"It is not in my power, madam," said Belinda, calmly, "to comply with your
request."

"Then you'll take the consequences," cried Mrs. Freke. She rushed past
her, hurried down stairs, and called out, "Bid my blockhead bring my
unicorn."

She, her unicorn, and her blockhead, were out of sight in a few minutes.

Good may be drawn from evil. Mrs. Freke's conversation, though at the time
it confounded Belinda, roused her, upon reflection, to examine by her
reason the habits and principles which guided her conduct. She had a
general feeling that they were right and necessary; but now, with the
assistance of Lady Anne and Mr. Percival, she established in her own
understanding the exact boundaries between right and wrong upon many
subjects. She felt a species of satisfaction and security, from seeing the
demonstration of those axioms of morality, in which she had previously
acquiesced. Reasoning gradually became as agreeable to her as wit; nor was
her taste for wit diminished, it was only refined by this process. She now
compared and judged of the value of the different species of this
brilliant talent.

Mrs. Freke's wit, thought she, is like a noisy squib, the momentary terror
of passengers; Lady Delacour's like an elegant firework, which we crowd to
see, and cannot forbear to applaud; but Lady Anne Percival's wit is like
the refulgent moon, we

"Love the mild rays, and bless the useful light."