Lady Delacour, who was naturally impatient in the extreme, especially in the vindication of her friends, could not bear to see, as she did by Belinda’s countenance, that she had not forgotten Marriott’s story of Virginia St. Pierre; and though her ladyship was convinced that the _packet_ would clear up all mysteries, yet she could not endure that even in the interim ‘poor Clarence’ should he unjustly suspected; nor could she refrain from trying an expedient, which just occurred to her, to satisfy herself and every body present. She was the first to break silence. “To do ye justice, my friends, you are all good company this morning. Mr. Vincent is excusable, because he is in love; and Belinda is excusable, because--because--Mr. Hervey, pray help me to an excuse for Miss Portman’s stupidity, for I am dreadfully afraid of blundering out the truth. But why do I ask _you_ to help me? In your present condition, you seem totally unable to help yourself.--Not a word!--Run over the common-places of conversation--weather--fashion--scandal--dress--deaths-- marriages.--Will none of these do? Suppose, then, you were to entertain me with other people’s thoughts, since you have none of your own unpacked--Forfeit to arbitrary power,” continued her ladyship, playfully seizing Mr. Vincent’s book. “I have always observed that none submit with so good a grace to arbitrary power from our sex as your true men of spirit, who would shed the last drop of their blood to resist it from one of their own. Inconsistent creatures, the best of you! So read this charming little poem to us, Mr. Hervey, will you?” He was going to begin immediately, but Lady Delacour put her hand upon the book, and stopped him. “Stay; though I am tyrannical, I will not be treacherous. I warn you, then, that I have imposed upon you a difficult, a dangerous task. If you have any ‘sins unwhipt of justice,’ there are lines which I defy you to read without faltering--listen to the preface.” Her ladyship began as follows: “Mr. Day, indeed, retained during all the period of his life, as might be expected from his character, a strong detestation of female seduction----Happening to see some verses, written by a young lady, on a recent event of this nature, which was succeeded by a fatal catastrophe--the unhappy young woman, who had been a victim to the perfidy of a lover, overpowered by her sensibility of shame, having died of a broken heart--he expresses his sympathy with the fair poetess in the following manner.” Lady Delacour paused, and fixed her eyes upon Clarence Hervey. He, with all the appearance of conscious innocence, received the book, without hesitation, from her hands, and read aloud the lines, to which she pointed.