“Whose carriage is it?” said Lady Delacour. “Oh! Lady Newland’s ostentatious livery; and here is her ladyship getting out of her carriage as awkwardly as if she had never been in one before. Overdressed, like a true city dame! Pray, Clarence, look at her, entangled in her bale of gold muslin, and conscious of her bulse of diamonds!--‘Worth, if I’m worth a farthing, five hundred thousand pounds bank currency!’ she says or seems to say, whenever she comes into a room. Now let us see her entrée--” “But, my dear,” cried Lady Delacour, starting at the sight of Belinda, who was still in her morning dress, “absolutely below par!--Make your escape to Marriott, I conjure you, by all your fears of the contempt of a lady, who will at the first look estimate you, _au juste_, to a farthing a yard.” As she left the room, Belinda heard Clarence Hervey repeat to Lady Delacour-- “Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free--” he paused--but Belinda recollected the remainder of the stanza-- “Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all th’adulteries of art, That strike mine eyes, but not mine heart.” It was observed, that Miss Portman dressed herself this day with the most perfect simplicity. Lady Delacour’s curiosity was raised by the description which Belinda and Clarence Hervey had given of the new acquaintance who sent her the gold fishes, and who wanted nothing from her but her love. Miss Portman told her that the _unknown_ would probably come half an hour earlier to the reading-party than any of the rest of the company. Her ladyship was alone in the library, when Lady Anne Percival brought Helena, in consequence of a note from Belinda. Miss Portman ran down stairs to the hall to receive her: the little girl took her hand in silence. “Your mother was much pleased with the pretty gold fishes,” said Belinda, “and she will be still more pleased, when she knows that they came from you:--she does not know _that_ yet.” “I hope she is better to-day? I will not make the least noise,” whispered Helena, as she went up stairs on tiptoe. “You need not be afraid to make a noise--you need not walk on tiptoe, nor shut the doors softly; for Lady Delacour seems to like all noises except the screaming of the macaw. This way, my dear.” “Oh, I forgot--it is so long since!--Is mamma up and dressed?” “Yes. She has had concerts and balls since her illness. You will hear a play read to-night,” said Belinda, “by that French gentleman whom Lady Anne Percival mentioned to me yesterday.” “But there is a great deal of company, then, with mamma?” “Nobody is with her now: so come into the library with me,” said Belinda. “Lady Delacour, here is the young lady who sent you the gold fishes.” “Helena!” cried Lady Delacour. “You must, I am sure, acknowledge that Mr. Hervey was in the right, when he said that the lady was a striking resemblance of your ladyship.”