“There’s no need of shrieks, or courage either, thank God,” said Marriott. “Dr. X—— says so, and he is the best man in the world, and the cleverest. And I was right from the first; I said it was impossible my lady should have such a shocking complaint as she thought she had. There’s no such thing at all in the case, my lord! I said so always, till I was persuaded out of my senses by that villainous quack, who contradicted me for this own ‘molument. And Doctor X—— says, if my lady will leave off the terrible quantities of laudanum she takes, he’ll engage for her recovery.”
The surgeon and Dr. X—— now explained to Lord Delacour that the unprincipled wretch to whom her ladyship had applied for assistance had persuaded her that she had a cancer, though in fact her complaint arose merely from the bruise which she had received. He knew too well how to make a wound hideous and painful, and so continue her delusion for his own advantage. Dr. X—— observed, that if Lady Delacour would have permitted either the surgeon or him to have examined sooner into the real state of the case, it would have saved herself infinite pain, and them all anxiety. Belinda at this moment felt too much to speak.
“I’m morally certain,” cried Marriott, “Mr. Champfort would die with vexation, if he could see the joy that’s painted in my lord’s face this minute. And we may thank Miss Portman for this, for ‘twas she made every thing go right, and I never expected to live to see so happy a day.”
Whilst Marriott ran on in this manner with all the volubility of joy, Lord Delacour passed her with some difficulty, and Helena was in her mother’s arms in an instant.
Lady Delacour, struck to the heart by their affectionate looks and words, burst into tears. “How little have I deserved this kindness from you, my lord! or from you, my child! But my feelings,” added she, wiping away her tears, “shall not waste themselves in tears, nor in vain thanks. My actions, the whole course of my future life, shall show that I am not quite a brute. Even brutes are won by kindness. Observe, my lord,” continued she, smiling, “I said won, not tamed!—A tame Lady Delacour would be a sorry animal, not worth looking at. Were she even to become domesticated, she would fare the worse.”
“How so?—How so, my dear?” said Lord Delacour and Belinda almost in the same breath.
“How so?—Why, if Lady Delacour were to wash off her rouge, and lay aside her air, and be as gentle, good, and kind as Belinda Portman, for instance, her lord would certainly say to her,
‘So alter’d are your face and mind,
‘Twere perjury to love you now.’”