herself in the world. Why these tears, Belinda?--or are they tears? for by
the light of the lamps I can scarcely tell; though I'll swear I saw the
handkerchief at the eyes. What is the meaning of all this? You'd best
trust me--for I know as much of men and manners as your aunt Stanhope at
least; and in one word, you have nothing to fear from me, and every thing
to hope from yourself, if you will only dry up your tears, _keep on your
mask_, and take my advice; you'll find it as good as your aunt
Stanhope's."

"My aunt Stanhope's! O," cried Belinda, "never, never more will I take
such advice; never more will I expose myself to be insulted as a female
adventurer.--Little did I know in what a light I appeared; little did I
know what _gentlemen_ thought of my aunt Stanhope, of my cousins, of
myself!"

"_Gentlemen_! I presume Clarence Hervey stands at this instant, in your
imagination, as the representative of all the gentlemen in England; and
he, instead of Anacharsis Cloots, is now, to be sure, l'orateur du genre
humain. Pray let me have a specimen of the eloquence, which, to judge by
its effects, must be powerful indeed."

Miss Portman, not without some reluctance, repeated the conversation which
she had heard.--"And is this all?" cried Lady Delacour. "Lord, my dear,
you must either give up living in the world, or expect to hear yourself,
and your aunts, and your cousins, and your friends, from generation to
generation, abused every hour in the day by their friends and your
friends; 'tis the common course of things. Now you know what a multitude
of obedient humble servants, dear creatures, and very sincere and most
affectionate friends, I have in my writing-desk, and on my mantel-piece,
not to mention the cards which crowd the common rack from intimate