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