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"Perfectly well," replied Clarence; "for all the world must be sensible that Clarence Hervey is a man of too much taste to compare a country novice in wit and accomplishments to Lady Delacour. He might, as men of genius sometimes do, look forward to the idea of forming a country novice for a wife. A man must marry some time or other but my hour, thank Heaven, is not come yet."
I repeated all that my uncle said, very faithfully, to Lord Delacour; and all that either he or his lawyer could furnish out by way of answer was, that 'Necessity had no law. Necessity, it must be allowed, though it might be the mother of law, was never with my lord the mother of invention.
The little girl appeared more grieved than surprised at this; and after kissing her mother's hand, without speaking, she again looked down at the manuscript. "Does that engross your attention so entirely, my dear," said Lady Delacour, "that you can neither spare one word nor one look for your mother?" "Oh, mamma! I only tried to read, because I thought you were angry with me."
I thought that the Socialists said that interest was "unpaid labour." Isn't that the expression you use? 'Yes, it is. I had scruples on this point, but M. Delacour overruled my scruples. Your objection is answered by the theory that individual sacrifice is unavailing: indeed, it is as useless as giving charity, quite.
Madame Delacour was a strict Catholic and was therefore interested in Mildred's conversion. And with her Mildred went to Mass, high and low, vespers and benediction. She selected an old priest for confessor, who gave her absolution without hearing half she said; and she went to communion and besought of M. Delacour never to laugh at her when she was in one of her religious moods.
"Why not? 'Horrid! Don't you love deceit?" "I detest it from my soul." "Indeed!" said Lady Delacour, still speaking in the same low, soft, unnatural voice: "then why do you practise it, my love?" "I never practised it for a moment I am incapable of deceit.
Sit down upon this sofa, and I will ring for Marriott, and get some fresh rouge. Look at your face in this glass you see " "I see," interrupted Lady Delacour, looking full at Belinda, "that she who I thought had the noblest of souls has the meanest! I see that she is incapable of feeling. Rouge! not fit to be seen! At such a time as this, to talk to me in this manner! Oh, niece of Mrs.
Belinda ventured to take her eyes for an instant from the picture, to see whether Clarence Hervey looked like the most inconstant man upon earth. He was intently gazing upon her; but as soon as she looked round, he suddenly exclaimed, as he turned to the picture "A heavenly countenance, indeed! the painter has done justice to the poet." "Poet!" repeated Lady Delacour: "the man's in the clouds!"
Lady Delacour had assured her that it expressed love; but Lady Delacour was an imprudent woman in her own conduct, and not scrupulous as to that of others.
"When I recollect," said Lady Delacour, as she looked over the letter, "how well this Lady Anne of yours has behaved to me about Helena, when I recollect, that, though you have been with her so long, she has not supplanted me in your affections, and that she did not attempt to detain you when I sent Marriott to Oakly-park, and when I consider how much for my own advantage it will be to accept this invitation, I really cannot bring myself, from pride, or folly, or any other motive, to refuse it.
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