When Lady Delacour had a mind to banish painful recollections, it was scarcely possible to resist the magical influence of her conversation and manners; yet her lord’s features never relaxed to a smile during this breakfast. He maintained an obstinate silence, and a profound solemnity--till at last, rising from table, he turned to Miss Portman, and said, “Of all the caprices of fine ladies, that which surprises me the most is the whim of keeping their beds without being sick. Now, Miss Portman, you would hardly suppose that my Lady Delacour, who has been so lively this morning, has kept her bed, as I am informed, a fortnight--is not this astonishing?” “Prodigiously astonishing, that my Lord Delacour, like all the rest of the world, should be liable to be deceived by appearances,” cried her ladyship. “Honour me with your attention for a few minutes, my lord, and perhaps I may increase your astonishment.” His lordship, struck by the sudden change of her voice from gaiety to gravity, fixed his eyes upon her and returned to his seat. She paused--then addressing herself to Belinda, “My incomparable friend,” said she, “I will now give you a convincing proof of the unlimited power you have over my mind. My lord, Miss Portman has persuaded me to the step which I am now going to take. She has prevailed upon me to make a decisive trial of your prudence and kindness. She has determined me to throw myself on your mercy.” “Mercy!” repeated Lord Delacour; and a confused idea, that she was now about to make a confession of the justice of some of his former suspicions, took possession of his mind: he looked aghast. “I am going, my lord, to confide to you a secret of the utmost importance--a secret which is known to but three people in the world--Miss Portman, Marriott, and a man whose name I cannot reveal to you.” “Stop, Lady Delacour!” cried his lordship, with a degree of emotion and energy which he had never shown till now: “stop, I conjure, I command you, madam! I am not sufficiently master of myself--I once loved you too well to hear such a stroke. Trust me with no such secret--say no more--you have said enough--too much. I forgive you, that is all I can do: but we must part, Lady Delacour!” said he, breaking from her with agony expressed in his countenance. “The man has a heart, a soul, I protest! You knew him better than I did, Miss Portman. Nay, you are not gone yet, my lord! You really love me, I find.” “No, no, no,” cried he, vehemently: “weak as you take me to be, Lady Delacour, I am incapable of loving a woman who has disgraced me, disgraced herself, her family, her station, her high endowments, her--” His utterance failed. “Oh, Lady Delacour!” cried Belinda, “how can you trifle in this manner?”