“I do believe you,” said Lady Delacour; and for a moment she was convinced that Belinda stayed with her for her own sake alone; but the next minute she suspected that Lord Delacour was the secret cause of her refusing to go to Oakly-park. His lordship dined at home this day, and two or three succeeding days, and he was not intoxicated from Monday till Thursday. These circumstances appeared to his lady very extraordinary. In fact, he was pleased and amused with his little daughter, Helena; and whilst she was yet almost a stranger to him, he wished to appear to her in the most agreeable and respectable light possible. One day after dinner, Lord Delacour, who was in a remarkably good humour, said to her ladyship, “My dear, you know that your new carriage was broken almost to pieces the night when you were overturned. Well, I have had it all set to rights again, and new painted, and it is all complete, except the hammer-cloth, which must have new fringe. What colour will you have the fringe?”
“What do you say, Miss Portman?” said her ladyship.
“Black and orange would look well, I think,” said Belinda, “and would suit the lace of your liveries—would not it?”
“Certainly: black and orange then,” said Lord Delacour, “it shall be.”
“If you ask my opinion,” said Lady Delacour, “I am for blue and white, to match the cloth of the liveries.”
“Blue and white then it shall be,” said Lord Delacour.
“Nay, Miss Portman has a better taste than I have; and she says black and orange, my lord.”
“Then you’ll have it black and orange, will you?” said Lord Delacour.
“Just as you please,” said Lady Delacour, and no more passed.
Soon afterward a note came from Lady Anne Percival, with some trifles belonging to Helena, for which her mother had sent. The note was for Belinda—another pressing invitation to Oakly-park—and a very civil message from Mrs. Margaret Delacour, and thanks to Lady Delacour for the macaw. Ay, thought Lady Delacour, Miss Portman wants to ingratiate herself in time with all my husband’s relations. “Mrs. Margaret Delacour should have addressed these thanks to you, Miss Portman, for I had not the grace to think of sending her the macaw.” Lord Delacour, who was very fond of his aunt, immediately joined his thanks, and observed that Miss Portman was always considerate—always obliging—always kind. Then he drank her health in a bumper of burgundy, and insisted upon his little Helena’s drinking her health. “I am sure you ought, my dear, for Miss Portman is very good—too good to you, child.”