“Oh, my lady, something you’ll be surprised to hear, and Miss Portman, too. It is not, by any means, that I am more of a prude than is becoming, my lady: nor that I take upon me to be so innocent as not to know that young gentlemen of fortune will, if it be only for fashion’s sake, have such things as kept mistresses (begging pardon for mentioning such trash); but no one that has lived in the world thinks any thing of that, except,” added she, catching a glimpse of Belinda’s countenance, “except, to be sure, ma’am, morally speaking, it’s very wicked and shocking, and makes one blush before company, till one’s used to it, and ought certainly to be put down by act of parliament, ma’am; but, my lady, you know, in point of surprising any body, or being discreditable in a young gentleman of Mr. Hervey’s fortune and pretensions, it would be mere envy and scandal to deem it any thing--worth mentioning.” “Then, for mercy’s sake, or mine,” said Lady Delacour, “go on to something that is worth mentioning.” “Well, my lady, you must know, then, that yesterday I wanted some hempseed for my bullfinch--Miss Helena’s bullfinch, I mean; for it was she found it by accident, you know, Miss Portman, the day after we came here. Poor thing! it got itself so entangled in the net over the morello cherry tree, in the garden, that it could neither get itself in nor out; but very luckily Miss Helena saw it, and saved, and brought it in: it was almost dead, my lady.” “Was it?--I mean I am very sorry for it: that is what you expect me to say. Now, go on--get us once past the bullfinch, or tell us what it has to do with Clarence Hervey.” “That is what I am aiming at, as fast as possible, my lady. So I sent for some hempseed for the bullfinch, and along with the hempseed they brought me wrapped round it, as it were, a printed handbill, as it might be, or advertisement, which I threw off, disregardingly, taking for granted it might have been some of those advertisements for lozenges or razor-strops, that meet one wherever one goes; but Miss Delacour picked it up, and found it was a kind of hue and cry after a stolen or strayed bullfinch. Ma’am, I was so provoked, I could have cried, when I learnt it was the exact description of our little Bobby to a feather--gray upon the back, and red on----” “Oh! spare me the description to a feather. Well, you took the bird, bullfinch, or Bobby, as you call it, home to its rightful owner, I presume? Let me get you so far on your way.” “No, I beg your pardon, my lady, that is not the thing.” “Then you did not take the bird home to its owner--and you are a bird-stealer? With all my heart: be a dog-stealer, if you will--only go on.” “But, my lady, you hurry me so, it puts every thing topsy-turvy in my head; I could tell it as fast as possible my own way.” “Do so, then.”