Things were in this situation, when one day Marriott made her appearance at her lady’s toilette with a face which at once proclaimed that something had discomposed her, and that she was impatient to be asked what it was.
“What is the matter, Marriott?” said Lady Delacour; “for I know you want me to ask.”
“Want you to ask! Oh, dear, my lady, no!—for I’m sure, it’s a thing that goes quite against me to tell; for I thought, indeed, my lady, superiorly of the person in question; so much so, indeed, that I wished what I declare I should now be ashamed to mention, especially in the presence of Miss Portman, who deserves the best that this world can afford of every denomination. Well, ma’am, in one word,” continued she, addressing herself to Belinda, “I am extremely rejoiced that things are as they are, though I confess that was not always my wish or opinion, for which I beg Mr. Vincent’s pardon and yours; but I hope to be forgiven, since I’m now come entirely round to my Lady Anne Percival’s way of thinking, which I learnt from good authority at Oakly-park; and I am now convinced and confident, Miss Portman, that every thing is for the best.”
“Marriott will inform us, in due course of time, what has thus suddenly and happily converted her,” said Lady Delacour to Belinda, who was thrown into some surprise and confusion by Marriott’s address; but Marriott went on with much warmth—
Dear me! I’m sure I thought we had got rid of all double-dealers, when the house was cleared of Mr. Champfort; but, oh, mercy! there’s not traps enough in the world for them all; I only wish they were all caught as finely as some people were. “Tis what all double-dealers, and Champfort at the head of the whole regiment, deserve—that’s certain.”
“We must take patience, my dear Belinda,” said Lady Delacour, calmly, “till Marriott has exhausted all the expletives in and out of the English language; and presently, when she has fought all her battles with Champfort over again, we may hope to get at the fact.”
“Dear! my lady, it has nothing to do with Mr. Champfort, nor any such style of personage, I can assure you; for, I’m positive, I’d rather think contemptibly of a hundred million Mr. Champforts than of one such gentleman as Mr. Clarence Hervey.”
“Clarence Hervey!” exclaimed Lady Delacour: taking it for granted that Belinda blushed, her ladyship, with superfluous address, instantly turned, so as to hide her friend’s face from Mrs. Marriott. “Well, Marriott, what of Mr. Hervey?”
“Oh, my lady, something you’ll be surprised to hear, and Miss Portman, too. It is not, by any means, that I am more of a prude than is becoming, my lady: nor that I take upon me to be so innocent as not to know that young gentlemen of fortune will, if it be only for fashion’s sake, have such things as kept mistresses (begging pardon for mentioning such trash); but no one that has lived in the world thinks any thing of that, except,” added she, catching a glimpse of Belinda’s countenance, “except, to be sure, ma’am, morally speaking, it’s very wicked and shocking, and makes one blush before company, till one’s used to it, and ought certainly to be put down by act of parliament, ma’am; but, my lady, you know, in point of surprising any body, or being discreditable in a young gentleman of Mr. Hervey’s fortune and pretensions, it would be mere envy and scandal to deem it any thing—worth mentioning.”
“Then, for mercy’s sake, or mine,” said Lady Delacour, “go on to something that is worth mentioning.”