Here, to Belinda’s great relief, the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Marriott. From all she had heard, but especially from the agreement between the colour of the hair which dropped from Hervey’s letter with Sir Philip’s description of Virginia’s, Miss Portman was convinced that Clarence had some secret attachment; and she could not help blaming him in her own mind for having, as she thought, endeavoured to gain her affections, whilst he knew that his heart was engaged to another. Mr. Hervey, however, gave her no farther reason to suspect him of any design to win her love; for about this time his manner towards her changed,--he obviously endeavoured to avoid her; his visits were short, and his attention was principally directed to Lady Delacour; when she retired, he took his leave, and Sir Philip Baddely had the field to himself. The baronet, who thought that he had succeeded in producing a coldness between Belinda and his rival, was surprised to find that he could not gain any advantage for himself; for some time he had not the slightest thoughts of any serious connexion with the lady, but at last he was piqued by her indifference, and by the raillery of his friend Rochfort. “‘Pon honour,” said Rochfort, “the girl must be in love with Clary, for she minds you no more than if you were nobody.” “I could make her sing to another tune, if I pleased,” said Sir Philip; “but, damme, it would cost me too much--a wife’s too expensive a thing, now-a-days. Why, a man could have twenty curricles, and a fine stud, and a pack of hounds, and as many mistresses as he chooses into the bargain, for what it would cost him to take a wife. Oh, damme, Belinda Portman’s a fine girl, but not worth so much as that comes to; and yet, confound me, if I should not like to see how blue Clary would look, if I were to propose for her in good earnest--hey, Rochfort?--I should like to pay him for the way he served us about that quiz of a doctor, hey?” “Ay,” said Rochfort, “you know he told us there was a _tant pis_ and a _tant mieux_ in every thing--he’s not come to the _tant pis_ yet. ‘Pon honour, Sir Philip, the thing rests with you.” The baronet vibrated for some time between the fear of being taken in by one of Mrs. Stanhope’s nieces, and the hope of triumphing over Clarence Hervey. At last, what he called love prevailed over prudence, and he was resolved, cost him what it would, to have Belinda Portman. He had not the least doubt of being accepted, if he made a proposal of marriage; consequently, the moment that he came to this determination, he could not help assuming _d’avance_ the tone of a favoured lover. “Damme,” cried Sir Philip, one night, at Lady Delacour’s concert, “I think that Mr. Hervey has taken out a patent for talking to Miss Portman; but damme if I give up this place, now I have got it,” cried the baronet, seating himself beside Belinda.