“You have relieved me from all doubt, all fear, all anxiety,” said Virginia, with the sweetest expression of innocent affection in her countenance. “May you be as happy as you deserve to be! May Belinda—is not that her name?—May Belinda—”
At this moment Lady Delacour half opened the door, exclaiming—“Human patience can wait no longer!”
“Will you trust me to explain for you, dear Virginia?” said Clarence.
“Most willingly,” said Virginia, retiring as Lady Delacour advanced. “Pray leave me here alone, whilst you, who are used to talk before strangers, speak for me.”
“Dare you venture, Clarence,” said her ladyship, as she closed the door, “to leave her alone with that picture? You are no lover, if you be not jealous.”
“I am not jealous,” said Clarence, “yet I am a lover—a passionate lover.”
“A passionate lover!” cried Lady Delacour, stopping short as they were crossing the antechamber:—“then I have done nothing but mischief. In love with Virginia? I will not—cannot believe it.”
“In love with Belinda!—Cannot you, will not you believe it?”
“My dear Clarence, I never doubted it for an instant. But are you at liberty to own it to any body but me?”
“I am at liberty to declare it to all the world.”