“My dear good lady,” replied Lord Delacour, assuming a degree of spirit which startled her as much as it became him, “why do you not get better intelligence before you suspect me of being a brute and a liar? Did not I promise you yesterday, that I would break with _the Luttridge_, as you call her? and how could you imagine that the instant afterwards, just at the time I was wrung to the soul, as you know I was--how could you imagine I would leave you to go to Rantipole, or to any woman upon earth?” “Oh, my lord! I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon a thousand times,” cried Lady Delacour, rising with much emotion; and, going towards him with a sudden impulse, she kissed his forehead. “And so you ought to beg my pardon,” said Lord Delacour, in a faltering voice, but without moving his posture. “You will acknowledge you left me, however, my lord? That is clear.” “Left you! Yes, so I did; to ride all over the country in search of a house that would suit you. For what else did you think I _could_ leave you at such a time as this?” Lady Delacour again stooped, and leaned her arm upon his shoulder. “I wish to Heaven, my dear,” said his lordship, shrinking as he put away her hand, which still held Clarence Hervey’s letters, “I wish to Heaven, my dear, you would not hold those abominable perfumed papers just under my very nose. You know I cannot stand perfumes.” “Are they perfumed? Ay; so every thing is that I keep in that cabinet of curiosities. Thank you, my dear Miss Portman,” said her ladyship, as Belinda rose to take the letters from her hand. “Will you have the goodness to put them back into their cabinet, if you can endure to touch them, if the perfume has not overcome you as well as my lord? After all, it is only ottar of roses, to which few people’s olfactory nerves have an antipathy.” “I have the honour to be one of the few,” said his lordship, rising from his seat with so sudden a motion as to displace Lady Delacour’s arm which leaned upon him. “For my part,” continued he, taking down one of the Argand lamps from the chimney-piece, and trimming it, “I would rather a hundred to one snuff up the oil of this cursed lamp.” Whilst his lordship applied himself to trimming the lamp with great earnestness, Lady Delacour negligently walked away to the farthest end of the room, where stood the cabinet, which Belinda was trying to unlock. “Stay, my love; it has a secret lock, which I alone can manage.” “Oh, my dear Lady Delacour!” whispered Belinda, holding her hand as she gave her the key, “I never can love or esteem you if you use Lord Delacour ill now.” “Ill now? ill now? This lock is spoilt, I do believe,” said she aloud. “Nay, you understand me, Lady Delacour! You see what is passing in his mind.” “To be sure: I am not a fool, though he is. I see he is jealous, though he has had such _damning proof_ that all’s right--the man’s a fool, that’s all. Are you sure this is the key I gave you, my dear?”