"Oh, do not smile in that horrid manner!"
"Why not?--'Horrid!--Don't you love deceit?"
"Indeed!" said Lady Delacour, still speaking in the same low, soft, unnatural voice: "then why do you practise it, my love?"
"I never practised it for a moment--I am incapable of deceit. When you are _really_ calm, when you can _really_ command yourself, you will do me justice, Lady Delacour; but now it is my business, if I can, to bear with you."
"You are goodness itself, and gentleness, and prudence personified. You know perfectly how to _manage_ a friend, whom you fear you have driven just to the verge of madness. But tell me, good, gentle, prudent Miss Portman, why need you dread so much that I should go mad? You know, if I went mad, nobody would mind, nobody would believe whatever I say--I should be no evidence against you, and I should be out of your way sufficiently, shouldn't I? And you would have all the power in your own hands, would not you? And would not this be almost as well as if I were dead and buried? No; your calculations are better than mine. The poor mad wife would still be in your way, would yet stand between you and the fond object of your secret soul--a coronet!"
As she pronounced the word _coronet_, she pointed to a coronet set in diamonds on her watch-case, which lay on the table. Then suddenly seizing the watch, she dashed it upon the marble hearth with all her force--"Vile bauble!" cried she; "must I lose my only friend for such a thing as you? Oh, Belinda! do you see that a coronet cannot confer happiness?"
"I have seen it long: I pity you from the bottom of my soul," said Belinda, bursting into tears.
"Pity me not. I cannot endure your pity, treacherous woman!" cried Lady Delacour, and she stamped with a look of rage--"most perfidious of women!"
"Yes, call me perfidious, treacherous--stamp at me--say, do what you will; I can and will bear it all--all patiently; for I am innocent, and you are mistaken and unhappy," said Belinda. "You will love me when you return to your senses; then how can I be angry with you?"
"Fondle me not," said Lady Delacour, starting back from Belinda's caresses: "do not degrade yourself to no purpose--I never more can be your dupe. Your protestations of innocence are wasted on me--I am not so blind as you imagine--dupe as you think me, I have seen much in silence. The whole world, you find, suspects you now. To save your reputation, you want my friendship--you want--"