During Marriott’s absence, her ladyship suffered no one to attend her but a maid who was remarkable for her stupidity. She thought that she could have nothing to fear from this girl’s spirit of inquiry, for never was any human being so destitute of curiosity. It was about noon when Belinda and Marriott arrived. Lady Delacour, who had passed a restless night, was asleep. When she awoke, she found Marriott standing beside her bed. “Then it is all in vain, I see,” cried her ladyship: “Miss Portman is not with you?--Give me my laudanum.” “Miss Portman is come, my lady,” said Marriott; “she is in the dressing-room: she would not come in here with me, lest she should startle you.” “Belinda is come, do you say? Admirable Belinda!” cried Lady Delacour, and she clasped her hands with ecstasy. “Shall I tell her, my lady, that you are awake?” “Yes--no--stay--Lord Delacour is at home. I will get up immediately. Let my lord be told that I wish to speak with him--that I beg he will breakfast with me in my dressing-room half an hour hence. I will dress immediately.” Marriott in vain represented that she ought not to hurry herself in her present weak state. Intent upon her own thoughts, she listened to nothing that was said, but frequently urged Marriott to be expeditious. She put on an unusual quantity of rouge: then looking at herself in the glass, she said, with a forced smile, “Marriott, I look so charmingly, that Miss Portman, perhaps, will be of Lord Delacour’s opinion, and think that nothing is the matter with me. Ah! no; she has been behind the scenes--she knows the truth too well!--Marriott, pray did she ask you many questions about me?--Was not she very sorry to leave Oakly-park?--Were not they all extremely concerned to part with her?--Did she ask after Helena?--Did you tell her that I insisted upon my lord’s parting with Champfort?” At the word Champfort, Marriott’s mouth opened eagerly, and she began to answer with her usual volubility. Lady Delacour waited not for any reply to the various questions which, in the hurry of her mind, she had asked; but, passing swiftly by Marriott, she threw open the door of her dressing-room. At the sight of Belinda she stopped short; and, totally overpowered, she would have sunk upon the floor, had not Miss Portman caught her in her arms, and supported her to a sofa. When she came to herself, and heard the soothing tone of Belinda’s voice, she looked up timidly in her face for a few moments without being able to speak. “And are you really here once more, my dear Belinda?” cried she at last; “and may I still call you my friend?--and do you forgive me?--Yes, I _see_ you do--and from you I can endure the humiliation of being forgiven. Enjoy the noble sense of your own superiority.” “My dear Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “you see all this in too strong a light: you have done me no injury--I have nothing to forgive.”