“If I had,” said Belinda, “I hope that I should still do justice to her merits. It is said that people are apt to suffer more by their friends than their enemies. I hope that will never be the case with Lady Delacour, as I confess that I have been one of her friends.” “‘Gad, I like your spirit--you don’t want courage, I see, to fight even for your enemies. You are just the kind of girl I admire. I see you have been prejudiced against me by Lady Delacour; but whatever stories she may have trumped up, the truth of the matter is this, there’s no living with her, she’s so jealous--so ridiculously jealous--of that lord of hers, for whom all the time she has the impudence to pretend not to care more than I do for the sole of my boot,” said Mrs. Freke, striking it, with her whip; “but she hasn’t the courage to give him tit for tat: now this is what I call weakness. Pray, how do she and Clarence Hervey go on together?--Are they out o’ the hornbook of platonics yet?” “Mr. Hervey was not in town when I left it,” said Belinda. “Was not he?--Ho! ho!--He’s off then!--Ay, so I prophesied; she’s not the thing for him: he has some strength of mind--some soul--above vulgar prejudices; so must a woman be to hold him. He was caught at first by her grace and beauty, and that sort of stuff; but I knew it could not last--knew she’d dilly dally with Clary, till he would turn upon his heel and leave her there.” “I fancy that you are entirely mistaken both with respect to Mr. Hervey and Lady Delacour,” Belinda very seriously began to say. But Mrs. Freke interrupted her, and ran on; “No! no! no! I’m not mistaken; Clarence has found her out. She’s a _very_ woman--_that_ he could forgive her, and so could I; but she’s a _mere_ woman--and that he can’t forgive--no more can I.” There was a kind of drollery about Mrs. Freke, which, with some people, made the odd things she said pass for wit. Humour she really possessed; and when she chose it, she could be diverting to those who like buffoonery in women. She had set her heart upon winning Belinda over to her party. She began by flattery of her beauty; but as she saw that this had no effect, she next tried what could be done by insinuating that she had a high opinion of her understanding, by talking to her as an esprit fort. “For my part,” said she, “I own I should like a strong devil better than a weak angel.” “You forget,” said Belinda, “that it is not Milton, but Satan, who says, ‘Fallen spirit, to be weak is to be miserable.’” “You read, I see!--I did not know you were a reading girl. So was I once; but I never read now. Books only spoil the originality of genius: very well for those who can’t think for themselves--but when one has made up one’s opinion, there is no use in reading.” “But to make them up,” replied Belinda, “may it not be useful?” “Of no use upon earth to minds of a certain class. You, who can think for yourself, should never read.” “But I read that I may think for myself.”