At this instant one of the children came in with some flowers to Belinda; and, glad of the interruption, she hastily put up her drawings and left the room, observing that she should scarcely have time to dress before dinner. However, as soon as she found herself alone, she forgot how late it was; and though she sat down before the glass to dress, she made no progress in the business, but continued for some time motionless, endeavouring to recollect and to understand all that had passed. The result of her reflections was the conviction that her partiality for Clarence Hervey was greater than she ever had till this moment suspected. “I have told my aunt Stanhope,” thought she, “that the idea of Mr. Hervey had no influence in my refusal of Sir Philip Baddely; I have said that my affections are entirely at my own command: then why do I feel this alarm at the discovery of Mr. Vincent’s views? Why do I compare him with one whom I thought I had forgotten?--And yet how are we to judge of character? How can we form any estimate of what is amiable, of what will make us happy or miserable, but by comparison? Am I to blame for perceiving superiority? Am I to blame if one person be more agreeable, or seem to be more agreeable, than another? Am I to blame if I cannot love Mr. Vincent?” Before Belinda had answered these questions to her satisfaction, the dinner-bell rang. There happened to dine this day at Mr. Percival’s a gentleman who had just arrived from Lisbon, and the conversation turned upon the sailors’ practice of stilling the waves over the bar of Lisbon by throwing oil upon the water. Charles Percival’s curiosity was excited by this conversation, and he wished to see the experiment. In the evening his father indulged his wishes. The children were delighted at the sight, and little Charles insisted upon Belinda’s following him to a particular spot, where he was well convinced that she could see better than any where else in the world. “Take care,” cried Lady Anne, “or you will lead your friend into the river, Charles.” The boy paused, and soon afterwards asked his father several questions about swimming and drowning, and bringing people to life after they had been drowned. “Don’t you remember, papa,” said he, “_that_ Mr. Hervey, who was almost drowned in the Serpentine river in London?”--Belinda coloured at hearing unexpectedly the name of the person of whom she was at that instant thinking, and the child continued--“I liked that Mr. Hervey very much--I liked him from the first day I saw him. What a number of entertaining things he told us at dinner! We used to call him the good-natured gentleman: I like him very much--I wish he was here this minute. Did you ever see him, Miss Portman? Oh, yes, you must have seen him; for it was he who carried Helena’s gold fishes to her mother, and he used often to be at Lady Delacour’s--was not he?” “Yes, my dear, often.”