"Your regard to your lady deserves the highest approbation, Marriott," said Belinda. "It is impossible that I should stay with her any longer. When I am gone, good Marriott, and when her health and strength decline, your fidelity and your services will be absolutely necessary to your mistress; and from what I have seen of the goodness of your heart, I am convinced that the more she is in want of you, the more _respectful_ will be your attention."
Marriott answered only by her tears, and went on packing up in a great hurry.
Nothing could equal Lady Delacour's astonishment when she learnt from Marriott that Miss Portman was actually preparing to leave the house. After a moment's reflection, however, she persuaded herself that this was only a new artifice to work upon her affections; that Belinda did not mean to leave her; but that she would venture all lengths, in hopes of being at the last moment pressed to stay. Under this persuasion, Lady Delacour resolved to disappoint her expectations: she determined to meet her with that polite coldness which would best become her own dignity, and which, without infringing the laws of hospitality, would effectually point out to the world that Lady Delacour was no dupe, and that Miss Portman was an unwelcome inmate in her house.
The power of assuming gaiety when her heart was a prey to the most poignant feelings, she had completely acquired by long practice. With the promptitude of an actress, she could instantly appear upon the stage, and support a character totally foreign to her own. The loud knocks at the door, which announced the arrival of company, were signals that operated punctually upon her associations; and to this species of conventional necessity her most violent passions submitted with magical celerity. Fresh rouged, and beautifully dressed, she was performing her part to a brilliant audience in her drawing-room when Belinda entered. Belinda beheld her with much astonishment, but more pity.
"Miss Portman," said her ladyship, turning carelessly towards her, "where do you buy your rouge?--Lady Singleton, would you rather at this moment be mistress of the philosopher's stone, or have a patent for rouge that will come and go like Miss Portman's?--Apropos! have you read St. Leon?" Her ladyship was running on to a fresh train of ideas, when a footman announced the arrival of Lady Anne Percival's carriage; and Miss Portman rose to depart.