“It is,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “not another scream shall you hear—only do not, do not, my dear Belinda, send for a physician.”
“You will throw yourself again into convulsions,” said Belinda. “Marriott, you see, has lost all command of herself—I shall not have strength to manage you—-perhaps I may lose my presence of mind—I cannot answer for myself—your husband may desire to see you.”
“No danger of that,” said Lady Delacour: “tell him my ankle is sprained—tell him I am bruised all over—tell him any thing you will—he will not trouble himself any more about me—he will forget all that passed to-night by the time he is sober. Oh! give me the laudanum, dearest Belinda, and say no more about physicians.”
It was in vain to reason with Lady Delacour. Belinda attempted to persuade her: “For my sake, dear Lady Delacour,” said she, “let me send for Dr. X——; he is a man of honour, your secret will be perfectly safe with him.”
“He will tell it to Clarence Hervey,” said Lady Delacour: “of all men living, I would not send for Dr. X——; I will not see him if he comes.”
“Then,” said Belinda, calmly, but with a fixed determination of countenance, “I must leave you to-morrow morning—I must return to Bath.”
“Leave me! remember your promise.”
“Circumstances have occurred, about which I have made no promise,” said Belinda; “I must leave you, unless you will now give me your permission to send for Dr. X——.”
Lady Delacour hesitated. “You see,” continued Belinda, “that I am in earnest: when I am gone, you will have no friend left; when I am gone, your secret will inevitably be discovered; for without me, Marriott will not have sufficient strength of mind to keep it.”
“Do you think we might trust Dr. X——?” said Lady Delacour.