She flung herself upon the sofa beside Belinda, threw her hat upon the table, and then continued speaking.
“And how d’ye go on here, poor child?—Gad! I’m glad you’re alone—expected to find you encompassed by a whole host of the righteous. Give me credit for my courage in coming to deliver you out of their hands. Luttridge and I had such compassion upon you, when we heard you were close prisoner here! I swore to set the distressed damsel free, in spite of all the dragons in Christendom; so let me carry you off in triumph in my unicorn, and leave these good people to stare when they come home from their sober walk, and find you gone. There’s nothing I like so much as to make good people stare—I hope you’re of my way o’ thinking—-you don’t look as if you were, though; but I never mind young ladies’ looks—always give the lie to their thoughts. Now we talk o’ looks—never saw you look so well in my life—as handsome as an angel! And so much the better for me. Do you know, I’ve a bet of twenty guineas on your head—on your face, I mean. There’s a young bride at Harrowgate, Lady H——, they’re all mad about her; the men swear she’s the handsomest woman in England, and I swear I know one ten times as handsome. They’ve dared me to make good my word, and I’ve pledged myself to produce my beauty at the next ball, and to pit her against their belle for any money. Most votes carry it. I’m willing to double my bet since I’ve seen you again. Come, had not we best be off? Now don’t refuse me and make speeches—you know that’s all nonsense—I’ll take all the blame upon myself.”
Belinda, who had not been suffered to utter a word whilst Mrs. Freke ran on in this strange manner, looked in unfeigned astonishment; but when she found herself seized and dragged towards the door, she drew back with a degree of gentle firmness that astonished Mrs. Freke. With a smiling countenance, but a steady tone, she said, “that she was sorry Mrs. Freke’s knight-errantry should not be exerted in a better cause, for that she was neither a prisoner, nor a distressed damsel.”
“And will you make me lose my bet?” cried Mrs. Freke “Oh, at all events, you must come to the ball!—I’m down for it. But I’ll not press it now, because you’re frightened out of your poor little wits, I see, at the bare thoughts of doing any thing considered out of rule by these good people. Well, well! it shall be managed for you—leave that to me: I’m used to managing for cowards. Pray tell me—you and Lady Delacour are off, I understand?—Give ye joy!—She and I were once great friends; that is to say, I had over her ‘that power which strong minds have over weak ones,’ but she was too weak for me—one of those people that have neither courage to be good, nor to be bad.”
“The courage to be bad,” said Belinda, “I believe, indeed, she does not possess.”
Mrs. Freke stared. “Why, I heard you had quarrelled with her!”
“If I had,” said Belinda, “I hope that I should still do justice to her merits. It is said that people are apt to suffer more by their friends than their enemies. I hope that will never be the case with Lady Delacour, as I confess that I have been one of her friends.”
“‘Gad, I like your spirit—you don’t want courage, I see, to fight even for your enemies. You are just the kind of girl I admire. I see you have been prejudiced against me by Lady Delacour; but whatever stories she may have trumped up, the truth of the matter is this, there’s no living with her, she’s so jealous—so ridiculously jealous—of that lord of hers, for whom all the time she has the impudence to pretend not to care more than I do for the sole of my boot,” said Mrs. Freke, striking it, with her whip; “but she hasn’t the courage to give him tit for tat: now this is what I call weakness. Pray, how do she and Clarence Hervey go on together?—Are they out o’ the hornbook of platonics yet?”
“Mr. Hervey was not in town when I left it,” said Belinda.
“Was not he?—Ho! ho!—He’s off then!—Ay, so I prophesied; she’s not the thing for him: he has some strength of mind—some soul—above vulgar prejudices; so must a woman be to hold him. He was caught at first by her grace and beauty, and that sort of stuff; but I knew it could not last—knew she’d dilly dally with Clary, till he would turn upon his heel and leave her there.”