She insisted on driving to the Panthéon instead of going home, but to
Belinda the night seemed long and dull. The masquerade had no charm to
keep her thoughts from the conversation that had given her so much pain.


_II.--Fashion and Fortitude_


"How happy you are, Lady Delacour!" she said, when they got into the
carriage to go home. "How happy to have such an amazing flow of
spirits!"

And then she learnt the reason of her ladyship's strange unevenness of
temper. She was dying of an incurable complaint, which she kept hidden
from all the world except her maid, Marriott, who attended on her in a
mysterious cabinet full of medicines and linen rags, the door of which
she had hitherto kept locked.

"You are shocked, Belinda," said she, "but as yet you have seen nothing.
Look here!" And baring one half of her bosom, she revealed a hideous
spectacle.

"Am I humbled? Am I wretched enough?" she asked. "No matter. I will die
as I have lived, the envy and admiration of the world. Promise--swear to
me that you will never reveal what you have seen to-night!" And Belinda
promised not only that, but to remain with her as long as ever she
wished.

Belinda's quiet avoidance of Clarence Hervey made him begin to believe