“Why, my dear,” said Lady Delacour, with a look of mingled concern, reproach, and raillery, “have you actually given up my poor Clarence, merely on account of this mistress in the wood, this Virginia St. Pierre? Nonsense! Begging your pardon, my dear, the man loves you. Some entanglement, some punctilio, some doubt, some delicacy, some folly, prevents him from being just at this moment, where, I confess, he ought to be—at your feet; and you, out of patience, which a young lady ought never to be if she can help it, will go and marry—I know you will—some stick of a rival, purely to provoke him.”
“If ever I marry,” said Belinda, with a look of proud humility, “I shall certainly marry to please myself, and not to provoke any body else; and, at all events, I hope I shall never marry a stick.”
“Pardon me that word,” said Lady Delacour. “I am convinced you never will—but one is apt to judge of others by one’s self. I am willing to believe that Mr. Vincent——”
“Mr. Vincent! How did you know——” exclaimed Belinda.
“How did I know? Why, my dear, do you think I am so little interested about you, that I have not found out some of your secrets? And do you think that Marriott could refrain from telling me, in her most triumphant tone, that ‘Miss Portman has not gone to Oakly-park for nothing; that she has made a conquest of a Mr. Vincent, a West Indian, a ward, or lately a ward, of Mr. Percival’s, the handsomest man that ever was seen, and the richest, &c. &c. &c.?’ Now simple I rejoiced at the news; for I took it for granted you would never seriously think of marrying the man.”
“Then why did your ladyship rejoice?”
“Why? Oh, you novice at Cupid’s chess-board! do not you see the next move? Check with your new knight, and the game is your own. Now, if your aunt Stanhope saw your look at this instant, she would give you up for ever—if she have not done that already. In plain, unmetaphorical prose, then, cannot you comprehend, my straight-forward Belinda, that if you make Clarence Hervey heartily jealous, let the impediments to your union be what they may, he will acknowledge himself to be heartily in love with you? I should make no scruple of frightening him within an inch of his life, for his good. Sir Philip Baddely was not the man to frighten him; but this Mr. Vincent, by all accounts, is just the thing.”
“And do you imagine that I could use Mr. Vincent so ill?—And can you think me capable of such double dealing?”
“Oh! in love and war, you know, all stratagems are allowable. But you take the matter so seriously, and you redden with such virtuous indignation, that I dare not say a word more—only—may I ask—are you absolutely engaged to Mr. Vincent?”
“No. We have had the prudence to avoid all promises, all engagements.”