“I’ll take care Mr. Hervey shall know that,” said Lady Delacour; “but in the mean time I do think any fair appraiser of delicate distresses would decide that I am, all the circumstances considered, more to be pitied at this present moment than you are: for the catastrophe of the business evidently is, that I must pay two hundred guineas for the horses somehow or other.” “I can pay for them,” exclaimed Belinda, “and will with the greatest pleasure. I will not go to the birthnight--my dress is not bespoke. Will two hundred guineas pay for the horses? Oh, take the money--pay Mr. Hervey, dear Lady Delacour, and it will all be right.” “You are a charming girl,” said Lady Delacour, embracing her; “but how can I answer for it to my conscience, or to your aunt Stanhope, if you don’t appear on the birthnight? That cannot be, my dear; besides, you know Mrs. Franks will send home your drawing-room dress to-day, and it would be so foolish to be presented for nothing--not to go to the birthnight afterwards. If you say _a_ you must say _b.”_ “Then,” said Belinda, “I will not go to the drawing-room.”--“Not go, my dear! What! throw away fifty guineas for nothing! Really I never saw any one so lavish of her money, and so economic of her smiles.” “Surely,” said Miss Portman, “it is better for me to throw away fifty guineas, poor as I am, than to hazard the happiness of my life. Your ladyship knows that if I say _a_ to Mr. Hervey, I must say _b_. No, no, my dear Lady Delacour; here is the draught for two hundred guineas: pay Mr. Hervey, for Heaven’s sake, and there is an end of the business.” “What a positive child it is! Well, then, it shall not be forced to say the a, b, c, of Cupid’s alphabet, to that terrible pedagogue, Clarence Hervey, till it pleases: but seriously, Miss Portman, I am concerned that you will make me take this draught: it is absolutely robbing you. But Lord Delacour’s the person you must blame--it is all his obstinacy: having once said he would not pay for the horses, he would see them and me and the whole human race expire before he would change his silly mind.--Next month I shall have it in my power, my dear, to repay you with a thousand thanks; and in a few months more we shall have another birthday, and a new star shall appear in the firmament of fashion, and it shall be called Belinda. In the mean time, my dear, upon second thoughts, perhaps we can get Mrs. Franks to dispose of your drawing-room dress to some person of taste, and you may keep your fifty guineas for the next occasion. I’ll see what can be done.--Adieu! a thousand thanks, silly child as you are.”