Mr. Vincent, who had by this time seen his dog fed, which was one of his daily pleasures, returned, and politely assured Lady Delacour that Juba should not again intrude. To make her peace with Mr. Vincent, and to drive the E O table from Belinda’s thoughts, her ladyship now turned the conversation from Juba the dog, to Juba the man. She talked of Harriot Freke’s phosphoric Obeah woman, of whom, she said, she had heard an account from Miss Portman. From thence she went on to the African slave trade, by way of contrast, and she finished precisely where she intended, and where Mr. Vincent could have wished, by praising a poem called ‘The dying Negro,’ which he had the preceding evening brought to read to Belinda. This praise was peculiarly agreeable, because he was not perfectly sure of his own critical judgment, and his knowledge of English literature was not as extensive as Clarence Hervey’s; a circumstance which Lady Delacour had discovered one morning, when they went to see Pope’s famous villa at Twickenham. Flattered by her present confirmation of his taste, Mr. Vincent readily complied with a request to read the poem to Belinda. They were all deeply engaged by the charms of poetry, when they were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of--Clarence Hervey! The book dropped from Vincent’s hand the instant that he heard his name. Lady Delacour’s eyes sparkled with joy. Belinda’s colour rose, but her countenance maintained an expression of calm dignity. Mr. Hervey, upon his first entrance, appeared prepared to support an air of philosophic composure, which forsook him before he had walked across the room. He seemed overpowered by the kindness with which Lady Delacour received his congratulations on her recovery--struck by the reserve of Belinda’s manner--but not surprised, or displeased, at the sight of Mr. Vincent. On the contrary, he desired immediately to be introduced to him, with the air of a man resolute to cultivate his friendship. Provoked and perplexed, Lady Delacour, in a tone of mingled reproach and astonishment, exclaimed, “Though you have not done me the honour, Mr. Hervey, to take any other notice of my last letter, I am to understand, I presume, by the manner in which you desire me to introduce you to our friend Mr. Vincent, that it has been received.” “Received! Good Heavens! have not you had my answer?” cried Clarence Hervey, with a voice and look of extreme surprise and emotion: “Has not your ladyship received a packet?” “I have had no packet--I have had no letter. Mr. Vincent, do me the favour to ring the bell,” cried Lady Delacour, eagerly: “I’ll know, this instant, what’s become of it.” “Your ladyship must have thought me--,” and, as he spoke, his eye involuntarily glanced towards Belinda.