“Who will ever more have faith in the Sortes Virgilianae?” said Lady Delacour, laughing; but whilst she laughed she went closer to a candle, to read the page which she had opened. Belinda and Clarence Hervey followed her. “Really, it is somewhat singular, Belinda, that I should have opened upon this passage,” continued she, in a low voice, pointing it out to Miss Portman. It was a description of the manner in which la femme comme il y en a peu managed a husband, who was excessively afraid of being thought to be governed by his wife. As her ladyship turned over the page, she saw a leaf of myrtle which Belinda, who had been reading the story the preceding day, had put into the book for a mark. “Whose mark is this? Yours, Belinda, I am sure, by its elegance,” said Lady Delacour. “So! this is a concerted plan between you two, I see,” continued her ladyship, with an air of pique: “you have contrived prettily de me dire des vérités! One says, ‘Let us try our fate by the Sortes Virgilianae;’ the other has dexterously put a mark in the book, to make it open upon a lesson for the naughty child.” Belinda and Mr. Hervey assured her that they had used no such mean arts, that nothing had been concerted between them. “How came this leaf of myrtle here, then?” said Lady Delacour. “I was reading that story yesterday, and left it as my mark.” “I cannot help believing you, because you never yet deceived me, even in the merest trifle: you are truth itself, Belinda. Well, you see that _you_ were the cause of my drawing such an extraordinary lot; the book would not have opened here but for your mark. My fate, I find, is in your hands: if Lady Delacour is ever to be la femme comme il y en a peu, which is the most _improbable_ thing in the world, Miss Portman will be the cause of it.” “Which is the most probable thing in the world,” said Clarence Hervey. “This myrtle has a delightful perfume,” added he, rubbing the leaf between his fingers. “But, after all,” said Lady Delacour, throwing aside the book, “This heroine of Marmontel’s is not la femme comme il y en a peu, but la femme comme il n’y en a _point_.” “Mrs. Margaret Delacour’s carriage, my lady, for Miss Delacour,” said a footman to her ladyship. “Helena stays with me to-night--my compliments,” said Lady Delacour. “How pleased the little gipsy looks!” added she, turning to Helena, who heard the message; “and how handsome she looks when she is pleased!--Do these auburn locks of yours, Helena, curl naturally or artificially?” “Naturally, mamma.” “Naturally! so much the better: so did mine at your age.”