“Miss Portman, had you any conversation with Lady Anne Percival?” said Lady Delacour, coldly.
“A great deal,” said Belinda, “and such as I am sure you would have liked: and so far from being a ceremonious person, I think I never saw any body who had such easy engaging manners.”
“And did she ask you, Helena, again to go with her to that place where the happiest family in the world is to be found?”
“Oakly-park?—No, mamma; she said that she was very glad that I was with you; but she asked Miss Portman to come to see her whenever it was in her power.”
“And could Miss Portman withstand such a temptation?”
“You know that I am engaged to your ladyship,” said Belinda.
Lady Delacour bowed. “But from what passed last night,” said she, “I was afraid that you might repent your engagement to me: and if so, I give up my bond. I should be miserable if I apprehended that any one, but more especially Miss Portman, felt herself a prisoner in my house.”
“Dear Lady Delacour! I do not feel myself a prisoner; I have always till now felt myself a friend in your house; but we’ll talk of this another time. Do not look at me with so much coldness; do not speak to me with so much politeness. I will not let you forget that I am your friend.”
“I do not wish to forget it, Belinda,” said Lady Delacour, with emotion; “I am not ungrateful, though I may seem capricious—bear with me.”
“There now, you look like yourself again, and I am satisfied,” cried Belinda. “As to going to Oakly-park, I give you my word I have not the most distant thoughts of it. I stay with you from choice, and not from compulsion, believe me.”