heaven, because she is unqualified to make the expected return for civilities, having no home—­I mean no establishment, no house, etc.—­fit for the reception of company of certain rank.  My dearest Belinda, may this never be your case.  I have sent your bracelet to you by Mr. Clarence Hervey, an acquaintance of Lady Delacour, an uncommonly pleasant young man, highly connected, a wit and a gallant, and having a fine independent fortune; so, my dear Belinda, I make it a point—­look well when he is introduced to you, and remember that nobody can look well without taking some pains to please.”

Belinda had been charmed by Lady Delacour, who was the most agreeable, the most fascinating person she had ever beheld; and to be a visitor at her house was a delightful privilege.  But, a short time after her arrival, she began to see through the thin veil with which politeness covers domestic misery.  Abroad, Lady Delacour appeared all spirit, life, and good humour; at home, listless, fretful, and melancholy, a prey to thoughts, seemingly, of the most painful nature.

The first time Belinda saw his lordship he was dead drunk in the arms of two footmen; his lady, who had just returned from Ranelagh, passed him on the stairs with the utmost contempt.

“Don’t look so shocked and amazed, Belinda.  Don’t look so new, child.  This funeral of my lord’s intellects is to me a nightly ceremony; or,” said her ladyship, looking at her watch and yawning, “I believe I should say a daily ceremony—­six o’clock, I protest!”

The next morning Clarence Hervey called, and Belinda found him a most uncommonly pleasant young man.  Lord Delacour was jealous of him; but although he would have started with horror at the idea of disturbing the peace of a family, in that family, he said, there was no peace to disturb.  Consequently, he visited her ladyship every day, and every day viewed Belinda with increasing admiration, and with increasing dread of being taken in to marry a niece of that “catch-matchmaker,” as Mrs. Stanhope was known amongst the men of his acquaintance.

Under the guise of a tragic muse—­in which character Lady Delacour had pretended she was going to a masquerade—­Belinda heard his true sentiments with regard to her.

“You don’t believe I go to Lady Delacour’s to look for a wife?  Do you think I’m an idiot?  Do you think I could be taken in by one of the Stanhope school?” he said to the facetious friends who rallied him on his attachment.  “Do you think I don’t see as plainly as any of you that Belinda Portman is a composition of art and affectation?”

“Melpomene, hast thou forgot thyself to warble?” asked Lady Delacour, tripping towards them as the comic muse.

“I am not very well,” whispered Miss Portman.  “Could we get away?”

“Do see if you can find any of my people!” cried Lady Delacour to Clarence Hervey, who had followed them downstairs.