perfectly disinterested declaimer; for I can assure you, Miss Portman, that I do not suspect Lady Anne Percival of sighing in secret for some vision of perfection, any more than she suspects me of pining for the charming Lady Delacour, who, perhaps, you may have heard was my _first love_. In these days, however, so few people marry with even the pretence to love of any sort, that you will think I might have spared this tirade. No; there are ingenuous minds which will never be enslaved by fashion or interest, though they may be exposed to be deceived by romance, or by the _delicacy_ of their own imaginations.” “I hear,” said Belinda, smiling, “I hear and understand the emphasis with which you pronounce that word _delicacy_. I see you have not forgotten that I used it improperly half an hour ago, as you have convinced me.” “Happy they,” said Mr. Percival, “who can be convinced in half an hour! There are some people who cannot be convinced in a whole life, and who end where they began, with saying--‘This is my opinion--I always thought so, and always shall.’” Mr. Vincent at all times loved Mr. Percival; but he never felt so much affection for him as he did this evening, and his arguments appeared to him unanswerable. Though Belinda had never mentioned to Mr. Vincent the name of Clarence Hervey till this day, and though he did not in the least suspect from her manner that this gentleman ever possessed any interest in her heart; yet, with her accustomed sincerity, she had confessed to him that an impression had been made upon her mind before she came to Oakly-park. After this conversation with Mr. Percival, Mr. Vincent perceived that he gained ground more rapidly in her favour; and his company grew every day more agreeable to her taste: he was convinced that, as he possessed her esteem, he should in time secure her affections. “In time,” repeated Lady Anne Percival: “you must allow her time, or you will spoil all.” It was with some difficulty that Mr. Vincent restrained his impatience, even though he was persuaded of the prudence of his friend’s advice. Things went on in this happy, but as he thought slow, state of progression till towards the latter end of September. One fine morning Lady Anne Percival came into Belinda’s room with a bridal favour in her hand. “Do you know,” said she, “that we are to have a wedding to-day? This favour has just been sent to my maid. Lucy, the pretty girl whom you may remember to have seen some time ago with that prettily turned necklace, is the bride, and James Jackson is the bridegroom. Mr. Vincent has let them a very pretty little farm in the neighbourhood, and--hark! there’s the sound of music.”