“I told him,” said Lizzie, “that I knew how he had leaned upon me and that under other circumstances I would gladly have become his wife, but now it was impossible. Mrs. Puckle was the obstacle. He might think me unchristian if he liked, but I could not breathe in the same parish with that woman.”
So much for Lizzie’s affairs, and with respect to mine she said: “Eva, I do hope you will never regret this step. I know you have always longed to go to India and I must confess I envy you. I too would like to flap and spread my wings. But you ought to go out under proper auspices. Who are these Hayes-Billingtons?”
She had met them at Rumpelmayers, and somehow they had not coalesced. Mrs. Hayes-Billington was lofty in her manner, and inclined to be condescending to Miss Lingard’s late governess—who scrutinised that very beautiful chaperon with keenly observant eyes.
“He may be Mrs. Paget-Taylor’s cousin, but these Hayes-Billingtons are not in your class—hard up and pretentious. I may be quite wrong, but the man looks as if he drank, and the woman, although undoubtedly handsome, is so made up. My dear Eva, your aunt must be desperately anxious to get rid of you! If the worst happens cable to me and come back to the flat. I am not sure that your little skiff is sufficiently weather-tight to battle among the waves of Indian society.”
“I know you are a good judge of character, Lizzie, and before I ‘take to the water’ I wish you would tell me something about myself. You have carte blanche to say what you like—I shall not be offended.”
“Well, it will be no news to you that you have a strong will, and heaps of vitality and staying power; are naturally impulsive and much too talkative, also, in a way, deceptive. Your real feelings are not easily moved, and, except for sick people and animals, your heart is rather hard.”
“Oh Lizzie!” I exclaimed.
“Oh Eva!” she echoed. “This is, in a way, true. When you dislike a person it is for always. For instance, nothing would ever make you really care for your aunt and Clara; or at Beke for Mr. Chesterfield and Eliza the cook. On the other hand, your affections are staunch and unchangeable, you idealise your friends far beyond their deserts, and refuse to see a single flaw in their characters. Take, for example, Ronnie. To you he is absolutely perfect, a sort of little god; if it came to a pinch I believe you would make any sacrifice for him.”
“Yes,” I answered stoutly, “any—and glad of the chance!”
“Ronnie is a good sort and fond of you, but he is by no means a stable character. Yours is by far the stronger of the two.”