Tales and Novels, vol 3 | Page 8

a few seconds, as she

stood contemplating Marriott and the dresses. The hurry of getting
ready for the masquerade, however, dispelled these thoughts, and by
the time she was dressed, the idea of what Clarence Hervey would
think of her appearance was uppermost in her mind. She was anxious to
know whether he would discover her in the character of the comic
muse. Lady Delacour was discontented with her tragic attire, and she
grew still more out of humour with herself, when she saw Belinda.
"I protest Marriott has made a perfect fright of me," said her ladyship,
as she got into her carriage, "and I'm positive my dress would become
you a million of times better than your own."
Miss Portman regretted that it was too late to change.
"Not at all too late, my dear," said Lady Delacour; "never too late for
women to change their minds, their dress, or their lovers. Seriously,
you know, we are to call at my friend Lady Singleton's--she sees masks
to-night: I'm quite intimate there; I'll make her let me step up to her
own room, where no soul can interrupt us, and there we can change our
dresses, and Marriott will know nothing of the matter. Marriott's a
faithful creature, and very fond of me; fond of power too--but who is
not?--we must all have our faults: one would not quarrel with such a
good creature as Marriott for a trifle." Then suddenly changing her tone,
she said, "Not a human being will find us out at the masquerade; for no
one but Mrs. Freke knows that we are the two muses. Clarence Hervey
swears he should know me in any disguise--but I defy him--I shall take
special delight in puzzling him. Harriot Freke has told him, in
confidence, that I'm to be the widow Brady, in man's clothes: now that's
to be Harriot's own character; so Hervey will make fine confusion."
As soon as they got to Lady Singleton's, Lady Delacour and Miss
Portman 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 the power, when
pronounced in a certain tone, of throwing Belinda into confusion.
The first person they saw, when they went into the drawing-room at
Lady Singleton's, was this very Clarence Hervey, who was not in a
masquerade dress. He had laid a wager with one of his acquaintance,
that he could perform the part of the serpent, such as he is seen in
Fuseli's well-known picture. For this purpose he had exerted much
ingenuity in the invention and execution of a length of coiled skin,
which he manoeuvred with great dexterity, by means of internal wires;
his grand difficulty had been to manufacture the rays that were to come
from his eyes. He had contrived a set of phosphoric rays, which he was
certain would charm all the fair daughters of Eve. He forgot, it seems,

that phosphorus could not well be seen by candlelight. When he