“This is better than I deserve.”
“Mrs. Rudderson told me one day that she was going to try a social experiment. She was then a widow, thirty-six, good to look at, good natured, and comfortably off. To amuse herself she was going to bring a poor girl from a small town, fit her out, and give her a winter. The poor girl was attractive and clever, and Mrs. Rudderson gave her the most worldly advice she knew how to give,—and Mrs. Rudderson knows the world pretty well. Before Christmas the experiment was moving along swimmingly. Mrs. Rudderson saw to it that her protégée met some of the most desirable men in the city, including Austin Crimwell, who had several times been reported as being committed to Mrs. Rudderson. Probably Mrs. Rudderson didn’t deserve what happened, for, if she had amused herself with the experiment, she took a benevolent pleasure in watching the success of the girl; but Crimwell fell plump in love with the protégée. Mrs. Rudderson should have known better. It is easy to say that now.”
“I haven’t said it.”
“Somebody must say it if I have to say it myself. It was tempting Providence.”
“That is to say, Crimwell.”
“You understand,” pursued Miss Rittingway, without swerving, “she was a nice girl, and Mrs. Rudderson’s idea was to give her a great chance.”
“But not Crimwell.”
“You couldn’t say it was the ingratitude of the girl. She didn’t know. It simply was the ingratitude of circumstances.”
When I suggested that Circumstances were old offenders, Miss Rittingway went on, looking past me: “I can imagine Mrs. Rudderson, when she saw Crimwell drifting, studying herself in the mirror. You know she was only thirty-six.”