 favour. A young gentleman, of large fortune, great talents, and uncommon powers of pleasing, has, for some months, been her secret object; but he has been prudent enough to escape her matrimonial snares, though he carries on a correspondence with her, through the means of her friend the viscountess, to whom he privately writes. The noble lady has bargained to make over to her confidante all her interest in Hervey's heart. He is expected every day to return from his tour; and, if the schemes upon him can be brought to bear, the promised return to the neighbourhood of Harrowgate will never be thought of. Mr. Vincent will be left in the lurch; he will not even have the lady's fair hand—her fair heart is Clarence Hervey's, at all events. Further particulars shall be communicated to Mr. Vincent, if he pays due attention to this warning from
"A SINCERE FRIEND."
As soon as Belinda had finished this curious production, she thanked Mr. Vincent, with more kindness than she had ever before shown him, for the confidence he placed in her, and for the openness with which he treated her. She begged his permission to show this letter to Lady Delacour, though he had previously dreaded the effect which it might have upon her ladyship's feelings.
Her first exclamation was, "This is one of Harriot Freke's frolics;" but as her ladyship's indignation against Mrs. Freke had long since subsided into utter contempt, she did not waste another thought upon the writer of this horrible letter; but instantly the whole energy of her mind and fire of her eloquence burst forth in an eulogium upon her friend. Careless of all that concerned herself, she explained, without a moment's hesitation, every thing that could exalt Belinda: she described all the difficult circumstances in which her friend had been placed; she mentioned the secret with which she had been intrusted; the honour with which, even at the hazard of her own reputation, she had kept her promise of secrecy inviolable, when Lord Delacour, in a fit of intoxication and jealousy, had endeavoured to wrest from Marriott the key of the mysterious boudoir. She confessed her own absurd jealousy, explained how it had been excited by the artifices of Champfort and Sir Philip Baddely, how slight circumstances had worked her mind up almost to frenzy. "The temper, the dignity, the gentleness, the humanity, with which Belinda bore with me, during this paroxysm of madness," said Lady Delacour, "I never can forget; nor the
