Soon afterward a note came from Lady Anne Percival, with some trifles belonging to Helena, for which her mother had sent. The note was for Belinda--another pressing invitation to Oakly-park--and a very civil message from Mrs. Margaret Delacour, and thanks to Lady Delacour for the macaw. Ay, thought Lady Delacour, Miss Portman wants to ingratiate herself in time with all my husband’s relations. “Mrs. Margaret Delacour should have addressed these thanks to you, Miss Portman, for I had not the grace to think of sending her the macaw.” Lord Delacour, who was very fond of his aunt, immediately joined his thanks, and observed that Miss Portman was always considerate--always obliging--always kind. Then he drank her health in a bumper of burgundy, and insisted upon his little Helena’s drinking her health. “I am sure you ought, my dear, for Miss Portman is very good--too good to you, child.” “Very good--not too good, I hope,” said Lady Delacour. “Miss Portman, your health.” “And I hope,” continued his lordship, after swallowing his bumper, “that my Lady Anne Percival does not mean to inveigle you away from us, Miss Portman. You don’t think of leaving us, Miss Portman, I hope? Here’s Helena would break her little heart;--I say nothing for my Lady Delacour, because she can say every thing so much better for herself; and I say nothing for myself, because I am the worst man in the world at making speeches, when I really have a thing at heart--as I have your staying with us, Miss Portman.” Belinda assured him that there was no occasion to press her to do what was perfectly agreeable to her, and said that she had no thoughts of leaving Lady Delacour. Her ladyship, with some embarrassment, expressed herself “extremely obliged, and gratified, and happy.” Helena, with artless joy, threw her arms about Belinda, and exclaimed, “I am glad you are not going; for I never liked any body so much, of whom I knew so little.” “The more you know of Miss Portman the more you will like her, child--at least I have found it so,” said Lord Delacour. “Clarence Hervey would, I am sure, have given the Pigot diamond, if it were in his gift, for such a smile as you bestowed on Lord Delacour just now,” whispered Lady Delacour. For an instant Belinda was struck with the tone of pique and reproach, in which, her ladyship spoke. “Nay, my dear, I did not mean to make you blush so piteously,” pursued her ladyship: “I really did not think it a blushing matter--but you know best. Believe me, I spoke without malice; we are so apt to judge from our own feelings--and I could as soon blush about the old man of the mountains as about my Lord Delacour.”