Essential Novelists - Maria Edgeworth. Maria Edgeworth

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ she first heard Clarence Hervey say, that Belinda Portman was a compound of art and affectation; but this she thought was only the pain of offended pride — of proper pride. She recollected the extreme anxiety she had felt, even within the last four-and-twenty hours, concerning the opinion which he might form of the transaction about the key of the boudoir — but this anxiety she justified to herself; it was due, she thought, to her reputation; it would have been inconsistent with female delicacy to have been indifferent about the suspicions that necessarily arose from the circumstances in which she was placed. Before Belinda had completed her self-examination, Clarence Hervey called to inquire after Lady Delacour. Whilst he spoke of her ladyship, and of his concern for the dreadful accident of which he believed himself to be in a great measure the cause, his manner and language were animated and unaffected; but the moment that this subject was exhausted, he became embarrassed; though he distinctly expressed perfect confidence and esteem for her, he seemed to wish, and yet to be unable, to support the character of a friend, contradistinguished to an admirer. He seemed conscious that he could not, with propriety, advert to the suspicions and jealousy which he had felt the preceding night; for a man who has never declared love would be absurd and impertinent, were he to betray jealousy. Clarence was destitute neither of address nor presence of mind; but an accident happened, when he was just taking leave of Miss Portman, which threw him into utter confusion. It surprised, if it did not confound, Belinda. She had forgotten to ask Dr. X—— for his direction; and as she thought it might be necessary to write to him concerning Lady Delacour’s health, she begged of Mr. Hervey to give it to her. He took a letter out of his pocket, and wrote the direction with a pencil; but as he opened the paper, to tear off the outside, on which he had been writing, a lock of hair dropped out of the letter; he hastily stooped for it, and as he took it up from the ground the lock unfolded. Belinda, though she cast but one involuntary, hasty glance at it, was struck with the beauty of its colour, and its uncommon length. The confusion of Clarence Hervey convinced her that he was extremely interested about the person to whom the hair belonged, and the species of alarm which she had felt at this discovery opened her eyes effectually to the state of her own heart. She was sensible that the sight of a lock of hair, however long, or however beautiful, in the hands of any man but Clarence Hervey, could not possibly have excited any emotion in her mind. “Fortunately,” thought she, “I have discovered that he is attached to another, whilst it is yet in my power to command my affections; and he shall see that I am not so weak as to form any false expectations from what I must now consider as mere common-place flattery.” Belinda was glad that Lady Delacour was not present at the discovery of the lock of hair, as she was aware that she would have rallied her unmercifully upon the occasion; and she rejoiced that she had not been prevailed upon to give Madame la Comtesse de Pomenars a lock of her belle chevelure. She could not help thinking, from the recollection of several minute circumstances, that Clarence Hervey had endeavoured to gain an interest in her affections, and she felt that there would be great impropriety in receiving his ambiguous visits during Lady Delacour’s confinement to her room. She therefore gave orders that Mr. Hervey should not in future be admitted, till her ladyship should again see company. This precaution proved totally superfluous, for Mr. Hervey never called again, during the whole course of Lady Delacour’s confinement, though his servant regularly came every morning with inquiries after her ladyship’s health. She kept her room for about ten days; a confinement to which she submitted with extreme impatience: bodily pain she bore with fortitude, but constraint and ennui she could not endure.

      One morning as she was sitting up in bed, looking over a large collection of notes, and cards of inquiry after her health, she exclaimed —

      “These people will soon be tired of^[4] bidding their footman put it into their heads to inquire whether I am alive or dead — I must appear amongst them again, if it be only for a few minutes, or they will forget me. When I am fatigued, I will retire, and you, my dear Belinda, shall represent me; so tell them to open my doors, and unmuffle the knocker: let me hear the sound of music and dancing, and let the house be filled again, for Heaven’s sake. Dr. Zimmermann should never have been my physician, for he would have prescribed solitude. Now solitude and silence are worse for me than poppy and mandragora. It is impossible to tell how much silence tires the ears of those who have not been used to it. For mercy’s sake, Marriott,” continued her ladyship, turning to Marriott, who just then came softly into the room, “for mercy’s sake, don’t walk to all eternity on tiptoes: to see people gliding about like ghosts makes me absolutely fancy myself amongst the shades below. I would rather be stunned by the loudest peal that ever thundering footman gave at my door, than hear Marriott lock that boudoir, as if my life depended on my not hearing the key turned.”

      “Dear me! I never knew any lady that was ill, except my lady, complain of one’s not making a noise to disturb her,” said Marriott.

      “Then to please you, Marriott, I will complain of the only noise that does, or ever did disturb me — the screaming of your odious macaw.”

      Now Marriott had a prodigious affection for this macaw, and she defended it with as much eagerness as if it had been her child.

      “Odious! O dear, my lady! to call my poor macaw odious! — I didn’t expect it would ever have come to this — I am sure I don’t deserve it — I’m sure I don’t deserve that my lady should have taken such a dislike to me.”

      And here Marriott actually burst into tears. “But, my dear Marriott,” said Lady Delacour, “I only object to your macaw — may not I dislike your macaw without disliking you? — I have heard of ‘love me, love my dog;’ but I never heard of ‘love me, love my bird’— did you, Miss Portman?”

      Marriott turned sharply round upon Miss Portman, and darted a fiery look at her through the midst of her tears. “Then ’tis plain,” said she, “who I’m to thank for this;” and as she left the room her lady could not complain of her shutting the door after her too gently.

      “Give her three minutes’ grace and she will come to her senses,” said Lady Delacour, “for she is not a bankrupt in sense. Oh, three minutes won’t do; I must allow her three days’ grace, I perceive,” said Lady Delacour when Marriott half an hour afterward reappeared, with a face which might have sat for the picture of ill-humour. Her ill-humour, however, did not prevent her from attending her lady as usual; she performed all her customary offices with the most officious zeal but in profound silence, except every now and then she would utter a sigh, which seemed to say, “See how much I’m attached to my lady, and yet my lady hates my macaw!” Her lady, who perfectly understood the language of sighs, and felt the force of Marriott’s, forbore to touch again on the tender subject of the macaw, hoping that when her house was once more filled with company, she should be relieved by more agreeable noises from continually hearing this pertinacious tormentor.

      As soon as it was known that Lady Delacour was sufficiently recovered to receive company, her door was crowded with carriages; and as soon as it was understood that balls and concerts were to go on as usual at her house, her “troops of friends” appeared to congratulate her, and to amuse themselves.

      “How stupid it is,” said Lady Delacour to Belinda, “to hear congratulatory speeches from people, who would not care if I were in the black hole at Calcutta this minute; but we must take the world as it goes — dirt and precious stones mixed together. Clarence Hervey, however, n’a pas une ame de boue; he, I am sure, has been really concerned for me: he thinks that his young horses were the sole cause of the whole evil, and he blames himself so sincerely, and so unjustly, that I really was half tempted to undeceive him; but that would have been doing him an injury, for you know great philosophers tell us that there is no pleasure in the world equal to that of being well deceived, especially by the fair sex. Seriously, Belinda, is it my fancy, or is not Clarence wonderfully changed? Is not he grown pale, and thin, and serious, not to say melancholy? What have you done to him since I have been ill?”

      “Nothing — I have never seen him.”

      “No! СКАЧАТЬ