“Why? Oh, you novice at Cupid’s chess-board! do not you see the next move? Check with your new knight, and the game is your own. Now, if your aunt Stanhope saw your look at this instant, she would give you up for ever--if she have not done that already. In plain, unmetaphorical prose, then, cannot you comprehend, my straight-forward Belinda, that if you make Clarence Hervey heartily jealous, let the impediments to your union be what they may, he will acknowledge himself to be heartily in love with you? I should make no scruple of frightening him within an inch of his life, for his good. Sir Philip Baddely was not the man to frighten him; but this Mr. Vincent, by all accounts, is just the thing.” “And do you imagine that I could use Mr. Vincent so ill?--And can you think me capable of such double dealing?” “Oh! in love and war, you know, all stratagems are allowable. But you take the matter so seriously, and you redden with such virtuous indignation, that I dare not say a word more--only--may I ask--are you absolutely engaged to Mr. Vincent?” “No. We have had the prudence to avoid all promises, all engagements.” “There’s my good girl!” cried Lady Delacour, kissing her: “all may yet turn out well. Read those letters--take them to your room, read them, read them; and depend upon it, my dearest Belinda! you are not the sort of woman that will, that can be happy, if you make a mere match of convenience. Forgive me--I love you too well not to speak the truth, though it may offend for a moment.” “You do not offend, but you misunderstand me,” said Belinda. “Have patience with me, and you shall find that I am incapable of making a mere match of convenience.”