“She is really a charming woman,” said Clarence Hervey, in a low voice, to Lady Delacour, drawing her into a recessed window: he in the same low voice continued, “Could I obtain a private audience of a few minutes when your ladyship is at leisure?--I have--” “I am never at leisure,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “but if you have any thing particular to say to me--as I guess you have, by my skill in human nature--come here to my concert to-night, before the rest of the world. Wait patiently in the music-room, and perhaps I may grant you a private audience, as you had the grace not to call it a _tête-à-tête_. In the mean time, my dear Countess de Pomenars, had we not better take off our hoops?” In the evening, Clarence Hervey was in the music-room a considerable time before Lady Delacour appeared: how patiently he waited is not known to any one but himself. “Have not I given you time to compose a charming speech?” said Lady Delacour as she entered the room; “but make it as short as you can, unless you wish that Miss Portman should hear it, for she will be down stairs in three minutes.” “In one word, then, my dear Lady Delacour, can you, and will you, make my peace with Miss Portman?--I am much concerned about that foolish razor-strop dialogue which she overheard at Lady Singleton’s.” “You are concerned that she overheard it, no doubt.” “No,” said Clarence Hervey, “I am rejoiced that she overheard it, since it has been the means of convincing me of my mistake; but I am concerned that I had the presumption and injustice to judge of Miss Portman so hastily. I am convinced that, though she is a niece of Mrs. Stanhope’s, she has dignity of mind and simplicity of character. Will you, my dear Lady Delacour, tell her so?” “Stay,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “let me get it by heart. I should have made a terrible bad messenger of the gods and goddesses, for I never in my life could, like Iris, repeat a message in the same words in which it was delivered to me. Let me see--‘Dignity of mind and simplicity of character,’ was not it? May not I say at once, ‘My dear Belinda, Clarence Hervey desires me to tell you that he is convinced you are an angel?’ That single word _angel_ is so expressive, so comprehensive, so comprehensible, it contains, believe me, all that can be said or imagined on these occasions, _de part et d’autre_.” “But,” said Mr. Hervey, “perhaps Miss Portman has heard the song of-- ‘What know we of angels?-- I spake it in jest.’” “Then you are not in jest, but in downright sober earnest?--Ha!” said Lady Delacour, with an arch look, “I did not know it was already come to _this_ with you.” And her ladyship, turning to her piano-forte, played-- “There was a young man in Ballinacrasy, Who wanted a wife to make him un_asy_, And thus in gentle strains he spoke her, Arrah, will you marry me, my dear Ally Croker?”