The widow took me into another apartment, unmasked, and there I beheld Mr. Freke, the husband. I was astonished--had no idea of the truth. ‘Where is Harriot?’ I believe, were the first words I said. ‘Gone to the country.’ ‘To the country!’ ‘Yes; to----shire, with Mrs. Luttridge.’--Mrs. Luttridge--odious Mrs. Luttridge! I could scarcely believe my senses. But Freke, who always hated me, believing that I led his wife, instead of her leading me into mischief, would have enjoyed my astonishment and my rage; so I concealed both, with all possible presence of mind. He went on over-whelming me with explanations and copies of letters; and declared it was at Mrs. Freke’s request he did and said all this, and that he was to follow her early the next morning to ----shire. I broke from him, simply wishing him a good journey, and as much family peace as his patience merited. He knows that I know his wife’s history, and though _she_ has no shame, he has some. I had the _satisfaction_ to leave him blushing with anger, and I supported the character of the comic muse a full hour afterwards, to convince him that all their combined malice would fail to break my spirit in public: what I suffer in private is known only to my own heart.” As she finished these words, Lady Delacour rose abruptly, and hummed a new opera air. Then she retired to her boudoir, saying, with an air of levity, to Belinda as she left the room, “Good bye, my dear Belinda; I leave you to ruminate sweet and bitter thoughts; to think of the last speech and confession of Lady Delacour, or what will interest you much more, the first speech and confession of--Clarence Hervey.” CHAPTER V. BIRTHDAY DRESSES.