“To be sure: I am not a fool, though he is. I see he is jealous, though he has had such damning proof that all’s right—the man’s a fool, that’s all. Are you sure this is the key I gave you, my dear?”
“And can you think him a fool,” pursued Belinda, in a still more earnest whisper, “for being more jealous of your mind than of your person? Fools have seldom so much penetration, or so much delicacy.”
“But, Lord! what would you have me do? what would you have me say? That Lord Delacour writes better letters than these?”
“Oh, no! but show him these letters, and you will do justice to him, to yourself, to Cla——, to every body.”
“I am sure I should be happy to do justice to every body.”
“Then pray do this very instant, my dearest Lady Delacour! and I shall love you for it all my life.”
“Done!—for who can withstand that offer?—Done!” said her ladyship. Then turning to Lord Delacour, “My lord, will you come here and tell us what can be the matter with this lock?”
“If the lock be spoiled, Lady Delacour, you had better send for a locksmith,” replied his lordship, who was still employed about the wick of the Argand: “I am no locksmith—I do not pretend to understand locks—especially secret locks.”
“But you will not desert us at our utmost need, I am sure, my lord,” said Belinda, approaching him with a conciliatory smile.
“You want the light, I believe, more than I do,” said his lordship, advancing with the lamp to meet her. “Well! what is the matter with this confounded lock of yours, Lady Delacour? I know I should be at Studley’s by this time—but how in the devil’s name can you expect me to open a secret lock when I do not know the secret, Lady Delacour?”