Something in her tone would seem to imply that Gaston Arbuthnot’s married life had been a spoiled life, or so it seemed to Dinah’s irritated heart. Dinah felt that the half dozen words must have yielded latent hints of her own intellectual shortcomings, hints which Linda Thorne’s talent for filling up blanks had developed into certainty.
‘The next part of the ceremony was the introduction to Madame de Camors and the children—two small Parisian coquettes, about the age of my Rahnee, who fell in love with Mr. Arbuthnot on the spot.’
‘Little children fall in love with Gaston always,’ said Dinah hastily.
‘The family party was taking its departure, it seemed, under the broiling sun, to a children’s ball at Luc Casino. At a word from papa the small imps seized a hand each of Gas ..., of Mr. Arbuthnot, and dragged him away nolens volens. All children are tyrants,’ generalised Linda, with a dismal yawn, occasioned probably by the recollection of her virtuously spent afternoon, ‘but these terrible French children are the worst of all. Perhaps it is in imitation of the Americans. I consider the way American infants are brought forward in public places is a disgrace to the century.’
‘You think children without exception should be kept in their nurseries’?’
Dinah called to mind a group of four that passed her window on their road to the rose-show. She remembered a small figure dancing with exultation on rainbow-hued flounces.
‘My dear soul! Fancy putting such a question to me, a mother! Of course I make an exception of my own daughter. She is a good quiet little monkey,’ added Linda; ‘although Mr. Arbuthnot is positively spoiling her fast—I hope I impose her on no one. Children, as a rule, I look upon from the governess point of view. You know how my bread was earned when I was young?’
‘Mr. Arbuthnot has told me that he first met you in Paris.’
‘Yes, in the domestic service of Madame Moïse Benjamin. I got twenty pounds a year and my washing. I had to sleep under the roof, to play dance music, to remodel Madame’s dresses, to teach English to the three girl Benjamins and a boy—ah, that boy!’ said Linda, between her teeth. ‘If you think me like Becky Sharpe ... confess now, you do think me like Becky Sharpe?’