Mrs. Stanhope, a well-bred woman, accomplished in the art of rising in
the world, had, with but a small fortune, contrived to live in the
highest company. She prided herself upon having established half a dozen
nieces most happily--that is to say, upon having married them to men of
fortunes far superior to their own. One niece still remained unmarried,
Belinda Portman, of whom she determined to get rid with all convenient
expedition; but finding that, owing to declining health, she could not
go out with her as much as she wished, she succeeded in fastening her
upon the fashionable Lady Delacour for a winter in London.

"Nothing, to my mind, can be more miserable than the situation of a poor
girl who fails in her matrimonial expectations (as many do merely from
not beginning to speculate in time)," she wrote from Bath. "She finds
herself at five or six-and-thirty a burden to her friends, destitute of
the means of rendering herself independent--for the girls I speak of
never think of _learning_ to play cards--_de trop_ in society, yet
obliged to hang upon all her acquaintances, who wish her in heaven,
because she is unqualified to make the _expected_ return for civilities,
having no home--I mean no establishment, no house, etc.--fit for the
reception of company of certain rank. My dearest Belinda, may this never
be your case. I have sent your bracelet to you by Mr. Clarence Hervey,
an acquaintance of Lady Delacour, an uncommonly pleasant young man,
highly connected, a wit and a gallant, and having a fine independent
fortune; so, my dear Belinda, I make it a point--look well when he is
introduced to you, and remember that nobody _can_ look well without
taking some pains to please."

Belinda had been charmed by Lady Delacour, who was the most agreeable,
the most fascinating person she had ever beheld; and to be a visitor at
her house was a delightful privilege. But, a short time after her
arrival, she began to see through the thin veil with which politeness
covers domestic misery. Abroad, Lady Delacour appeared all spirit, life,
and good humour; at home, listless, fretful, and melancholy, a prey to
thoughts, seemingly, of the most painful nature.

The first time Belinda saw his lordship he was dead drunk in the arms of
two footmen; his lady, who had just returned from Ranelagh, passed him
on the stairs with the utmost contempt.

"Don't look so shocked and amazed, Belinda. Don't look so _new_, child.
This funeral of my