“Some cherries, sir?” said Helena; but her voice faltered so much, that she could hardly utter the words. Clarence perceived that he had been the cause of her agitation, though he knew not precisely by what means; and he now applied himself in silence to the picking of his strawberries with great diligence. The ladies soon afterwards withdrew, and as Mr. Percival did not touch upon the subject again, Clarence forbore to ask any further questions, though he was considerably surprised by this sudden discovery. When he went into the drawing-room to tea, he found his friend, the stern old lady, speaking in a high declamatory tone. The words which he heard as he came into the room were-- “If there were no Clarence Herveys, there would be no Lady Delacours.”--Clarence bowed as if he had received a high compliment--the old lady walked away to an antechamber, fanning herself with great energy. “Mrs. Margaret Delacour,” said Lady Anne, in a low voice to Hervey, “is an aunt of Lord Delacour’s. A woman whose heart is warmer than her temper.” “And that is never cool,” said a young lady, who sat next to Lady Anne. “I call Mrs. Margaret Delacour the volcano; I’m sure I am never in her company without dreading an eruption. Every now and then out comes with a tremendous noise, fire, smoke, and rubbish.” “And precious minerals,” said Lady Anne, “amongst the rubbish.” “But the best of it is,” continued the young lady, “that she is seldom in a passion without making a hundred mistakes, for which she is usually obliged afterwards to ask a thousand pardons.” “By that account,” said Lady Anne, “which I believe to be just, her contrition is always ten times as great as her offence.” “Now you talk of contrition, Lady Anne,” said Mr. Hervey, “I should think of my own offences: I am very sorry that my indiscreet questions gave Miss Delacour any pain--my head was so full of the mammoth, that I blundered on without seeing what I was about till it was too late.” “Pray, sir,” said Mrs. Margaret Delacour, who now returned, and took her seat upon a sofa, with the solemnity of a person who was going to sit in judgment upon a criminal, “pray, sir, may I ask how long you have been acquainted with my Lady Delacour?” Clarence Hervey took up a book, and with great gravity kissed it, as if he had been upon his oath in a court of justice, and answered, “To the best of my recollection, madam, it is now four years since I had first the pleasure and honour of seeing Lady Delacour.” “And in that time, intimately as you have had the pleasure of being acquainted with her ladyship, you have never discovered that she had a daughter?” “Never,” said Mr. Hervey. “There, Lady Anne!--There!” cried Mrs. Delacour, “will you tell me after this, that Lady Delacour is not a monster?” “Every body says that she’s a prodigy,” said Lady Anne; “and prodigies and monsters are sometimes thought synonymous terms.”