1. Characters Mrs. Stanup, a well-bred woman accomplished in that branch of knowledge which is called the art of rising in the world, had, with but a small fortune, contrived to live in the highest company. She prided herself upon having established half a dozen nieces most happily, that is to say, upon having married them to men of fortunes far superior to their own. One niece still remained unmarried, Belinda Portman, of whom she was determined to get rid with all convenient expedition. Belinda was handsome, graceful, spritely, and highly accomplished. Her aunt had endeavored to teach her that a young lady's chief business is to please in society, that all her charms and accomplishment should be invariably subservient to one grand object, the establishing herself in the world. For this hands, lips, and eyes were put to school, and each instructed feature had its rule. Mrs. Stanup did not find Belinda such a docile pupil as her other nieces, for she had been educated chiefly in the country. She had early been inspired with a taste for domestic pleasures. She was fond of reading, and disposed to conduct herself with prudence and integrity. Her character, however, was yet to be developed by circumstances. Mrs. Stanup lived at Bath, where she had opportunities of showing her niece off as she thought to advantage. But as her health began to decline, she could not go out with her as much as she wished. After maneuvering with more than her usual art, she succeeded in fastening Belinda upon the fashionable Lady Delacour for the season. Her ladyship was so much pleased by Miss Portman's accomplishments and vivacity as to invite her to spend the winter with her in London. Soon after her arrival in town, Belinda received the following letter from her aunt, Stanup. Crescent Bath After searching every place I could think of, Anne found your bracelet in your dressing table amongst a heap of odd things which you left behind you to be thrown away. I have sent it to you by a young gentleman who came to Bath. Unluckily, the very day you left me. Mr. Clarence Hervey, an acquaintance and great admirer of my Lady Delacour. He is really an uncommonly pleasant young man, is highly connected, and has a fine independent fortune. Besides, he is a man of wit and gallantry, quite a connoisseur in female grace and beauty, just the man to bring a new face into fashion. So, my dear Belinda, I make it a point. Look well when he has introduced you, and remember what I have so often told you, that nobody can look well without taking some pains to please. I see, or at least when I went out more than my health will at present permit. I used to see multitudes of silly girls, seemingly all cut out upon the same pattern, who frequented public places day after day and year after year, without any idea farther than that of diverting themselves, or of obtaining transient admiration. How I have pitied and despised the giddy creatures, whilst I have observed them playing off their unmeaning heirs, vying with one another in the most obvious and consequently the most ridiculous manner, so as to expose themselves before the very men they would attract, chattering, tittering, and flirting, full of the present moment, never reflecting upon the future, quite satisfied if they got a partner at a hall without ever thinking of a partner for life. I have often asked myself, what is to become of such girls when they grow old or ugly, or when the public eye grows tired of them? If they have large fortunes, it is all very well. They can afford to divert themselves for a season or two without doubt. They are sure to be sought after and followed, not by mere danglers, but by men of suitable views and pretensions. But nothing in my mind can be more miserable than the situation of a poor girl who after spending not only the interest, but the solid capital of her small fortune, interest, and frivolous extravagance, fails in her matrimonial expectations, as many do merely from not beginning to speculate in time. She finds herself at five or six and thirty a burden to her friends, destitute of the means of rendering herself independent, for the girls I speak of never think of learning to play cards, detro in society, yet obliged to hang upon all her acquaintance, who wish her in 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 a certain rank. My dearest Belinda, may this never be your case. You have every possible advantage, my love. No pains have been spared in your education, and, which is the essential point, I have taken care that this should be known, so that you have the name of being perfectly accomplished. You will also have the name of being very fashionable if you go much in public as doubtless you will with Lady Delacour. Your own good sense must make you aware, my dear, that from her ladyship's situation and knowledge of the world it will always be proper upon all subjects of conversation for her to lead and you to follow. It would be very unfit for a young girl like you to suffer yourself to stand in competition with Lady Delacour, whose high pretensions to wit and beauty are indisputable. I need say no more to you upon this subject, my dear.  Lady Delacour has an incomparable taste in dress, consult her, my dear, and do not by an ill-judged economy counteract my views. Apropos, I have no objection to your being presented at court. You will, of course, have credit with all her ladyship's tradespeople if you manage properly, to know how and when to lay out money is highly commendable, for in some situations people judge of what one can afford by what one actually spends. I know of no law which compels a young lady to tell what her age or her fortune may be. You have no occasion for caution yet on one of these points. I have covered my old carpet with a handsome green bays, and every stranger who comes to see me, I observe, takes it for granted that I have a rich carpet under it. Say everything that is proper in your best manner for me to Lady Delacour. Adieu, my dear Belinda. Yours, very sincerely, Selena Stanup. It is sometimes fortunate that the means which are taken to produce certain effects upon the mind have the tendency directly opposite to what is expected. Mrs. Stanup's perpetual anxiety about her niece's appearance, manners, and establishment had completely worn out Belinda's patience. She had become more insensible to the praises of her personal charms and accomplishments than young women of her age usually are, because she had been so much flattered and shown off, as it is called, by her matchmaking aunt. Yet Belinda was fond of amusement and had imbibed some of Mrs. Stanup's prejudices in favour of rank and fashion. Her taste for literature declined in proportion to her intercourse with the fashionable world, as she did not in this society perceive the least use in the knowledge that she had acquired. Her mind had never been roused to much reflection. She had, in general, acted but as a puppet in the hands of others. To her aunt's Stanup she had hitherto paid unlimited habitual blind obedience. But she was more undesigning, and more free from affectation and coquetry, than could have been expected after the course of documenting which she had gone through. She was charmed with the idea of a visit to Lady Delacour, whom she thought the most agreeable, no, that is too feeble an expression, the most fascinating person she had ever beheld. Such was the light in which her ladyship appeared, not only to Belinda, but to all the world, that is to say, all the world of fashion, and she knew of no other. The newspapers were full of Lady Delacour's parties and Lady Delacour's dresses, and Lady Delacour's bon-mose. Everything that her ladyship said was repeated as witty, everything that her ladyship wore was imitated as fashionable. Female wit sometimes depends on the beauty of its possessor for its reputation, and the reign of beauty is proverbially short, and fashion often capriciously deserts her favourites even before nature withers their charms. Lady Delacour seemed to be a fortunate exception to these general rules. Long after she had lost the bloom of youth, she continued to be admired as a fashionable Belle Esprit, and long after she had ceased to be a novelty in society, her company was courted by all the gay, the witty, and the gallant. To be seen in public with Lady Delacour, to be a visitor at her house, were privileges of which numbers were vehemently ambitious, and Belinda Portman was congratulated and envied by all her acquaintance for being admitted as an inmate. How could she avoid thinking herself singularly fortunate? A short time after her arrival at Lady Delacour's, Belinda began to see through the thin veil with which politeness covers domestic misery. Abroad and at home, Lady Delacour was two different persons. Abroad she appeared all life's spirit and good humour, at home listless, fretful, and melancholy. She seemed like a spoiled actress off the stage, overstimulated by applause and exhausted by the exertions of supporting a fictitious character. When her house was filled with well-dressed crowds, when it blazed with lights and resounded with music and dancing, Lady Delacour, in the character of Mistress of the Rebels, shone the soul and spirit of pleasure and frolic. But the moment the company retired, when the music ceased and the lights were extinguishing, the spell was dissolved.  For some days after Belinda's arrival in town, she heard nothing of Lord Delacour. His Lady never mentioned his name, except once accidentally, as she was showing Miss Portman the house, she said. Don't open that door. Those are only Lord Delacour's apartments. The first time Belinda ever saw his lordship, he was dead drunk in the arms of two footmen who were carrying him upstairs to his bed-chamber. His Lady, who had just returned from Ranala, passed by him on the landing-place with a look of sovereign contempt. What is the matter? Who is this? said Belinda. Only the body of my lord Delacour, said her ladyship. His bears have brought it up the wrong staircase. Take it down again, my good friends. Let his lordship go his own way. 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 or, added her ladyship, looking at her watch and yawning. I believe I should say a daily ceremony. Six o'clock I protest. The next morning, as her ladyship and Miss Portman were sitting at the breakfast table, after a very late breakfast, Lord Delacour entered the room. Lord Delacour sober, my dear, said her ladyship to Miss Portman, by way of introducing him. Prejudiced by her ladyship, Belinda was inclined to think that Lord Delacour sober would not be more agreeable or more rational than Lord Delacour drunk. How old do you take my lord to be? whispered her ladyship, as she saw Belinda's eye fixed upon the trembling hand which carried his teacup to his lips. I'll lay you a wager, continued she allowed. I'll lay your birth-night dress, gold fringe, and laurel wreaths into the bargain that you don't guess right. I hope you don't think of going to this birth-night, Lady Delacour, said his lordship. I'll give you six guesses, and I'll bet you don't come within 16 years, pursued her ladyship, still looking at Belinda. You cannot have the new carriage you have bespoken, said his lordship. Will you do me the honour to attend to me, Lady Delacour? Then you won't venture to guess, Belinda, said her ladyship, without honouring her lord with the smallest portion of her tension. Well, I believe you are right, for certainly you would guess him to be six and sixty instead of six and thirty.  If some people had distinguished themselves a little less in the world, retorted his lordship, it would have been as well. As well? How flat! Flatly, then, I have to inform you, Lady Delacour, that I will neither be contradicted nor laughed at. You understand me. It would be as well, flat or not flat, my Lady Delacour, if your ladyship would attend more to your own conduct and less to others. To that of others, his lordship means, if he means anything, apropos, Belinda, did not you tell me Clarence Hervey is coming to town? You have never seen him. Well, I'll describe him to you by negatives. He is not a man who ever says anything flat. He is not a man who must be wound up with half a dozen bottles of champagne before he can go. He is not a man who, when he does go, goes wrong and won't be set right. He is not a man whose whole consequence, if he were married, would depend on his wife. He is not a man who, if he were married, would be so desperately afraid of being governed by his wife that he would turn gambler, jockey, or sought merely to show that he could govern himself. Go on, Lady Delacour, said his lordship, who had been in vain attempting to balance a spoon on the edge of his teacup during the whole of this speech, which was delivered with the most animated desire to provoke.  Clarence Hervey will be much obliged to you, and I am sure so shall I.  I never will oblige you, my lord, that you may depend upon, cried her ladyship with a look of indignant contempt. His lordship whistled, rang for his horses, and looked at his nails with a smile. Belinda shocked and in a great confusion rose to leave the room, dreading the gross continuance of this matrimonial dialogue. Mr. Hervey, my lady, said a footman, opening the door, and he was scarcely announced when her ladyship went forward to receive him with an air of easy familiarity. Where have you buried yourself, Hervey, this age past? cried she, shaking hands with him.  But don't look as if you were half-asleep, man. What are you dreaming of, Clarence? Why looks your grace so heavily today? Oh, I have passed a miserable night, replied Clarence, throwing himself into an actor's attitude and speaking in a fine tone of stage declamation. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me, said her ladyship in a similar tone. Clarence went on.  Then came wandering by a shadow like a devil with red hair, disoned with flowers, and she bawled out aloud, Clarence's come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence. Oh, Mrs. Lutridge to the life, cried Lady Delacour. I know where you have been now, and I pity you. But sit down, said she, making room for him between Belinda and herself upon the sofa. Sit down here and tell me what could take you to that odious Mrs. Lutridge's. Mr. Hervey threw himself on the sofa, Lord Delacour whistled as before, and left the room without uttering a syllable. But my dream has made me forget myself strangely, said Mr. Hervey, turning to Belinda and producing her bracelet. Mrs. Stanup promised me that if I delivered it safely, I should be rewarded with the honour of putting it on the owner's fair arm. A conversation now took place on the nature of ladies' promises. On fashionable bracelets, on the size of the arm of the Venus de Medici, on Lady Delacour's and Miss Portman's, on the thick legs of ancient statues, and on the various defects and absurdities of Mrs. Lutridge and her wig. On all these topics Mr. Hervey displayed much wit, gallantry, and satire was so happy in effect that Belinda, when he took leave, was precisely of her aunt's opinion, that he was a most uncommonly pleasant young man. Clarence Hervey might have been more than a pleasant young man if he had not been smitten with the desire of being thought superior in everything, and of being the most admired person in all companies. He had been early flattered with the idea that he was a man of genius, and he imagined that, as such, he was entitled to be imprudent, wild, and eccentric. He affected singularity in order to establish his claims to genius. He had considerable literary talents, by which he was distinguished at Oxford. But he was so dreadfully afraid of passing for a pedant, that when he came into the company of the idol and the ignorant, he pretended to disdain every species of knowledge. His chameleon character seemed to vary in different lights, and according to the different situations in which he happened to be placed, he could be all things to all men and to all women. He was supposed to be a favourite with the fair sex, and of all his various excellencies and defects, there was none on which he valued himself so much as his gallantry. He was not profligate. He had a strong sense of honour and quick feelings of humanity. But he was so easily led, or rather so easily excited by his companions, and his companions were now of such a sort that it was probable he would soon become vicious. As to his connection with Lady Delacour, he would have started with horror at the idea of disturbing the peace of a family. But in her family he said there was no peace to disturb. He was vain of having it seen by the world that he was distinguished by a lady of her wit and fashion, and he did not think it incumbent on him to be more scrupulous or more attentive to appearances than her ladyship. By Lord Delacour's jealousy he was sometimes provoked, sometimes amused, and sometimes flattered. He was constantly of all her ladyship's parties in public and private. Consequently he saw Belinda almost every day, and every day he saw her with increasing admiration for her beauty, and with increasing dread of being taken in to marry a niece of the catch matchmaker, the name by which Mrs. Stanop was known amongst the men of his acquaintance. Young ladies who have the misfortune to be conducted by these artful dames are always supposed to be partners in all the speculations, though their names may not appear in the firm. If he had not been prejudiced by the character of her aunt, Mr. Hervey would have thought Belinda an undesigning, unaffected girl. But now he suspected her of artifice in every word, look, and motion, and even when he felt himself most charmed by her powers of pleasing, he was most inclined to despise her for what he thought such premature proficiency in scientific coquetry. He had not sufficient resolution to keep beyond the sphere of her attraction, but frequently when he found himself within it he cursed his folly and drew back with sudden terror. His manner towards her was so variable and inconsistent that she knew not how to interpret its language. Sometimes she fancied that with all the eloquence of eyes he said, I adore you, Belinda. At other times she imagined that his guarded silence meant to warn her that he was so entangled by Lady Delacour that he could not extricate himself from her snares. Whenever this last idea struck her it excited in the most edifying manner her indignation against coquetry in general and against her ladyships in particular. She became wonderfully clear-sighted to all the improprieties of her ladyship's conduct. Belinda's newly acquired moral sense was so much shocked that she actually wrote a full statement of her observations and her scruples to her aunt Stanna, concluding by a request that she might not remain under the protection of a lady of whose character she could not approve and whose intimacy might perhaps be injurious to her reputation if not to her principles. Mrs. Stanup answered Belinda's letter in a very guarded style. She rebuked her niece severely for her imprudence in mentioning names in such a manner in a letter sent by the common post. Assured her that her reputation was in no danger, that she hoped no niece of hers would set up for a prude, a character more suspected by men of the world than even that of a coquette. That the person alluded to was a perfectly fit chaperone for any young lady to appear within public, as long as she was visited by the first people in town. That as to anything in the private conduct of that person, and as to any private brulieries between her and her lord, Belinda should observe on these dangerous topics a profound silence, both in her letters and her conversation. That as long as the lady continued under the protection of her husband, the world might whisper, but would not speak out. That as to Belinda's own principles, she would be utterly inexcusable if, after the education she had received, they could be hurt by any bad examples. That she could not be too cautious in her management of a man of blanks character. That she could have no serious cause for jealousy in the corridor she apprehended, as marriage there could not be the object. And there was such a difference of age that no permanent influence could probably be obtained by the lady. That the most certain method for Miss Portman to expose herself to the ridicule of one of the parties and to the total neglect of the other would be to betray anxiety or jealousy. That in short, if she were fool enough to lose her own heart, there would be little chance of her being wise enough to win that of blank, who is evidently a man of gallantry rather than of sentiment, and who is known to play his cards well, and to have good luck wherever hearts were trumps. Belinda's fears of Lady Delacour as a dangerous rival were much quieted by the artful insinuations of Miss Estana, with respect to her age, et cetera. And in proportion as her fears subsided she blamed herself for having written too harshly of her ladyship's conduct. The idea that whilst she appeared as Lady Delacour's friend she ought not to propagate any stories to her disadvantage operated powerfully upon Belinda's mind, and she reproached herself for having told even her aunt what she had seen in private. She thought she had been guilty of treachery, and she wrote again immediately to Miss Estana to conjure her to burn her last letter, to forget if possible its contents, and to believe that not a syllable of a similar nature should ever be heard from her. She was just concluding with the words, I hope my dear aunt will consider all this as an error of my judgment and not of my heart, when Lady Delacour burst into the room exclaiming in a tone of gaiety. Tragedy or comedy, Belinda, the masquerade dresses are come. But how's this, added she, looking full in Belinda's face? Tears in the eyes, blushes in the cheeks, tremors in the joints, and letters shuffling away. But you novice of novices how awkwardly shuffled. A niece of Mrs. Stannops and so unpracticed a shuffler, and is it credible she should tremble in this ridiculous way about a love letter or two? No love letters indeed, Lady Delacour, said Belinda, holding the paper fast as her ladyship, half in play, half in earnest, attempted to snatch it from her. No love letters, then it must be treason, and see it I must by all that's good, or by all that's bad. I see the name of Delacour, and her ladyship absolutely seized the letters by force in spite of all Belinda's struggles and entreaties. I beg, I request, I conjure you not to read it, cried Miss Portman, clasping her hands. Read mine, read mine, if you must, but don't read my aunt Stannops. Oh, I beg, I entreat, I conjure you, and she threw herself upon her knees.  Why, this is like the Duchess de Brinvilliers, who wrote on her paper of poisons, whoever finds this I entreat, I conjure them, in the name of more saints than I can remember, not to open the paper any farther. What a simpleton to know so little of the nature of curiosity. As she spoke Lady Delacour opened Mrs. Stannops' letter, read it from beginning to end, folded it up coolly when she had finished it, and simply said, the person alluded to is almost as bad as her name at full length. Does Mrs. Stannops think no one can make out an innuendo in a libel, or fill up a blank but an attorney general, pointing to a blank in Mrs. Stannops' letter left for the name of Clarence Hervey? Belinda was in too much confusion either to speak or think. You are righteous where they were not love-letters, pursued her ladyship, laying down the papers. I protest, I snatch them by way of frolic. I beg pardon, all I can do now is not to read the rest. Nay, I beg, I wish, I insist upon your reading mine, said Belinda. When Lady Delacour had read it, her countenance suddenly changed. Worth a hundred of your aunts, I declare, said she, patting Belinda's cheek.  All hearts nowadays are second hand at best. Lady Delacour spoke with a tone of feeling which Belinda had never heard from her before, and which at this moment touched her so much that she took her ladyship's hand and kissed it. End of Chapter 1, Recording by Mimi Wong Chapter 2 of Belinda This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sandra Estenson. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth Chapter 2 Masks Where were we when all this began? cried Lady Delacour, forcing herself to resume an air of gaiety. Oh, masquerade was the order of the day. Tragedy or comedy? Which suits your genius best, my dear? Whichever suits your ladyship's taste least. Why, my woman, Marriott, says I ought to be tragedy, and upon the notion that people always succeed best when they take characters diametrically opposite to their own, Clarence Hervey's principle, perhaps you don't think that he has any principles, but there you are wrong, I do assure you he has sound principles of taste. Of that, said Belinda with a constrained smile, he gives the most convincing proof by his admiring your ladyship so much, and by his admiring Miss Portman so much more, but whilst we are making speeches to one another, poor Marriott is standing in distress, like Garrick, between tragedy and comedy. Lady Delacour opened her dressing-room door and pointed to her as she stood with the dress of the comic muse on one arm and the tragic muse on the other. I'm afraid I have not spirits enough to undertake the comic muse, said Miss Portman. Marriott, who is a personage of prodigious consequence and the judge in the last resort at her mistress's toilet, looked extremely out of humour at having been kept waiting so long, and yet more so at the idea that her appellant jurisdiction could be disputed. Your ladyship's taller than Miss Portman by half ahead, said Marriott, and to be sure will best become tragedy with this long train, besides I had settled all the rest of your ladyship's dress. Tragedy, they say, is always tall, and no offence your ladyship's taller than Miss Portman by half ahead. For head, read inch, said Lady Delacour, if you please. When things are settled one can't bear to have them unsettled, but your ladyship must have your own way to be sure. I'll say no more, she cried, throwing down the dresses. Stay, Marriott, said Lady Delacour, and she placed herself between the angry waiting-mate in the door. Why will you, who are the best creature in the world, put yourself into these theories about nothing? Have patience with us, and you shall be satisfied. That's another affair, said Marriott. Miss Portman continued her ladyship. Don't talk of not having spirits.  What say you, Blinda? Oh yes, you must be the comic muse, and I, it seems, must be tragedy, because Marriott has a passion for seeing me come sweeping by, and because Marriott must have her own way in everything. She rules me with a rod of iron, my dear, so tragedy I need must be. Marriott knows her power. There was an air of extreme vexation in Lady Delacour's countenance as she pronounced these last words, in which evidently more was meant than met the ear. Upon many occasions Miss Portman had observed that Marriott exercised despotic authority over her mistress, and she had seen with surprise that a lady, who would not yield an iota of power to her husband, submitted herself to every caprice of the most insolent of waiting women. For some time, Blinda imagined that this submission was merely an air as she had seen some of the other fine ladies proud of appearing to be governed by a favourite maid. But she was soon convinced that Marriott was no favourite with Lady Delacour, that her ladyships was not proud humility but fear. It seemed certain that a woman extravagantly fond of her own will would never have given up without some very substantial reason. It seemed as if Marriott was in a position of some secret which should forever remain unknown. This idea had occurred to Miss Portman more than once, but never so forcibly as upon the present occasion. There had always been some mystery about her ladyship's toilette. At certain hours doors were bolted, and it was impossible for anybody but Marriott to obtain admission. Miss Portman had first imagined that Lady Delacour dreaded the discovery of her cosmetic secrets. But her ladyship's ruse was so glaring and her pearl powder was so obvious that Blinda was convinced there must be some other cause for this toilette secrecy. There was a little cabinet beyond her bed-chamber which Lady Delacour called her boudoir, to which there was an entrance by a back staircase. But no one ever entered there but Marriott. One night Lady Delacour, after dancing with great spirit at a ball at her own house, fainted suddenly. Miss Portman attended her to her bed-chamber. But Marriott begged that her lady might be left alone with her, and she would by no means suffer Blinda to follow her into the boudoir. All these things Blinda recollected, in the space of a few seconds, as she stood contemplating Marriott and the dresses. The hurry of getting ready for the masquerade, however, dispelled these thoughts, and by the time she was dressed the idea of what Clarence Hervey would think of her appearance was uppermost in her mind. She was anxious to know whether he would discover her in the character of the comic muse. Lady Delacour was discontented with her tragic attire, and she grew still more out of humour with herself when she saw Blinda. I protest Marriott has made a perfect fright of me, said her ladyship as she got into her carriage, and I'm positive my dress would become you a million times better than your own. Miss Portman regretted that it was too late to change. Not at all too late, my dear, said Lady Delacour, never too late for women to change their minds, their dress or their lovers.  She sees masks tonight. I'm quite intimate there. I'll make her let me step up to her own room where no soul can interrupt us, and there we can change our dresses, and Marriott will know nothing of the matter. Marriott's a faithful creature and very fond of me, fond of power too, but who is not? We must all have our faults. One would not quarrel with such a good creature as Marriott for a trifle. Then suddenly changing her tone she said, Not a human being will find us out at the masquerade, for no one but Miss Frack knows that we are the two muses. Clarence Harvey swears he should know me in any disguise, but I defy him. I shall take special delight in puzzling him.  Now that's to be Harriet's own character, so Harvey will make fine confusion. As soon as they got to Lady Singleton's, Lady Delacour and Miss Portman immediately went upstairs to exchange dresses. Poor Belinda, now she felt herself in spirits to undertake the comic muse, was rather vexed to be obliged to give up her becoming character, but there was no resisting the polite energy of Lady Delacour's vanity. Her ladyship ran as quick as lightning into a closet within the dressing room, saying to Lady Singleton's woman, who attempted to follow with, Can I do anything for your ladyship? No, no, no, nothing, nothing. Thank ye, thank ye. I want no assistance. I never let anybody do anything for me but Marriott. And she bolted herself in the closet. In a few minutes she half opened the door, threw out her tragic robes, and cried, Here, Miss Portman, give me yours quick, and let's see whether comedy or tragedy will be ready first. Lord bless and forgive me, said Lady Singleton's woman, when Lady Delacour, at last, threw open the door when she was completely dressed. But if your layship has not been dressing all this time in that den without anything in the shape of a looking-glass, and not to let me help, I that should have been so proud. Lady Delacour put a half a guinea into the waiting-maid's hand, laughed effectively at her own whimsicalities, and declared that she could dress herself better without a glass than with one. All this went off admirably well, with everybody but Miss Portman. She could not help thinking it extraordinary that a person who was obviously fond of being weighted upon would never suffer any person to assist her at her toilet, except Marriott, a woman of whom she was evidently afraid. Lady Delacour's quick eye saw curiosity, painted in Belinda's countenance, and for a moment she was embarrassed. But she soon recovered herself and endeavored to turn the course of Miss Portman's thoughts by whispering to her some nonsense about Clarence Hervey, a cabalistical name which she knew had the power when pronounced in a certain tone of throwing Belinda into confusion. The first person they saw, when they entered into the drawing-room at Lady Singleton's, was this very Clarence Hervey, who was not in a masquerade dress. He had laid a wager with one of his acquaintance, that he could perform the part of the serpent such as he is seen in Fusili's well-known picture. For this purpose he had exerted much ingenuity in the invention and execution of a length of coiled skin which he maneuvered with great dexterity by means of internal wires. His grand difficulty had been to manufacture the rays that were to come from his eyes. He had contrived a set of phosphoric rays, which he was certain would charm all the fair daughters of Eve. He forgot, it seems, that phosphorus could not well be seen by candlelight. When he was just equipped as a serpent his rays set fire to a part of his envelope, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he was extricated. He escaped unhurt, but his serpent's skin was utterly consumed, nothing remained but the melancholy spectacle of its skeleton. He was obliged to give up the hopes of shining at the masquerade, but he resolved to be at Lady Singleton's that he might meet Lady Delacour and Miss Portman. The moment that the tragic and comic muse appeared, he invoked them with much humor and mock pathos, declaring that he knew not which of them could best sing his adventure. After a recital of his misfortune had entertained the company, and after the muses had performed their parts to the satisfaction of the audience and their own, the conversation ceased to be supported in masquerade character. Muses and Harlequins, Gypsies and Cleopatra's began to talk of their private affairs, and of the news and the scandal of the day. A group of gentlemen amongst whom was Clarence Harvey gathered round the tragic muse, as Mr. Harvey had hinted that he knew she was a person of distinction, though he would not tell her name. After he had exercised his wit for some time, without obtaining from the tragic muse one single syllable, he whispered, Lady Delacour, why this unnatural reserve? Do you imagine that through this tragical disguise I have not found you out? The tragic muse appeared absorbed in meditation. Voschafféed, no reply. The devil a word can you get for your pains, Harvey, said a gentleman of his acquaintance, who joined the party at this instant. Why didn't you stick to other muse, who, to do her justice, is as errant a flirt as your heart could wish for? There's danger in flirting, said Clarence, with an errant flirt of Miss Stannop's training. There's a kind of electricity about that girl. I have a sort of cobweb feeling and imaginary net coming all over me. For warned is forearmed, replied his companion, a man must be a novice indeed that could be taken in at this time of day by a niece of Mrs. Stannop's. That Mrs. Stannop must be a good clever dame faith, said a third gentleman. There's no less than six of her nieces, whom she has got off within these four winters. Not one of them, now, that has not made a catch match. There's the eldest of the set, Mrs. Tolemarch. What had she in the devil's name to set up within the world, but a pair of good eyes, her aunt, to be sure, taught her to use them early enough? They might have rolled to all eternity before they would have rolled me out of my senses. But, you see, they did Tolemarch's business. However, they are going to part now, I hear. Tolemarch was tired of her before the honeymoon was over, as I foretold. Then there's the musical girl, Jadrell, who has no more ear than a post, went and married her because he had a mind to set up for a connoisseur in music. A Mrs. Stanop flattered him that he was one. The gentleman joined in the general laugh. The tragic muse sighed. Even were she at the school for scandal, the tragic muse dare not laugh except behind her mask, said Clarence Hervey. Far be it from her to laugh at those follies which she must forever deplore, said Belinda in a feigned voice. What miseries spring from these ill-suited marriages? The victims are sacrificed before they have sense enough to avoid their fate. Clarence Hervey imagined that this speech alluded to Lady Delacour's own marriage. Damn me if I know any woman young or old that would avoid being married, if she could, though, cried Sir Philip Battley, a gentleman who always supplied each vacuity of sense with an oath. But Rokeford didn't valentine marry one of these nieces? Yes. She was a mighty fine dancer and had good legs enough. Mrs. Stanop got poor valentine to fight a duel about her place in a country dance, and then he was so pleased with himself for his prowess that he married the girl. Belinda made an effort to change her seat, but she was encompassed so that she could not retreat. As to Jenny Mason, the fifth of the nieces, continued the witty gentleman, she was as brown as mahogany and had neither eyes, nose, mouth, nor legs. What Mrs. Stanop could do with her, I often wondered. But she took courage, robed her up, set her a-going as a dasher, and she dashed herself into Tom Levitt's circle, and Tom couldn't get her out again till she was the honorable Mrs. Levitt. She then took the reins into her own hands, and I hear she's driving him and herself the road to ruin, as fast as they can gallop. As for this Belinda Portman, it was a good hit to send her to Lady Delacour's. But I take it she hangs upon hand. For last winter, when I was at Bath, she was hawked about everywhere, and the awk was puffing her with might and main. You heard of nothing, wherever you went. But of Belinda Portman, and Belinda Portman's accomplishments, Belinda Portman and her accomplishments, I'll swear, were as well advertised as Packwood's razor-strops. Mrs. Stanop overdid the business, I think, resumed the gentleman who began the conversation. The girls brought to hammer this way don't go off well, it's true. Christie himself is no match for Dame Stanop. Many of my acquaintance were tempted to go and look at the premises, but not one, you may be sure, had a thought of becoming a tenant for life. That's an honour reserved for you, Clarence Hervey, said another, tapping him upon the shoulder. Give ye joy, Hervey, give ye joy. Me, said Clarence, starting, I'll be hanged if he didn't change colour, said his facetious companion, and all the young men again joined and laughed. Left on my merry men, cried Clarence. But the devil's in it if I don't know my own mind better than any of you. You don't imagine I go to Lady Delacour's to look for a wife? Belinda Portman's a good pretty girl. But what then?  Do you think I could be taken in by one of the Stanop School? Do you think I don't see as plainly as any of you that Belinda Portman's a composition of art and affection? Not so loud, Clarence, here she comes, said his companion, the comic muse. Is not she? Lady Delacour at this moment came lightly tripping towards them and addressing herself in the character of the comic muse to Hervey, exclaimed. Hervey, my Hervey, most favourite of my votaries, why do you forsake me? Why, mourns my friend, why weeps his downcast eye, that eye where mirth and fancy used to shine. Though you have lost your serpent's form, yet you may please any of the fair daughters of Eve in your own. Mr. Hervey bowed. All the gentlemen who stood near him smiled. The tragic muse gave an involuntary sigh. Could I borrow a sigh or a tear from my tragic sister? Pursued Lady Delacour. However unbecoming to my character, I would if only sighs or tears can win the heart of Clarence Hervey. Let me practice. And her ladyship practised sighing with much comic effect. Pursuasive words and more persuasive sighs, said Clarence Hervey. A good bold stan-op case of net faith, whispered one of his companions. Mople-men, has thou forgot thyself to marble? Pursued Lady Delacour. I have not very well, whispered misportment to her ladyship. Could we get away? Get away from Clarence Hervey, do you mean? Replied her ladyship in a whisper. Tis not easy, but we'll try what can be done, if it is necessary. Belinda had no power to reply to this railery. Indeed, she scarcely heard the words that were said to her. But she put her arm within Lady Delacour's, who, to her great relief, had the good nature to leave the room with her immediately. Her ladyship, though she would sacrifice the feelings of others, without compunction, to her vanity, whenever the power of her wit was disputed. Yet towards those by whom it was acknowledged, she showed some mercy. What is the matter with the child, she said, as she went down the staircase? Nothing, if I could have air, said Belinda. There was a crowd of servants in the hall. Why does Lady Delacour avoid me so perniciously? What crime have I committed, that I was not favoured with one word, said Clarence Hervey, who had followed them down the stairs and overtook them in the hall? Do see if you can find any of my people, cried Lady Delacour. Lady Delacour, the comic muse, exclaimed Mr. Hervey. I thought— No matter what you thought, interrupted her ladyship, let my carriage draw up, for here's a young friend of yours trembling so about nothing, that I am half afraid she will faint, and you know it would not be so pleasant to faint here amongst the footmen. Stay! This room is empty. Oh, I did not mean to tell you to stay, she said to Hervey, who involuntarily followed her in the utmost consternation. I perfectly well now, perfectly well, said Belinda. Perfectly a simple to-night think, said Lady Delacour. Nay, my dear, you must be ruled.  Didn't you tell me you wanted air? What now? This is not the first time Clarence Hervey has ever seen your face without a mask, is it? It's the first time, indeed, he or anybody else ever saw it of such a colour, I believe. When Lady Delacour pulled off Belinda's mask, her face was, during the first instant, pale. The next moment crimsoned over with a burning blush. What is the matter with ye both? How he stands, said Lady Delacour, turning to Mr. Hervey. Did you ever see a woman blush before? Or did you never say or do anything to make a woman blush before? Will you give Miss Portman a glass of water? There's some behind you on that sideboard, man. But he has neither eyes, ears, nor understanding. Do go about your business, said her ladyship, pushing him towards the door. Do go about your business, for I haven't common patience with you. On my conscience I believe the man's in love, and not with me. That salvoletile for you, child, I perceive. Continued she to Belinda. Oh, you can walk now, but remember you are on slippery ground. Remember Clarence Hervey is not a marrying man, and you are not a married woman. It is perfectly indifferent to me, madam, Belinda said, with a voice and a look of proud indignation. Lady Delacour, your carriage has drawn up, said Clarence Hervey, returning to the door, but without entering. Then put this perfectly well and perfectly indifferent lady into it, said Lady Delacour. He obeyed, without uttering a syllable. Dumb, absolutely dumb, I protest, said her ladyship, as she handed her in afterwards. Why, Clarence, the casting of your serpent skin seems to have quite changed your nature. Nothing but the simplicity of the dove left, and I expect to hear you cooing presently. Don't you, Miss Portman? She ordered the coachman to drive to the pantheon. To the pantheon! I was in hopes your ladyship would have the goodness to set me down at home, for indeed I shall be a burden to you and everybody else at the masquerade. If you have made any appointment for the rest of the evening in Berkeley Square, I'll set you down, certainly, if you insist upon it, my dear, for punctuality is a virtue. But prudence is a virtue too, and a young lady, who, as your aunt Stanhope would say, has to establish herself in the world. Why, these tears, Belinda? Or are they tears? For with a light of the lamps I can scarcely tell, though I'll swear I saw the handkerchief at the eyes. What is the meaning of all this? You'd best trust me, for I know as much of men and manners as your aunt Stanhope, at least, and in one word you have nothing to fear from me, and everything to hope from yourself.  You'll find it as good as your aunt Stanhope's. My aunt Stanhope's? Oh! cried Belinda. Never, never more will I take such advice. Never more will I expose myself to be insulted as a female adventurer. Little did I know in what a light I appeared. Little did I know what gentleman thought of my aunt Stanhope, of my cousins, of myself. Gentlemen, I presume Clarence Hervey stands at this instant in your imagination as the representative of all the gentlemen in England, and he, instead of Anarcharis Clute's, is now, to be sure, la oriator du genre humane. Pray let me have a specimen of the eloquence which, to judge by its effects, must be powerful indeed. Miss Portman, not without some reluctance, repeated the conversation which she had heard. And is this all? cried Lady Delacour. Lord, my dear, you must either give up living in the world or expect to hear yourself and your aunts and your cousins and your friends from generation to generation abused every hour in the day by their friends and your friends. Tis the common course of things. Now you know what a multitude of obedient, humble servants, dear creatures, and very sincere and most affectionate friends I have in my writing desk and on my mantelpiece, not to mention the cards which crowd the common rack from intimate acquaintance, who cannot live without the honour or favour or pleasure of seeing Lady Delacour twice a week. Do you think I am fool enough to imagine that they would care the hundredth part of a straw if I were this minute thrown into the red or the black sea? No, I have not one real friend in the world except Harriet Freak. Yet you see I am the comic muse and I mean to keep it up, keep it up to the last on purpose to provoke those who would give their eyes to be able to pity me. I humbly thank them no pity for Lady Delacour. Follow my example, Belinda. Elbow your way through the crowd. If you stop to be civil and beg pardon and hope I didn't hurt you, you will be trod underfoot. Now you'll meet those young men continually who took the liberty of laughing at your aunt and your cousins and yourself, their men of fashion. Show them you've no feeling and they'll acknowledge you for a woman of fashion. You'll marry better than any of your cousins, Clarence Hervey, if you can, and then it will be your turn to laugh about nets and cages, as to love and all that. The carriage stopped at the pantheon, just as her ladyship came to the words, love and all that. Her thoughts took a different turn, and during the remainder of the night she exhibited in such manner as to attract universal admiration all the ease and grace and gaiety of euphrysin. To Belinda the night appeared long and dull. The commonplace wit of chimney-sweepers and gypsies, the antics of harlequins and the graces of flower girls and Cleopatra's had not the power to amuse her, for her thoughts still recurred to that conversation which had given her so much pain, a pain which Lady Delacour's railery had failed to obliterate. How happy you are, Lady Delacour, she said when they got into the carriage to go home, how happy you are to have such an amazing flow of spirits. Amazing you might well say, if you knew all, said Lady Delacour, and she heaved a deep sigh threw herself back in the carriage. Let fall her mask, and was silent. It was broad daylight and Belinda had a view of her countenance which was the picture of despair. She uttered not one syllable more, nor had Miss Portman the courage to interrupt her meditations till they came within sight of Lady Singleton's when Belinda ventured to remind her that she had resolved to stop there and change dresses before Marriott saw them. No, it's no matter, said Lady Delacour. Marriott will leave me at last like all the rest, it is no matter. Her ladyship sunk back into her former attitude, but after she had remained silent for some minutes she started up and exclaimed, If I had served myself with half the zeal that I served the world, I should not now be thus forsaken. I have sacrificed reputation, happiness, everything to the love of frolic. All frolic will soon be at an end with me. I am dying, and I shall die unlamented by any human being.  What a different person I would be. But it is all over now. I am dying. Belinda's astonishment at these words and the solemn manner in which they were pronounced was inexpressible. She gazed at Lady Delacour and then repeated the word. Dying. Yes, dying, said Lady Delacour. But you seem to me and to all the world in perfect health. And but half an hour ago, in perfect spirits, said Belinda.  What I am not. I tell you I am dying, said her ladyship in an emphatic tone. Not a word more passed till they got home. Lady Delacour hurried upstairs, bidding Belinda follow her to her dressing-room. Marriott was lighting six wax candles on the dressing-table. As I live they have changed dresses after all, said Marriott to herself as she fixed her eyes upon Lady Delacour and Miss Portman. I'll be burnt if I don't make my lady remember this. Marriott, you need not wait. I'll ring you when I want to, said Lady Delacour. And taking one of the candles from the table, she passed on hastily with Miss Portman through her dressing-room, through her bed-chamber, and to the door of the mysterious cabinet. Marriott, the key of this door, cried she impatiently after she had in vain attempted to open it. Heavenly graciousness, cried Marriott, is my lady out of her senses. The key, the key, quick the key, repeated Lady Delacour in a preemptory tone. She seized it as soon as Marriott drew it from her pocket and unlocked the door. Had not I best put the things to write, my lady, said Marriott, catching fast hold of the opening door. I'll ring you when you are wanted, Marriott. said Lady Delacour. And pushing open the door with violence, she rushed forward to the middle of the room, and turning back, she beckoned to Belinda, to follow her. Come in. What is it you are afraid of? said she. Belinda went on, and the moment she was in the room, Lady Delacour shut and locked the door. The room was rather dark, as there was no light in it except what came from the candle which Lady Delacour held in her hand, and which burned but dimly. Belinda, as she looked round, saw nothing but a confusion of linen rags, vials, some empty, some full, and she perceived that there was a strong smell of medicines. Lady Delacour, whose motions were all precipitate, like those of a person whose mind is in great agitation, looked from side to side of the room, without seeming to know what she was in search of. She then, with a species of fury, wiped the paint from her face, and returning to Belinda held the candle so as to throw the light full upon her livid features. Her eyes were sunk, her cheeks hollow.  You are shocked, Belinda, said she. But as yet you have seen nothing. Look here, and bearing one half of her bosom. She revealed a hideous spectacle. Belinda sunk back into a chair. Lady Delacour flung herself on her knees before her. Am I humbled? Am I wretched enough? cried she, her voice trembling with agony. Yes, pity me for what you have seen, and a thousand times more for that which you cannot see. My mind is eaten away like my body, by incurable disease, inveterate remorse. Remorse for a life of folly, of folly which has brought on me all the punishments of guilt. My husband, continued she, and her voice suddenly altered from the tone of grief to that of anger. My husband hates me, no matter I despise him. His relations hate me, no matter I despise them. My own relations hate me, no matter I never wish to see them more. Never shall they see my sorrow. Never shall they hear a complaint aside from me. There is no torture which I could not more easily endure, than their insulting pity.  When I am gone, let them find out their mistake and moralize, if they will, over my grave. She paused. Belinda had no power to speak. Promise. Swear to me, resumed Lady Delacour vehemently, seizing Belinda's hand, that you will never reveal to any mortal what you have seen and heard this night. No living creature suspects that Lady Delacour is dying by inches, except Marriott, and that woman whom, but a few hours ago, I thought my real friend, to whom I trusted every secret of my life. Every thought of my heart. Fool.  Doop that I was to trust the friendship of a woman who I knew to be without principle. But I thought she had honor. I thought she could never betray me. Oh Harriet, Harriet, you to desert me. Anything else I could have borne, but you, who I thought would have supported me in the tortures of mind and body, which I am to go through. You that I thought would receive my last breath. You desert me. Now I am alone in the world, left to the mercy of an insolent waiting woman. Lady Delacour hid her face in Belinda's lap. And almost stifled by the violence of contending emotion, she last gave vent to them and sobbed aloud. Trust to one, said Belinda, pressing her hand with all the tenderness which humanity could dictate, who will never leave you at the mercy of an insolent waiting woman. Trust to me.  Yes, I think I may trust to you, for though a niece of Mrs. Stanobs, I have seen this day and have seen with surprise symptoms of artless feeling about you. This was what tempted me to open my mind to you when I found that I had lost the only friend. But I will think no more of that. If you have a heart, you must feel for me. Leave me now. Tomorrow you shall hear my whole history. Now I am quite exhausted. Ring for Marriott. Marriott appeared with a face of constrained civility and latent rage. Put me to bed, Marriott, said Lady Delacour, with a subdued voice. But first, light Miss Portman to her room. She need not yet see the horrid business of my toilet. Belinda, when she was left alone, immediately opened her shutters and threw up the sash to refresh herself with the morning air. She felt excessively fatigued, and in the hurry of her mind she could not think of anything distinctly. She took off her masquerade dress and went to bed in hopes of forgetting for a few hours what she felt indelibly impressed upon her imagination. But it was in vain that she endeavored to compose herself to sleep. Her ideas were in too great and painful confusion. For some time, whenever she closed her eyes, the face and form of Lady Delacour, such as she had just beheld them, seemed to haunt her. Afterwards, the idea of Clarence Hervey and the painful recollection of the conversation she had overheard, recurred to her. The words, Do you think I don't know that Belinda Portman is a composition of art and affection? Fixed in her memory. She recollected with the utmost minuteness every look of contempt, which she had seen in the faces of the young men, whilst they spoke, Mrs. Stenna. The matchmaker. Belinda's mind, however, was not yet sufficiently calm to reflect. She seemed only to live over again the preceding night. At last the strange, motley figures which she had seen at the masquerade flitted before her eyes, and she sunk into an uneasy slumber. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth Chapter 3 Lady Delacour's History Miss Portman was awakened by the ringing of Lady Delacour's bedchamber bell. She opened her eyes with the confused idea that something disagreeable had happened. And before she had distinctly recollected herself, Marriott came to her bedside with a note from Lady Delacour. It was written with a pencil. Delacour, my lord, is to have today what Garrick used to call a gander-feast. Will you dine with me, tet-a-tet, and I'll write an excuse, alias a lie, to Lady Singleton, in the form of a charming note. I peek myself, sur la eloquence doubellée, then we shall have the evening to ourselves. I have much to say, as people usually have when they begin to talk of themselves. I have taken a double dose of opium and am not so horribly out of spirits as I was last night, so you need not be afraid of another scene. Let me see you in my dressing-room, dear Belinda, as soon as you have adored. With head uncovered the cosmetic powers. But you don't paint, no matter you will, you must everybody must sooner or later. In the meantime, whenever you want to send a note, that shall not be opened by the bearer. Put your trust neither in wafer nor wax, but twist it as I twist mine. You see, I wish to put you in possession of some valuable secrets before I leave this world. This, by the by, I don't upon second thoughts, which are always best, mean to do yet. There certainly were such people as Amazons, I hope you admire them, for who could live without the admiration of Belinda Portman. Not Clarence Hurveys hurriedly, nor yet. T. C. H. Delacour Belinda obeyed the summons to her ladyship's dressing-room. She found Lady Delacour with her face completely repaired with paint, and her spirits with opium. She was in high consultation with Marriott and Mrs. Franks the Milner about the crepe petticoat of her birth-night dress, which was extended over a large hoop in full state. Mrs. Franks descanted long and learnedly upon festoons and loops, knots and fringes, submitting all the time everything to her ladyship's better judgment. Marriott was sulky and silent. She opened her lips but once, upon the question of Livernum or no Livernum flowers. Against them she quoted the memoirs and the authority of the celebrated Mrs. Bellamy, who has a case in point to prove that straw color must ever look like dirty white by candlelight. Mrs. Franks, to compromise the matter, proposed gold Livernums because nothing can look better by candlelight or any light than gold. And Lady Delacour, who was afraid that the milliner's imagination, now that it had once touched upon gold, might be led to a vulgar idea of ready money, suddenly broke up the conference by exclaiming, We shall be late at Philip's Exhibition of French China. Mrs. Franks must let us see her again tomorrow to take into consideration your court dress, my dear Belinda. Miss Portman, presented by Lady Delacour. Mrs. Franks, let her dress for heaven's sakes. Be something that will make a fine paragraph. I give you four and twenty hours to think of it. I have done a horrid act this day, continued she, after Mrs. Franks had left the room. I absolutely written a twisted note to Clarence Hervey, my dear. But why did I tell you that? Now your head will run upon the twisted note all day instead of upon the life and opinions of a lady of quality related by herself. After dinner, Lady Delacour, having made Belinda protest and blush and blush and protest, that her head was not running upon the twisted note, began the history of her life and opinions in the following manner. I do nothing by haves, my dear. I shall not tell you my adventures, as Gilblas told his to the court-day Oliveres, skipping over the youthful passages. I am no hypocrite, and have nothing worse than folly to conceal.  But I begin where I ought to end, with my moral, which I dare say you are not impatient to anticipate. I never read or listened to a moral at the end of a story in my life, manners for me, and morals for those that like them. My dear, you will be woefully disappointed if in my story you expect anything like a novel. I once heard a general say that nothing was less like a review than a battle, and I can tell you that nothing is more unlike a novel than real life of all lives. Mine has been the least romantic, no love in it, but a great deal of hate. I was a rich heiress. I had, I believe, a hundred thousand pounds or more, and twice as many capris. I was handsome and witty, or to speak with that kind of circumlocution, which is called humility, the world, the partial world, thought me a beauty, and a belespri. Having told you, my fortune, need I add that I, or it, had lovers in abundance of all sorts and degrees, not to reckon those it may be presumed who died of concealed passions for me? I had sixteen declarations and proposals in form. Then what in the name of wonder or of common sense, which by the by is the greatest of wonders, what in the name of common sense made me marry Lord Delacour? Why, my dear, you, no, not you, but any girl who is not used to have a parcel of admirers, would think it the easiest thing in the world to make her choice, but let her judge by what she feels when a dexterous mercer, or linen draper, produces pretty thing after pretty thing, and this is so becoming, and this will wear forever as he swears, but then that's so fashionable. The novice stands in a charming perplexity, and after examining and doubting and tossing over half the goods in the shop, it's ten to one when it begins to get late, the young lady in hurry pitches upon the very ugliest and worst thing she has seen, just so it was with me and my lovers, and just so sad was the hour and luckless was the day. I pitched upon Viscount Delacour for my lord and judge. He had just at that time lost at new market more than he was worth in every sense of the word, and my fortune was the most convenient thing in the world to a man in his condition. Lasanges are of sovereign use in some complaints. The heiress lasange is a specific in some consumptions. You are surprised that I can laugh and jest about such a melancholy thing as my marriage with Lord Delacour, and so I am, especially when I recollect all the circumstances, for though I bragged of there being no love in my history, there was when I was a goose or a gozzling of about eighteen. Just your age, Belinda, I think. Something very like love, playing about my heart or my head. There was a certain Henry Percival, a Clarence Hervey of a man. No, he had ten times the sense, begging your pardon of Clarence Hervey. His misfortune, or mine was, that he had too much sense. He was in love with me, but not with my faults. Now I, wisely considering that my faults were the greatest part of me, insisted upon his being in love with my faults. He wouldn't or couldn't. I said wouldn't and he said couldn't. I had been used to see the men about me lick the dust at my feet, for it was gold dust. Percival made rye faces. Lord Delacour made none. I pointed him out to Percival as an example. It was an example he would not follow. I was provoked, and I married in hopes of provoking the man I loved. The worst of it was, I did not provoke him as much as I expected. Six months afterwards I heard of his marriage with a very amiable woman.  Poor Percival. I should have been a very happy woman. I fancy if I had married you, for I believe you were the only man who ever really loved me. But all that is over now. Where were we? Oh, I married Lord Delacour, knowing him to be a fool, and believing that for this reason I should find no trouble in governing him. But what a fatal mistake. A fool, of all animals in the creation, is the most difficult to govern. We set out in the fashionable world with a mutual desire to be as extravagant as possible. Strange that with this similarity of taste we could never agree. Strange that this similarity of taste was the cause of our perpetual quarrels. During the first year of our marriage I had always the upper hand in these disputes, and the last word, and I was content. Stubborn as the brute was, I thought I should in time break him in. From the specimens you have seen you may guess that I was even then a tolerable proficient in the dear art of tormenting. I had almost gained my point, just broken my Lord's heart, when one fair morning I, unluckily, told his man, Champfort, that he knew no more how to cut hair than a sheep-shearer. Champfort, who was a conceit personified, took mortal offense at this, and the devil, who was always at hand, to turn anger into malice, put into Champfort's head, to put it into my Lord's head, that the world thought my lady governed him. My Lord took fire. They say the torpedo, the coldest of cold creatures, sometimes gives out a spark. I suppose when electrified with anger. The next time that innocent I insisted upon my Lord Delacorte's doing or not doing, I forget which, the most reasonable thing in the world, my Lord turns short round and answers, my Lady Delacorte, I am not a man to be governed by a wife. And from that time to this, the words, I am not a man to be governed by a wife, hath been written in his obstinate face, as all the world who can read the human countenance may see. My dear, I laugh, but even in the midst of laughter there is sadness. But you don't know what it is. I hope you never may, to have an obstinate fool. For a bosom friend. At first I flattered myself that my Lord's was not an inveterate, incurable malady. But from his obvious weakness I might have seen that there was no hope, for cases of obstinacy are always dangerous in proportion to the weakness of the patient. My Lord's case was desperate. Kill or cure was my humane or prudent maxim. I determined to try the poison of jealousy by way of an alternative. I had long kept it in petto as my ultimate remedy. I fixed upon a proper subject, a man with whom I thought that I could coquette to all eternity without any danger to myself. A certain kernel lawless, as empty as a cox comb as you would wish to see. The world, said I to myself, can never be so absurd as to suspect Lady Delacour was such a man as this, though her lord me and will, for nothing is to absurd for him to believe. Half my theory proved just. That is, saying a great deal for any theory. My Lord swallowed the remedy that I had prepared for him with an avidity and a bonhomme, which it did me good to behold. My remedy operated beyond my most sanguine expectations. The poor man was cured of his obstinacy and became stark mad with jealousy. Then indeed I had some hopes of him, for a handman can be managed, a fool cannot. In a month's time I made him quite docile, with a face longer than the weeping philosophers. He came to me one morning, and assured me he would do everything I pleased, provided I would consult my own honour and his, and give up kernel lawless. Give up! I could hardly forbear laughing at the expression. I replied that as long as my Lord treated me with becoming respect I had never in thought or deed given him just cause of complaint, but that I was not a woman to be insulted or to be kept, as I had hitherto been, in leading strings by a husband. My Lord flattered as I meant he should be with the idea that it was possible he should be suspected of keeping a wife in leading strings. Fell to making protestations. He hoped his future conduct would prove, etc. Upon this hint I gave the reins to my imagination and full drive I went into a fresh career of extravagance. If I were checked it was an insult, and I began directly to talk of leading strings. This ridiculous game I played successfully enough for some time till at length, though naturally rather slow at calculation he actually discovered that if we lived at the rate of twenty thousand a year, and had only ten thousand a year to spend, we should in due time have nothing left. This notable discovery he communicated to me one morning after a long pramble. But when he had finished posing I agreed that it was demonstratably just that he should retrench his expenses, but that it was equally unjust and impossible that I could make any reformation in my civilist. That economy was a word which I had never heard of in my life till I married his lordship. That upon second recollection it was true I had heard of such things as national economy and that it would be very pretty, the rather hacknide topic of declamation for a maiden speech in the house of lords. I therefore advised him to reserve all he had to say upon the subject for the noble lord upon the wool sack. Nay, I very graciously added, that upon this condition I would go to the house myself to give his arguments and eloquence a fair hearing, that I would do my best to keep myself awake. This was all mighty playful and witty, but it happened that my lord Delacour, who never had any great taste for wit, could not this unlucky morning at all relish it. Of course I grew angry and reminded him with an indelicacy which his want of generosity justified that an heiress who had brought a hundred thousand pounds into this family had some right to amuse herself, and that it was not my fault if elegant amusements were more expensive than others. Then came a long, criminating and recriminating chapter. It was my lord your new market blenders, my lady your cursed theatricals, my lord I have surely a right, and my lady I have surely as good a right. But, my dear Belinda, however we might pay one another, we could not pay all the world with words. In short, after running through thousands and tens of thousands, we were actually in distress for money. Then came selling of lands, and I don't know what devices for raising money, according to the modes of lawyers and attorneys. It was quite indifferent to me how they got money, provided they did get it. By what art these gentlemen raised money I never troubled myself to inquire. It might have been the black art, for anything I know to the contrary. I know nothing of business. So I signed all the papers they brought to me, and I was mighty well pleased to find that by so easy and expedient as writing T. C. H. Delacour. I could command money at will. I signed, and signed. Till at last I was with all due civility, informed that my signature was no longer worth a farthing. And when I came to inquire into the cause of this phenomenon, I could no wise understand what my lord Delacour's lawyer said to me. He was a prick, and I had not patience, either to listen to him or to look at him. I sent for an old uncle of mine who used to manage all my money matters before I was married. I put the uncle and the lawyer into a room together with their parchment to fight the matter out, or to come to a right understanding if they could. The last, it seems, was quite impossible. In the course of half an hour out comes my uncle in such a rage. I never shall forget his face. All the bile in his body had gotten into it. He had literally no whites to his eyes. My dear uncle, I said, what is the matter? Why, you are absolutely gold stick in waiting. No matter what I am, child, said the uncle, I'll tell you what you are.  And if you knew nothing yourself, could not you send for me? I was too ignorant to know that I knew nothing, said I. But I will not trouble you with all the said eyes and said he's. I was made to understand that if Lord Delacour were to die the next day, I should live a beggar. Upon this I grew serious as you may imagine.  I repeated all that my uncle said very faithfully to Lord Delacour, and all that he or his lawyer could furnish out by way of answers was that necessity had no law.  Having now found out that I had a good right to complain, I indulged myself in it most gloriously. In short, my dear, we had a comfortable family quarrel. Love quarrels are easily made up. But of money quarrels there is no end. From the moment these money quarrels commenced, I began to hate Lord Delacour. Before I had only despised him, you can have no notion to what meanness extravagance reduces men. I have known Lord Delacour's shirk, and look so shabby, and tell so many lies to people about a hundred guineas, a hundred guineas. What do I say? About twenty, ten, five. Oh, my dear, I cannot bear the thoughts of it. But I was going on to tell you that my good uncle and all my relations quarreled with me for having ruined myself, as they say. But I said they quarreled with me for fear I should ask them for some of their vile trash. Accordingly I abused and ridiculed them, one and all. And for my pains all my acquaintance said that Lady Delacour was a woman of a vast deal of spirit. We were relieved from our money embarrassments by the timely death of a rich nobleman to whose largest state my Lord Delacour was heir at law. I was intoxicated with the idle compliments of all my acquaintance, and I endeavored to console myself for misery at home by gaiety abroad. Ambitions of pleasing universally. I became the worst of slaves, a slave to the world. Not a moment of my time was at my own disposal, not one of my actions. I may say not one of my thoughts was my own. I was obliged to find things charming every hour which tired me to death, and every day it was the same dull round of hypocrisy and dissipation. You wonder to hear me speak in this manner, Belinda. But one must speak the truth sometimes, and this is what I have been saying to Harriet Freak continually. For these ten years past, then why persist in the same kind of life, you say? Why, my dear, because I could not stop. I was fit for this kind of life, and for no other. I could not be happy at home. For what sort of a companion could I have made for Lord Delacour? By this time he was tired of his horse-potato and his horse-high-flyer and his horse-eclipse and Goliath and Jenny Gray, etc., and he had taken to hard drinking, which soon turned him, as you see, quite into a beast.


Hi, it's Courtney Actier and I want to talk about First Dates. Hi. G'day. You look great. You look great. First Dates are like opening night of a show. A show that might run for years or be closed by morning. And if you've been on a dating scene, you know that the musical chairs game of the chronic first dates can leave you not only mentally exhausted but financially tapped out too. Here's a Courtney fact for you. A 2017 study in Money Magazine showed that 78% of heterosexual people think that the man should still pay for the whole first date. And that same polling group said that the average meal should cost about 50 bucks. Meaning a man's practically got to get a promotion to be on the dating scene at all. And since no one wants to break the bank or the heart whilst looking for love, more and more people, particularly us millennials, are opting for less formal forms of dating. Once you've found your special someone on Tinder or Grindr or Scruff or Field or Chappy or Plenty of Fish or Christian Mingle, whatever you kink, you can take them over to a video date. That's right. You don't even have to leave the comfort of your own home now to be able to find out that that handsome devil from Tinder is actually 34 and still lives at home with his mum and has a real aversion to cheese. I get it, Rick. You don't like Gouda. Moving on. Here are some helpful hints and tips on using video chat for first date fantasticness. First, remember that technically you're going to be on camera. And although that doesn't mean you have to employ a glam squad, it does mean that you should take things like lighting, camera angle and backgrounds into consideration.   Overhead lighting is no one's friend. And the position should be like this. It should be the light source, then the camera and then you. Got it? The same goes for selfies. Oh, and tidy up your home, please.  Also, always remember to look into the camera at them and don't just stare at yourself the whole time. But most importantly, be yourself. I mean, sure, it's a first date, so you probably want to try and lead with the better parts of yourself.  But still, be you. Oh, and no FaceTime sex on the first date, please. I mean, you have to leave something to the imagination. And the last thing you want is the image freezing right on your... Face, making it up. Oh, no, Face. And with that, I wish you happy first dating and be sure to tune in to see me in all of my first dates on this season of Single A.I. on MTV. Ciao.


We've come to my snow resort chalet for some fun. My friend Andrea decided to ski back instead of coming on the snowmobile with us. Oh, here she is. Come inside with us and I'll show you around. After a cold day on the slopes, it's great to come back to this cosy log fire. I'll make us some hot chocolate in the kitchen, whilst Andrea feeds the dog. Good girl, Luna. Whilst she's eating, we can have a tasty supper of cheese and croissants in our chic dining room. Mmm, that looks great. So where shall we go tomorrow? How about this route? We haven't been out there for ages. Looks good to me. I'm still a bit chilling. Fancy a dip in the hot tub? Oh, yes! What a great way to end the day! What was your favourite bit? Mine was the hot chocolate. Mine was the ride on the snowmobile. It's lovely in here. Oh, and I could stay all night, but we've got a busy day of skiing tomorrow, so we're off to go to bed. This is our bedroom. There's a lovely view of the slopes as you put on your perfume. OK, Luna, bedtime. Oh, before we go to sleep, there are all these Lego friends' play sets in our range. So add to the fun. Night all! Roll your mouse over the screen and click on the top right hand corner for more information.