immediately went up stairs to exchange dresses. Poor Belinda, now that she
felt herself in spirits to undertake the comic muse, was rather vexed to
be obliged to give up her becoming character; but there was no resisting
the polite energy of Lady Delacour's vanity. Her ladyship ran as quick as
lightning into a closet within the dressing-room, saying to Lady
Singleton's woman, who attempted to follow with--"Can I do any thing for
your ladyship?"--"No, no, no--nothing, nothing--thank ye, thank ye,--I
want no assistance--I never let any body do any thing for me but
Marriott;" and she bolted herself in the closet. In a few minutes she half
opened the door, threw out her tragic robes, and cried, "Here, Miss
Portman, give me yours--quick--and let's see whether comedy or tragedy
will be ready first."

"Lord bless and forgive me," said Lady Singleton's woman, when Lady
Delacour at last threw open the door, when she was completely
dressed--"but if your la'ship has not been dressing all this time in that
den, without any thing in the shape of a looking-glass, and not to let me
help! I that should have been so proud."

Lady Delacour put half a guinea into the waiting-maid's hand, laughed
affectedly at her own _whimsicalities_, and declared that she could always
dress herself better without a glass than with one. All this went off
admirably well with every body but Miss Portman; she could not help
thinking it extraordinary that a person who was obviously fond of being
waited upon would never suffer any person to assist her at her toilet
except Marriott, a woman of whom she was evidently afraid. Lady Delacour's
quick eye saw curiosity painted in Belinda's countenance, and for a moment
she was embarrassed; but she soon recovered herself, and endeavoured to
turn the course of Miss Portman's thoughts by whispering to her some
nonsense about Clarence Hervey--a cabalistical name, which she knew had