“Oh! I have passed a miserable night,” replied Clarence, throwing himself into an actor’s attitude, and speaking in a fine tone of stage declamation. “What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me,” said her ladyship in a similar tone.--Clarence went on-- “O Lord, methought what pain it was to dance! What dreadful noise of fiddles in my ears! What sights of ugly _belles_ within my eyes! ----Then came wandering by, A shadow like a devil, with red hair, ‘Dizen’d with flowers; and she bawl’d out aloud, Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence!” “O, Mrs. Luttridge to the life!” cried Lady Delacour: “I know where you have been now, and I pity you--but sit down,” said she, making room for him between Belinda and herself upon the sofa, “sit down here, and tell me what could take you to that odious Mrs. Luttridge’s.” Mr. Hervey threw himself on the sofa; Lord Delacour whistled as before, and left the room without uttering a syllable. “But my dream has made me forget myself strangely,” said Mr. Hervey, turning to Belinda, and producing her bracelet: “Mrs. Stanhope promised me that if I delivered it safely, I should be rewarded with the honour of putting it on the owner’s fair arm.” A conversation now took place on the nature of ladies’ promises--on fashionable bracelets--on the size of the arm of the Venus de Medici--on Lady Delacour’s and Miss Portman’s--on the thick legs of ancient statues--and on the various defects and absurdities of Mrs. Luttridge and her wig. On all these topics Mr. Hervey displayed much wit, gallantry, and satire, with so happy an effect, that Belinda, when he took leave, was precisely of her aunt’s opinion, that he was a most uncommonly pleasant young man.