Mad. de Pomenars acknowledged that there was a resemblance, but added, that it was flattery in the extreme to Mad. de Grignan to say so.
“It would be a sin, undoubtedly, to waste flattery upon the dead, my dear countess,” said Lady Delacour; “but here, without flattery to the living, as you have a lock of Mad. de Grignan’s hair, you can tell us whether la belle chevelure, of which Mad. de Sevigné talked so much, was any thing to be compared to my Belinda’s.” As she spoke, Lady Delacour, before Belinda was aware of her intentions, dexterously let down her beautiful tresses; and the Countess de Pomenars was so much struck at the sight, that she was incapable of paying the necessary compliments. “Nay, touch it,” said Lady Delacour—“it is so fine and so soft.”
At this dangerous moment her ladyship artfully let drop the comb. Clarence Hervey suddenly stooped to pick it up, totally forgetting his hoop and his character. He threw down the music-stand with his hoop. Lady Delacour exclaimed “Bravissima!” and burst out a-laughing. Lady Boucher, in amazement, looked from one to another for an explanation, and was a considerable time before, as she said, she could believe her own eyes. Clarence Hervey acknowledged he had lost his bet, joined in the laugh, and declared that fifty guineas was too little to pay for the sight of the finest hair that he had ever beheld. “I declare he deserves a lock of la belle chevelure for that speech, Miss Portman,” cried Lady Delacour; “I’ll appeal to all the world—Mad. de Pomenars must have a lock to measure with Mad. de Grignan’s? Come, a second rape of the lock, Belinda.”
Fortunately for Belinda, “the glittering forfex” was not immediately produced, as fine ladies do not now, as in former times, carry any such useless implements about with them.
Such was the modest, graceful dignity of Miss Portman’s manners, that she escaped without even the charge of prudery. She retired to her own apartment as soon as she could.
“She passes on in unblenched majesty,” said Lady Delacour.
“She is really a charming woman,” said Clarence Hervey, in a low voice, to Lady Delacour, drawing her into a recessed window: he in the same low voice continued, “Could I obtain a private audience of a few minutes when your ladyship is at leisure?—I have—” “I am never at leisure,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “but if you have any thing particular to say to me—as I guess you have, by my skill in human nature—come here to my concert to-night, before the rest of the world. Wait patiently in the music-room, and perhaps I may grant you a private audience, as you had the grace not to call it a tête-à-tête. In the mean time, my dear Countess de Pomenars, had we not better take off our hoops?” In the evening, Clarence Hervey was in the music-room a considerable time before Lady Delacour appeared: how patiently he waited is not known to any one but himself.
“Have not I given you time to compose a charming speech?” said Lady Delacour as she entered the room; “but make it as short as you can, unless you wish that Miss Portman should hear it, for she will be down stairs in three minutes.”
“In one word, then, my dear Lady Delacour, can you, and will you, make my peace with Miss Portman?—I am much concerned about that foolish razor-strop dialogue which she overheard at Lady Singleton’s.”
“You are concerned that she overheard it, no doubt.”