ladyship, commanding her
countenance, with her usual ability, replied only by cautious, cold
monosyllables, and changed the conversation as soon as she could.
At night, when they were retiring to rest, Marriott, as she lighted them
to their rooms, observed that she was afraid her lady would suffer from
sleeping in so cold a bedchamber, and Belinda pressed her friend to
change her apartment.
“No, my dear,” replied Lady Delacour, calmly. “I have chosen this for
my bedchamber, because it is at a distance from the servants’ rooms; and
when _the operation_, which I have to go through, shall be performed, my
cries, if I should utter any, will not be overheard. The surgeon will be
here in a few days, and it is not worth while to make any change.”
The next day, towards evening, the surgeon and Dr. X---- arrived.
Belinda’s blood ran cold at the sight of them.
“Will you be so kind, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, “as to let my lady
know that they are come? for I am not well able to go, and you can speak
more composed to her than I can.”
Miss Portman went to Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. The door was bolted.
As Lady Delacour opened it, she fixed her eyes upon Belinda, and said
to her with a mild voice, “You are come to tell me that the surgeon is
arrived. I knew that by the manner in which you knocked at the door.
I will see him this moment,” continued she, in a firm tone; and she
deliberately put a mark in the book which she had been reading,
walked leisurely to the other end of the room, and locked it up in her
book-case. There was an air of determined dignity in all her motions.
“Shall we go? I am ready,” said she, holding out her hand to Belinda,
who had sunk upon a chair.
“One would think that you were the person that was going to suffer. But
drink this water, my dear, and do not tremble for me; you see that I do
not tremble for myself. Listen to me, dearest Belinda! I owe it to
your friendship not to torment you with unnecessary apprehensions. Your
humanity shall be spared this dreadful scene.”
“No,” said Belinda, “Marriott is incapable of attending you. I must--I
will--I am ready now. Forgive me one moment’s weakness. I admire, and
will imitate, your courage. I will keep my promise.”
“Your promise was to be with me in my dying moments, and to let me
breathe my last in your arms.”
“I hope that I shall never be called upon to perform that promise.”
Lady Delacour made no answer, but walked on before her with steady steps
into the room where Dr. X---- and the surgeon were waiting. Without
adverting in the least to the object of their visit, she paid her
compliments to them, as if they came on a visit of mere civility.
Without seeming to notice the serious countenances of her companions,
she talked of indifferent subjects with the most perfect ease, occupying
herself all the time with cleaning a seal, which she unhooked from her
watch-chain. “This seal,” said she, turning to Dr. X----, “is a fine
onyx--it is a head of Esculapius. I have a great value for it. It was
given to me by your friend, Clarence Hervey; and I have left it in my
will, doctor,” continued she, smiling, “to you, as no slight token of my
regard. He is an excellent young man; and I request,” said she, drawing
Dr. X---- to a window, and lowering her voice, “I request, when you see
him again, and when I am out of the way, that you will tell him such
were my sentiments to the hour of my death. Here is a letter which you
will have the goodness to put into his hands, sealed with my favourite
seal. You need have no scruple to take charge of it; it relates not to
myself. It expresses only my opinion concerning a lady who stands almost
as high in your esteem, I believe, as she does in mine. My affection
and my gratitude have not biassed my judgment in the advice which I have
ventured to give to Mr. Hervey.”
“But he will soon be here,” interrupted Dr. X----, “and then--”
“And then I shall be gone,” said Lady Delacour, coolly,
“‘To that undiscover’d country,
From whose bourn no traveller returns.’”
Dr. X---- was going to interrupt her, but she continued rapidly, “And
now, my dear doctor, tell me candidly, have you seen any symptoms of
cowardice in my manner this evening?”
“None,” replied he. “On the contrary, I have admired your calm
self-possession.”
“Then do not suspect me of want of fortitude, when I request that this
operation may not be performed to-day. I have changed my mind within
these few hours. I have determined, for a reason which I am sure that
you would feel to be sufficient, to postpone this affair till to-morrow.
Believe me, I do not act from caprice.”
She saw that Dr. X---- did not yield assent to her last assertion, and
that he looked displeased.
“I will tell you my reason,” said she; “and then you will have no
right to be displeased if I persist, as I shall inflexibly, in my
determination. It is my belief that I shall die this night. To submit to
a painful operation to-day would be only to sacrifice the last moments
of my existence to no purpose. If I survive this night, manage me as
you please! But I am the best judge of my own feelings--I shall die
to-night.”
Dr. X---- looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and compassion.
Her pulse was high, she was extremely feverish, and he thought that the
best thing which he could do was to stay with her till the next day, and
to endeavour to divert her mind from this fancy, which he considered as
an insane idea. He prevailed upon the surgeon to stay with her till the
next morning; and he communicated his intentions to Belinda, who joined
with him in doing all that was possible to entertain and interest her
by conversation during the remainder of the day. She had sufficient
penetration to perceive that they gave not the least faith to her
prognostic, and she never said one word more upon the subject; but
appeared willing to be amused by their attempts to divert her, and
resolute to support her courage to the last moment. She did not affect
trifling gaiety: on the contrary, there was in all she said more
strength and less point than usual.
The evening passed away, and Lady Delacour seemed totally to have
forgotten her own prophecy respecting the event of the ensuing night;
so much so, that she spoke of several things that she intended to do the
next day. Helena knew nothing of what had passed, and Belinda imagined
that her friend put this constraint upon herself to avoid alarming her
daughter. Yet, after Helena retired, her mother’s manner continued to be
so much the same, that Dr. X---- began to believe that her ladyship
was actuated merely by caprice. In this opinion she confirmed him by
bursting out a laughing when he proposed that some one should sit up
with her during the night.
“My sage sir,” said she, “have you lived to this time without ever
having been duped by a woman before? I wanted a day’s reprieve, and I
have gained it--gained a day, spent in most agreeable conversation, for
which I thank you. To-morrow,” said she, turning to the surgeon, “I must
invent some new excuse for my cowardice; and though I give you notice of
it beforehand, as Harrington did when he picked the man’s pocket, yet,
nevertheless, I shall succeed. Good night!”
She hurried to her own apartment, leaving them all in astonishment and
perplexity. Belinda was persuaded that she only affected this gaiety to
prevent Dr. X---- from insisting upon sitting up in her room, as he had
proposed. Doctor X----, judging, as he said, from her ladyship’s general
character, attributed the whole to caprice; and the surgeon, judging,
as he said, from human nature in general, was decided in his belief that
she had been influenced, as she herself declared, by cowardice. After
having all expressed their opinions, without making any impression upon
one another, they retired to rest.
Belinda’s bedchamber was next to Helena’s; and after she had been in bed
about an hour, she fancied that she heard some one walking softly in
the next room. She rose, and found Lady Delacour standing beside her
daughter’s bed. She started at the sight of Belinda, but only said in
a low voice, as she pointed to her child, “Don’t waken her.” She then
looked at her for some moments in silence. The moon shone full upon
her face. She stooped over Helena, parted the ringlets of hair upon her
forehead, and kissed her gently.
“You will be good to this poor girl when I am gone, Belinda!” said she,
turning away from her as she spoke: “I only came to look at her for the
last time.”
“Are you then serious, my dear Lady Delacour?”
“Hush! Don’t waken her,” said Lady Delacour, putting her finger on her
lips; and walking slowly out of the room, she forbade Belinda to follow.
“If my fears be vain,” said she, “why should I disturb you with them? If
they be just, you will hear my bell ring, and then come to me.”
For some time afterward all was perfectly silent in the house. Belinda
did not go to bed, but sat waiting and listening anxiously. The clock
struck two; and as she heard no other sound, she began to hope that she
had suffered herself to be falsely alarmed by a foolish imagination, and
she lay down upon her bed, resolving to compose herself to rest. She was
just sinking to sleep, when she thought she heard the faint sound of a
bell. She was not sure whether she was dreaming or awake. She started up
and listened. All was silent. But in a few minutes Lady Delacour’s bell
rang violently. Belinda flew to her room. The surgeon was already there;
he had been sitting up in the next room to write letters, and he
had heard the first sound of the bell. Lady Delacour was senseless,
supported in the surgeon’s arms. Belinda, by his directions, ran
immediately for Doctor X----, who was at the other end of the house.
Before she returned, Lady Delacour had recovered her senses. She begged
that the surgeon would leave the room, and that neither Dr. X---- nor
Marriott might be yet admitted, as she had something of importance to
communicate to Miss Portman. The surgeon withdrew, and she beckoned to
Belinda, who sat down upon the side of her bed. Lady Delacour held out
her hand to her; it was covered with a cold dew.
“My dear friend,” said she, “my prophecy is accomplishing--I know I must
die.”
“The surgeon said that you were not in the least danger, my dear Lady
Delacour; that it was merely a fainting fit. Do not suffer a vain
imagination thus to overpower your reason.”
“It is no vain imagination--I must die,” said Lady Delacour.
‘I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.’
“You perceive that I am in my perfect senses, my dear, or I could not
quote poetry. I am not insane--I am not delirious.”
She paused--“I am ashamed to tell you what I know will expose me to your
ridicule.”
“Ridicule!” cried Belinda: “can you think me so cruel as to consider
your sufferings a subject for ridicule?”
Lady Delacour was overcome by the tenderness with which Belinda spoke.
“I will then speak to you,” said she, “without reserve. Inconsistent as
it is with the strength of mind which you might expect from me, I cannot
resist the impression which has been made on my mind by--a vision.”
“A vision!”
“Three times,” continued Lady Delacour, “it has appeared to me about
this hour. The first night after we came here I saw it; last night it
returned; and to-night I have beheld it for the third time. I consider
it as a warning to prepare for death. You are surprised--you are
incredulous. I know that this must appear to you extravagant; but depend
upon it that what I tell you is true. It is scarcely a quarter of an
hour since I beheld the figure of ----, that man for whose untimely
death I am answerable. Whenever I close my eyes the same form appears
before me.”
“These visions,” said Belinda, “are certainly the effects of opium.”
“The forms that flit before my eyes when I am between sleeping and
waking,” said Lady Delacour, “I am willing to believe, are the effects
of opium; but, Belinda, it is impossible I should be convinced that my
senses have deceived me with respect to what I have beheld when I have
been as broad awake, and in as perfect possession of my understanding as
I am at this instant. The habits of my life, and the natural gaiety,
not to say levity, of my temper, have always inclined me rather to
incredulity than to superstition. But there are things which no strength
of mind, no temerity can resist. I repeat it--this is a warning to me to
prepare for death. No human means, no human power can save me!”
Here they were interrupted by Marriott, who could no longer be
restrained from bursting into the room. Dr. X---- followed, and going
calmly to the side of Lady Delacour’s bed, took her hand to feel her
pulse.
“Mrs. Marriott, you need not alarm yourself in this manner,” said he:
“your lady is at this instant in as little danger as I am.”
“_You_ think she’ll live! Oh, my lady! why did you terrify us in this
manner?”
Lady Delacour smiled, and calmly said, as Doctor X---- still continued
to count her pulse, “The pulse may deceive you, doctor, but I do not.
Marriott, you may--”
Belinda heard no more; for at this instant, as she was standing alone,
near the glass-door that was opposite to the bed, she saw at a distance
in the garden the figure which Lady Delacour had described. Lady
Delacour was now so intent upon speaking to Dr. X----, that she saw
nothing but him. Belinda had the presence of mind to be perfectly
silent. The figure stood still for some moments. She advanced a few
steps nearer to the window, and the figure vanished. She kept her eye
steadily fixed upon the spot where it had disappeared, and she saw it
rise again and glide quickly behind some bushes. Belinda beckoned to Dr.
X----, who perceived by the eagerness of her manner, that she wished
to speak to him immediately. He resigned his patient to Marriott, and
followed Miss Portman out of the room. She told him what she had just
seen, said it was of the utmost consequence to Lady Delacour to have the
truth ascertained, and requested that Dr. X----would go with some of
the men-servants and search the garden, to discover whether any one was
there concealed, or whether any footsteps could be traced. The doctor
did not search long before he perceived footsteps in the borders
opposite to the glass-door of Lady Delacour’s bedchamber; he was
carefully following their track, when he heard a loud cry, which seemed
to come from the other side of the garden wall. There was a breach
in the wall over which he scrambled with some difficulty. The screams
continued with redoubled violence. As he was making his way to the
spot from which they proceeded, he was met by the old gardener, who was
crossing one of the walks with a lantern in his hand.
“Ho! ho!” cried the gardener, “I take it that we have the thief at last.
I fancy that the fellow whose footsteps I traced, and who has been at my
morello cherry-tree every night, has been caught in the trap. I hope his
leg is not broke, though!-This way, sir--this way!”
The gardener led the doctor to the place, and there they found a man,
whose leg had actually been caught in the spring-trap which had been set
for the defence of the cherry-tree. The man had by this time fallen into
a swoon; they extricated him as fast as possible, and Doctor X----
had him brought to Lady Delacour’s, in order that the surgeon, who was
there, might see his leg.
As they were carrying him across the hall, Belinda met them. She poured
out a glass of water for the man, who was just recovering from his
swoon; but as she went nearer to give it him, she was struck with his
wonderful resemblance to Harriot Freke.
“It must be Mrs. Freke herself!” whispered she to Marriott, whose wide
opening eyes, at this instant, fixed themselves upon her.
“It must be Mrs. Freke herself, ma’am!” repeated Marriott.
And so in fact it was.
There is a certain class of people, who are incapable of generous
confidence in their equals, but who are disposed to yield implicit
credit to the underhand information of mean emissaries. Through the
medium of Champfort and the _stupid maid_, Mrs. Freke had learned a
confused story of a man’s footsteps having been heard in Lady Delacour’s
boudoir, of his being let in by Marriott secretly, of his having
remained locked up there for several hours, and of the maid’s having
been turned away, merely because she innocently went to open the door
whilst the gentleman was in concealment. Mrs. Freke was farther informed
by the same unquestionable authority, that Lady Delacour had taken a
house at Twickenham, for the express purpose of meeting her lover: that
Miss Portman and Marriott were the only persons who were to be of this
party of pleasure.
Upon the faith of this intelligence, Mrs. Freke, who had accompanied
Mrs. Luttridge to town, immediately repaired to Twickenham, to pay a
visit to a third cousin, that she might have an opportunity of detecting
the intrigues, and afterwards of publishing the disgrace, of her former
friend. The desire of revenging herself upon Miss Portman, for having
declined her civilities at Harrowgate, had also a powerful influence in
stimulating her malicious activity. She knew that if it were proved that
Belinda was the confidante of Lady Delacour’s intrigues, her reputation
must be materially injured, and that the Percivals would then be as
desirous to break off as they now were anxious to promote the match with
Mr. Vincent. Charmed with this hope of a double triumph, the vindictive
lady commenced her operations, nor was she ashamed to descend to the
character of a spy. The general and convenient name of _frolic_, she
thought, would cover every species of meanness. She swore that “it was
charming fun to equip herself at night in men’s clothes, and to sally
forth to reconnoitre the motions of the enemy.”
By an unfrequented path she used to gain the window that looked into
Lady Delacour’s bedchamber. This was the figure which appeared at night
at a certain hour, and which, to her ladyship’s disturbed imagination,
seemed to be the form of Colonel Lawless. There was, indeed, a
resemblance in their size and persons, which favoured the delusion.
For several nights Mrs. Freke paid these visits without obtaining
any satisfaction; but this night she thought herself overpaid for her
exertions, by the charming discovery which she fancied she had made. She
mistook the surgeon for a lover of Lady Delacour’s; and she was hurrying
home with the joyful intelligence, when she was caught in the gardener’s
trap. The agony that she suffered was at first intense, but in a few
hours the pain somewhat subsided; and in this interval of rest she
turned to Belinda, and with a malicious smile said,--“Miss Portman, ‘tis
fair I should pay for my peeping; but I shall not pay quite so dear for
it as some of my friends.”
Miss Portman did not in the least comprehend her, till she added, “I’m
sure you’ll allow that ‘tis better for a lady to lose her leg than her
reputation--and for my part I’d rather be caught in a man trap, than
have a man caught in my bedchamber. My service to your friend, Lady
Delacour, and tell her so.”
“And do you know who that gentleman was, that you saw in her ladyship’s
room?”
“Not I, not yet; but I’ll make it my business to find out. I give you
fair notice; I’m a very devil when provoked. Why didn’t you make me your
friend when you could?--You’ll not baffle me. I have seen all I wanted,
and I am capable of painting all I saw. As to who the man might be,
that’s no matter; one Lothario is as good as another for my purpose.”
Longer had Mrs. Freke spoken with malignant triumph, had she not been
interrupted by a burst of laughter from the surgeon. Her vexation was
indescribable when he informed her, that he was the man whom she had
seen in Lady Delacour’s bedchamber, and whom she had mistaken for a
favoured lover.
Mrs. Freke’s leg was much cut and bruised; and now that she was no
longer supported by the hopes of revenge, she began to lament loudly and
incessantly the injury that she had sustained. She impatiently inquired
how long it was probable that she should be confined by this accident;
and she grew quite outrageous when it was hinted, that the beauty of her
legs would be spoiled, and that she would never more be able to appear
to advantage in man’s apparel. The dread of being seen by Lady Delacour
in the deplorable yet ludicrous situation to which she had reduced
herself operated next upon her mind, and every time the door of the
apartment opened, she looked with terror towards it, expecting to
see her ladyship appear. But though Lady Delacour heard from Marriott
immediately the news of Mrs. Freke’s disaster, she never disturbed her
by her presence. She was too generous to insult a fallen foe.
Early in the morning Mrs. Freke was by her own desire conveyed to her
cousin’s house, where without regret we shall leave her to suffer the
consequences of her frolic.
“A false prophetess! Nowithstanding all my visions, I have outlived the
night, you see,” said Lady Delacour, to Miss Portman when they met in
the morning. “I have heard, my dear Belinda, and I believe, that the
passion of love, which can endure caprice, vice, wrinkles, deformity,
poverty, nay, disease itself, is notwithstanding so squeamish as to
be instantaneously disgusted by the perception of folly in the object
beloved. I hope friendship, though akin to love, is of a more robust
constitution, else what would become of me? My folly, and my visions,
and my spectre--oh, that I had not exposed myself to you in this manner!
Harriot Freke herself is scarcely more contemptible. Spies and cowards
are upon an equal footing. Her malice and her _frolic_ are consistent
with her character, but my fears and my superstition are totally
inconsistent with mine. Forget the nonsense I talked to you last night,
my dear, or fancy that I was then under the dominion of laudanum. This
morning you shall see Lady Delacour _herself again_. Is Dr. X----, is
the surgeon ready? Where are they? I am prepared. My fortitude shall
redeem me in your opinion, Belinda, and in my own.”
Doctor X---- and the surgeon immediately obeyed her summons.
Helena heard them go into Lady Delacour’s room, and she saw by
Marriott’s countenance, who followed, that her mother was going to
submit to the operation. She sat down trembling on the steps which led
to her mother’s room, and waited there a long time, as she thought, in
the most painful suspense. At last she heard some one call Helena. She
looked up, and saw her father close to her.
“Helena,” said he, “how is your mother?”
“I don’t know. Oh, papa, you cannot go in there _now_,” said Helena,
stopping him as he was pressing forwards.
“Why did not you or Miss Portman write to me yesterday, as you
promised?” said Lord Delacour, in a voice that showed he was scarcely
able to ask the question.
“Because, papa, we had nothing to tell you: nothing was done yesterday.
But the surgeon is now there,” said Helena, pointing towards her
mother’s room.
Lord Delacour stood motionless for an instant; then suddenly seizing his
daughter’s hand, “Let us go,” said he: “if we stay here, we shall
hear her screams;” and he was hurrying her away, when the door of Lady
Delacour’s apartment opened, and Belinda appeared, her countenance
radiant with joy.
“Good news, dear Helena! Oh, my lord! you are come in a happy moment--I
give you joy.”
“Joy! joy! joy!” cried Marriott, following.
“Is it all over?” said Lord Delacour.
“And without a single shriek!” said Helena. “What courage!”
“There’s no need of shrieks, or courage either, thank God,” said
Marriott. “Dr. X---- says so, and he is the best man in the world, and
the cleverest. And I was right from the first; I said it was impossible
my lady should have such a shocking complaint as she thought she had.
There’s no such thing at all in the case, my lord! I said so always,
till I was persuaded out of my senses by that villainous quack, who
contradicted me for this own ‘molument. And Doctor X---- says, if my
lady will leave off the terrible quantities of laudanum she takes, he’ll
engage for her recovery.”
The surgeon and Dr. X---- now explained to Lord Delacour that the
unprincipled wretch to whom her ladyship had applied for assistance had
persuaded her that she had a cancer, though in fact her complaint arose
merely from the bruise which she had received. He knew too well how to
make a wound hideous and painful, and so continue her delusion for his
own advantage. Dr. X---- observed, that if Lady Delacour would have
permitted either the surgeon or him to have _examined_ sooner into the
real state of the case, it would have saved herself infinite pain, and
them all anxiety. Belinda at this moment felt too much to speak.
“I’m morally certain,” cried Marriott, “Mr. Champfort would die with
vexation, if he could see the joy that’s painted in my lord’s face this
minute. And we may thank Miss Portman for this, for ‘twas she made every
thing go right, and I never expected to live to see so happy a day.”
Whilst Marriott ran on in this manner with all the volubility of joy,
Lord Delacour passed her with some difficulty, and Helena was in her
mother’s arms in an instant.
Lady Delacour, struck to the heart by their affectionate looks and
words, burst into tears. “How little have I deserved this kindness from
you, my lord! or from you, my child! But my feelings,” added she,
wiping away her tears, “shall not waste themselves in tears, nor in vain
thanks. My actions, the whole course of my future life, shall show that
I am not quite a brute. Even brutes are won by kindness. Observe, my
lord,” continued she, smiling, “I said _won_, not _tamed!_--A tame Lady
Delacour would be a sorry animal, not worth looking at. Were she even to
become domesticated, she would fare the worse.”
“How so?--How so, my dear?” said Lord Delacour and Belinda almost in the
same breath.
“How so?--Why, if Lady Delacour were to wash off her rouge, and lay
aside her air, and be as gentle, good, and kind as Belinda Portman, for
instance, her lord would certainly say to her,
‘So alter’d are your face and mind,
‘Twere perjury to love you now.’”