She would sometimes walk up and down the empty magnificent saloon, absorbed in thoughts seemingly of the most painful nature.
For some days after Belinda’s arrival in town she heard nothing of Lord Delacour; his lady never mentioned his name, except once accidentally, as she was showing Miss Portman the house, she said, “Don’t open that door—those are only Lord Delacour’s apartments.”—The first time Belinda ever saw his lordship, he was dead drunk in the arms of two footmen, who were carrying him up stairs to his bedchamber: his lady, who was just returned from Ranelagh, passed by him on the landing-place with a look of sovereign contempt.
“What is the matter?—Who is this?” said Belinda.
“Only the body of my Lord Delacour,” said her ladyship: “his bearers have brought it up the wrong staircase. Take it down again, my good friends: let his lordship go his own way. Don’t look so shocked and amazed, Belinda—don’t look so new, child: this funeral of my lord’s intellects is to me a nightly, or,” added her ladyship, looking at her watch and yawning, “I believe I should say a daily ceremony—six o’clock, I protest!”
The next morning, as her ladyship and Miss Portman were sitting at the breakfast-table, after a very late breakfast, Lord Delacour entered the room.
“Lord Delacour, sober, my dear,”—said her ladyship to Miss Portman, by way of introducing him. Prejudiced by her ladyship, Belinda was inclined to think that Lord Delacour sober would not be more agreeable or more rational than Lord Delacour drunk. “How old do you take my lord to be?” whispered her ladyship, as she saw Belinda’s eye fixed upon the trembling hand which carried his teacup to his lips: “I’ll lay you a wager,” continued she aloud—“I’ll lay your birth-night dress, gold fringe, and laurel wreaths into the bargain, that you don’t guess right.”
“I hope you don’t think of going to this birth-night, lady Delacour?” said his lordship.
“I’ll give you six guesses, and I’ll bet you don’t come within sixteen years,” pursued her ladyship, still looking at Belinda.
“You cannot have the new carriage you have bespoken,” said his lordship. “Will you do me the honour to attend to me, Lady Delacour?”
“Then you won’t venture to guess, Belinda,” said her ladyship (without honouring her lord with the smallest portion of her attention)—“Well, I believe you are right—for certainly you would guess him to be six-and-sixty, instead of six-and-thirty; but then he can drink more than any two-legged animal in his majesty’s dominions, and you know that is an advantage which is well worth twenty or thirty years of a man’s life—especially to persons who have no other chance of distinguishing themselves.”