“Yes. Nothing much for all he has to keep up. He says he is a poor rich man. Lots of the farms are on his hands. There is the big London house, the villa at Cannes, this place, with fifty servants. And mother is a bad manager, and frightfully extravagant.”
“Well, av course I’ve always been poor, and twenty pounds seems a fortune. Tell me, Tito, why do ye spend so much on yer back?”
“Because I must be in the swim. One cannot be seen over and over in the same gown. When I go on a three days’ visit, I take at least a dozen frocks. Then, I’m plain—I require dressing. Now you could wear anything.”
“Is that so? or are ye joking?”
“Why, you know you are most awfully pretty! I say”—and she pulled up a cushion with a tug and selected a fresh cigarette—“don’t you feel a bit funny? Outside you look all right”—she paused and surveyed her companion critically, then resumed, “but how is your mind? How are you inside?”
“Faix, then I’ll tell you! I feel just as you would if, after being reared in grandeur all your life, you were suddenly struck down below stairs, among a pack of strangers, and told to scour the pots, and wash up dishes.”
“I’d be bound to smash everything before me.”
“That’s just how I feel,” said Joseline with fervour. “I’m sure to break lots of things.”
“You mean the laws of good manners. Well, you will soon learn; you see, you are a lady born.”
“But I’ve lived all my life as a working girl”—and she held out her hands. “I may be Lady Joseline to look at, but I’m just Mary Foley dressed up.”