“_If_,” said Belinda; “but that is a question which you have not yet decided.” “And how can we decide it?” said Mr. Vincent, “The taste and feelings of individuals must be the arbiters of their happiness.” “You leave reason quite out of the question, then,” said Mr. Percival, “and refer the whole to taste and feeling? So that if the most ignorant person in the world assert that he is happier than you are, you are bound to believe him.” “Why should not I?” said Mr. Vincent. “Because,” said Mr. Percival, “though he can judge of his own pleasures, he cannot judge of yours; his are common to both, but yours are unknown to him. Would you, at this instant, change places with that ploughman yonder, who is whistling as he goes for want of thought? or, would you choose to go a step higher in the bliss of ignorance, and turn savage?” Mr. Vincent laughed, and protested that he should be very unwilling to give up his title to civilized society; and that, instead of wishing to have less knowledge, he regretted that he had not more. “I am sensible,” said he, “that I have many prejudices;--Miss Portman has made me ashamed of some of them.” There was a degree of candour in Mr. Vincent’s manner and conversation, which interested every body in his favour; Belinda amongst the rest. She was perfectly at ease in Mr. Vincent’s company, because she considered him as a person who wished for her friendship, without having any design to engage her affections. From several hints that dropped from him, from Mr. Percival, and from Lady Anne, she was persuaded that he was attached to some creole lady; and all that he said in favour of the elegant softness and delicacy of his countrywomen confirmed this opinion. Miss Portman was not one of those young ladies who fancy that every gentleman who converses freely with them will inevitably fall a victim to the power of their charms, and will see in every man a lover, or nothing. CHAPTER XVIII. A DECLARATION. “I’ve found it!--I’ve found it, mamma!” cried little Charles Percival, running eagerly into the room with a plant in his hand. “Will you send this in your letter to Helena Delacour, and tell her that is the thing that gold fishes are so fond of? And tell her that it is called lemna, and that it may be found in any ditch or pool.” “But how can she find ditches and pools in Grosvenor-square, my dear?” “Oh, I forgot that. Then will you tell her, mamma, that I will send her a great quantity?” “How, my dear?” “I don’t know, mamma, yet--but I will find out some way.” “Would it not be as well, my dear,” said his mother, smiling, “to consider how you can perform your promises before you make them?” “A gentleman,” said Mr. Vincent, “never makes a promise that he cannot perform.”