Maria Edgeworth - Essential Novelists - Maria Edgeworth

He twirled and twisted a short stick that he held in his hand, and put it into and out of his boot twenty times, and at last he began with —“Lady Delacour’s not gone to Harrowgate yet?”

“No: her ladyship has not yet felt herself well enough to undertake the journey.”

“That was a cursed unlucky overturn! She may thank Clarence Hervey for that: it’s like him — he thinks he’s a better judge of horses, and wine, and every thing else, than any body in the world. Damme, now if I don’t believe he thinks nobody else but himself has eyes enough to see that a fine woman’s a fine woman; but I’d have him to know, that Miss Belinda Portman has been Sir Philip Baddely’s toast these two months.”

As this intelligence did not seem to make the expected impression upon Miss Belinda Portman, Sir Philip had recourse again to his little stick, with which he went through the sword exercise. After a silence of some minutes, and after walking to the window, and back again, as if to look for sense, he exclaimed, “How is Mrs. Stanhope now, pray, Miss Portman? and your sister, Mrs. Tollemache? she was the finest woman, I thought, the first winter she came out, that ever I saw, damme. Have you ever been told that you’re like her?”

“Never, sir.”

“Oh, damn it then, but you are; only ten times handsomer.”

“Ten times handsomer than the finest woman you ever saw, Sir Philip?” said Belinda, smiling.

“Than the finest woman I had ever seen then,” said Sir Philip; “for, damme, I did not know what it was to be in love then“ (here the baronet heaved an audible sigh): “I always laughed at love, and all that, then, and marriage particularly. I’ll trouble you for Mrs. Stanhope’s direction, Miss Portman; I believe, to do the thing in style, I ought to write to her before I speak to you.”

Belinda looked at him with astonishment; and laying down the pencil with which she had just begun to write a direction to Mrs. Stanhope, she said, “Perhaps, Sir Philip, to do the thing in style, I ought to pretend at this instant not to understand you; but such false delicacy might mislead you: permit me, therefore, to say, that if I have any concern in the letter which you, are going to write to my aunt Stanhope ——”

“Well guessed!” interrupted Sir Philip: “to be sure you have, and you’re a charming girl — damn me if you aren’t — for meeting my ideas in this way, which will save a cursed deal of trouble,” added the polite lover, seating himself on the sofa, beside Belinda.

“To prevent your giving yourself any further trouble then, sir, on my account,” said Miss Portman ——

“Nay, damme, don’t catch at that unlucky word, trouble, nor look so cursed angry; though it becomes you, too, uncommonly, and I like pride in a handsome woman, if it was only for variety’s sake, for it’s not what one meets with often, now-a-days. As to trouble, all I meant was, the trouble of writing to Mrs. Stanhope, which of course I thank you for saving me; for to be sure, I’d rather (and you can’t blame me for that) have my answer from your own charming lips, if it was only for the pleasure of seeing you blush in this heavenly sort of style.”

“To put an end to this heavenly sort of style, sir,” said Belinda, withdrawing her hand, which the baronet took as if he was confident of its being his willing prize, “I must explicitly assure you, that it is not in my power to encourage your addresses. I am fully sensible,” added Miss Portman, “of the honour Sir Philip Baddely has done me, and I hope he will not be offended by the frankness of my answer.”

“You can’t be in earnest, Miss Portman!” exclaimed the astonished baronet.

“Perfectly in earnest, Sir Philip.”

“Confusion seize me,” cried he, starting up, “if this isn’t the most extraordinary thing I ever heard! Will you do me the honour, madam, to let me know your particular objections to Sir Philip Baddely?”

“My objections,” said Belinda, “cannot be obviated, and therefore it would be useless to state them.”

“Nay, pray, ma’am, do me the favour — I only ask for information sake — is it to Sir Philip Baddely’s fortune, 15,000l. a year, you object, or to his family, or to his person? — Oh, curse it!” said he, changing his tone, “you’re only quizzing me to see how I should look — damn me, you did it too well, you little coquet!”

Belinda again assured him that she was entirely in earnest, and that she was incapable of the sort of coquetry which he ascribed to her.

“Oh, damme, ma’am, then I’ve no more to say — a coquet is a thing I understand as well as another, and if we had been only talking in the air, it would have been another thing; but when I come at once to a proposal in form, and a woman seriously tells me she has objections that cannot be obviated, damme, what must I, or what must the world conclude, but that she’s very unaccountable, or that she’s engaged — which last I presume to be the case, and it would have been a satisfaction to me to have known it sooner — at any rate, it is a satisfaction to me to know it now.”

“I am sorry to deprive you of so much satisfaction,” said Miss Portman, “by assuring you, that I am not engaged to any one.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Lord Delacour, who came to inquire of Miss Portman how his lady did. The baronet, after twisting his little black stick into all manner of shapes, finished by breaking it, and then having no other resource, suddenly wished Miss Portman a good morning, and decamped with a look of silly ill-humour. He was determined to write to Mrs. Stanhope, whose influence over her niece he had no doubt would be decisive in his favour. “Sir Philip seems to be a little out of sorts this morning,” said Lord Delacour: “I am afraid he’s angry with me for interrupting his conversation; but really I did not know he was here, and I wanted to catch you a moment alone, that I might, in the first place, thank you for all your goodness to Lady Delacour. She has had a tedious sprain of it; these nervous fevers and convulsions — I don’t understand them, but I think Dr. X——‘s prescriptions seem to have done her good, for she is certainly better of late, and I am glad to hear music and people again in the house, because I know all this is what my Lady Delacour likes, and there is no reasonable indulgence that I would not willingly allow a wife; but I think there is a medium in all things. I am not a man to be governed by a wife, and when I have once said a thing, I like to be steady and always shall. And I am sure Miss Portman has too much good sense to think me wrong: for now, Miss Portman, in that quarrel about the coach and horses, which you heard part of one morning at breakfast — I must tell you the beginning of that quarrel.”

“Excuse me, my lord, but I would rather hear of the end than of the beginning of quarrels.”

“That shows your good sense as well as your good nature. I wish you could make my Lady Delacour of your taste — she does not want sense — but then (I speak to you freely of all that lies upon my mind, Miss Portman, for I know — I know you have no delight in making mischief in a house,) between you and me, her sense is not of the right kind. A woman may have too much wit — now too much is as bad as too little, and in a woman, worse; and when two people come to quarrel, then wit on either side, but more especially on the wife’s, you know is very provoking —’tis like concealed weapons, which are wisely forbidden by law. If a person kill another in a fray, with a concealed weapon, ma’am, by a sword in a cane, for instance, ’tis murder by the law. Now even if it were not contrary to law, I would never have such a thing in my cane to carry about with me; for when a man’s in a passion he forgets every thing, and would as soon lay about him with a sword as with a cane: so it is better such a thing should not be in his power. And it is the same with wit, which would be safest and best out of the power of some people.”