“Then he interdicts love only to his friends? He does not think it essential that you should know any thing about the matter. You may marry his ward, and welcome, without being in love with him.”
“But not without loving him,” said Belinda.
“I am not casuist enough in these matters to understand the subtle distinction you make, with the true Percival emphasis, between loving and falling in love. But I suppose I am to understand by loving, loving as half the world do when they marry.”
“As it would be happy for half the world if they did,” replied Belinda, mildly, but with a firmness of tone that her ladyship felt. “I should despise myself and deserve no pity from any human being, if, after all I have seen, I could think of marrying for convenience or interest.”
“Oh! pardon me; I meant not to insinuate such an idea: even your worst enemy, Sir Philip Baddely, would acquit you there. I meant but to hint, my dear Belinda, that a heart such as yours is formed for love in its highest, purest, happiest state.”
A pause ensued.
“Such happiness can be secured only,” resumed Belinda, “by a union with a man of sense and virtue.”
“A man of sense and virtue, I suppose, means Mr. Vincent,” said Lady Delacour: “no doubt you have lately learned in the same sober style that a little love will suffice with a great deal of esteem.”
“I hope I have learned lately that a great deal of esteem is the best foundation for a great deal of love.”
“Possibly,” said Lady Delacour; “but we often see people working at the foundation all their lives without getting any farther.”