“What have you got there, Miss Portman?” said Lady Delacour, taking from Belinda’s hand one of the letters which she had begged her to look over: “something wondrous pathetic, I should guess, by your countenance. ‘_Helena Delacour_.’ Oh! read it to yourself, my dear--a school-girl’s letter is a thing I abominate--I make it a rule never to read Helena’s epistles.” “Let me prevail upon your ladyship to make an exception to the general rule then,” said Belinda; “I can assure you this is not a common school-girl’s letter: Miss Delacour seems to inherit her mother’s ‘_eloquence de billet_.’” “Miss Portman seems to possess, by inheritance, by instinct, by magic, or otherwise, powers of persuasion, which no one can resist. There’s compliment for compliment, my dear. Is there any thing half so well turned in Helena’s letter? Really, ‘tis vastly well,” continued her ladyship, as she read the letter: “where did the little gipsy learn to write so charmingly? I protest I should like of all things to have her at home with me this summer--the 21st of June--well, after the birthday, I shall have time to think about it. But then, we shall be going out of town, and at Harrowgate I should not know what to do with her; she had better, much better, go to her humdrum Aunt Margaret’s, as she always does--she is a fixture in Grosvenor-square. These stationary good people, these zoophite friends, are sometimes very convenient; and Mrs. Margaret Delacour is the most unexceptionable zoophite in the creation. She has, it is true, an antipathy to me, because I’m of such a different nature from herself; but then her antipathy does not extend to my offspring: she is kind beyond measure to Helena, on purpose, I believe, to provoke me. Now I provoke her in my turn, by never being provoked, and she saves me a vast deal of trouble, for which she is overpaid by the pleasure of abusing me. This is the way of the world, Clarence. Don’t look so serious--you are not come yet to daughters and sons, and schools and holidays, and all the evils of domestic life.” “Evils!” repeated Clarence Hervey, in a tone which surprised her ladyship. She looked immediately with a significant smile at Belinda. “Why do not you echo _evils_, Miss Portman?” “Pray, Lady Delacour,” interrupted Clarence Hervey, “when do you go to Harrowgate?” “What a sudden transition!” said Lady Delacour. “What association of ideas could just at that instant take you to Harrowgate? When do I go to Harrowgate? Immediately after the birthday, I believe we shall--I advise you to be of the party.” “Your ladyship does me a great deal of honour,” said Hervey: “I shall, if it be possible, do myself the honour of attending you.” And soon after this arrangement was made, Mr. Hervey took his leave. “Well, my dear, are you still poring over that letter of Helena’s?” said Lady Delacour to Miss Portman. “I fancy your ladyship did not quite finish it,” said Belinda.