“Ostracism!” repeated Sir Philip.--“In plain English, does that mean that you choose to be black-balled by us? Why, damn it, Clary, you’ll be nobody. But follow your own genius--damn me, if I take it upon me to understand your men of genius--they are in the Serpentine river one day, and in the clouds the next: so fare ye well, Clary. I expect to see you a doctor of physic, or a methodist parson, soon, damn me if I don’t: so fare ye well, Clary. Is black-ball your last word? or will you think better on’t, and give up the doctor?” “I can never give up Dr. X----‘s friendship--I would sooner be black-balled by every club in London. The good lesson you gave me, Sir Philip, the day I was fool enough to jump into the Serpentine river, has made me wiser for life. I know, for I have felt, the difference between real friends and fashionable acquaintance. Give up Dr. X----! Never! never!” “Then fare you well, Clary,” said Sir Philip, “you’re no longer one of us.” “Then fare ye well, Clary, you’re no longer the man for me,” said Rochfort. “_Tant pis_, and _tant mieux_” said Clarence, and so they parted. As they left the room, Clarence Hervey involuntarily turned to Belinda, and he thought that he read in her ingenuous, animated countenance, full approbation of his conduct. “Hist! are they gone? quite gone?” said Lady Delacour, entering the room from an adjoining apartment; “they have stayed an unconscionable time. How much I am obliged to Mrs. Franks for detaining me! I have escaped their vapid impertinence; and in truth, this morning I have such a multiplicity of business, that I have scarcely a moment even for wit and Clarence Hervey. Belinda, my dear, will you have the charity to look over some of these letters for me, which, as Marriott tells me, have been lying in my writing-table this week--expecting, most unreasonably, that I should have the grace to open them? We are always punished for our indolence, as your friend Dr. X---- said the other day: if we suffer business to accumulate, it drifts with every ill wind like snow, till at last an avalanche of it comes down at once, and quite overwhelms us. Excuse me, Clarence,” continued her ladyship, as she opened her letters, “this is very rude: but I know I have secured my pardon from you by remembering your friend’s wit--wisdom, I should say: how seldom are wit and wisdom joined! They might have been joined in Lady Delacour, perhaps--there’s vanity!--if she had early met with such a friend as Dr. X----; but it’s too late now,” said she, with a deep sigh. Clarence Hervey heard it, and it made a great impression upon his benevolent imagination. “Why too late?” said he to himself. “Mrs. Margaret Delacour is mistaken, if she thinks this woman wants sensibility.”