“Well, I vow,” said he, “’tis a toy for a king. Whence come you, child? From my sister? She was wise to dismiss you, egad!”
XXIII.
I AM MADE FORTUNE’S MISTRESS
I have ruled myself all my life to be none but Fortune’s mistress. Let who will question it, the gift of fine clothes has never bought my independence. Honesty, as the little plant of that name tells us, may go dressed in satin. And, as with me, so would I have it with my sister.
I was not long in discovering that I had erred in bringing her to Berkeley Square, though I will not, for her sake, detail the processes of my enlightenment. Let it suffice to say that the nobleman, my guardian, was not exactly intellectual. He was one of those who, like Tony Lumpkin, reckon beauty by bulk; and in that respect, it is certain, Patty could more than fill my place with him. She had no notion, of course, dear innocent, that she was being invited to do so. She was all blindness and affection; but that made it none the less my duty to save her the consequences of her own simplicity, seeing how it was I had unwittingly brought it imperilled. The worldly may sneer and welcome. That I did preserve her, and at the last cost to myself, is the only proof needed of that same disinterested honesty which in the beginning had welcomed her, without a selfish second thought, to its arms.
Now, the moment I realised my mistake, I set myself to combat its results. I think I may say I gave my lord some mauvais quarts d’heure. He, for his part, when I thought it time to throw off the mask, did not spare me insult and brutality. In very disdain I will not report the quarrel. And all the while the silly child its subject trembled apart, in an atmosphere she felt but could not understand, while the shepherdess and the butcher disputed for her possession.
At length came the climax. One day, at the end of a furious scene, he told me roundly that he had had enough of me, and that it would be well for me to agree to commute my proposed settlement for—for what? A sum that was less than a valet’s pension. I refused it; I refused everything. Let that at least speak in my vindication. He assured me that in that case I had nothing further to expect from him. The dotard! Did he laugh when I told him, perfectly quietly, that I quite understood that the debt was mine, and that I should pay it? Did he still count himself the better tactician, when I affected to be terrified over my own rashness, and to slink away from him to lament and reconsider?
I went straight to my bedroom, where for an hour or two I sat writing. At the end, I despatched two letters, one to the World, one to Mr. Roper, who lived hard by, and whose reply I set myself to await with what philosophy I could muster. It came in a little; and then, singing, I sought out Patty, in the pretty boudoir that was hers of late. She flew to greet me, and coaxed me to a couch. The moment we were seated, I hushed her head into my breast.
“Patty,” I whispered, “do you love the earl?”
I could feel her breath stop, then recover itself in wonder.
“He is so good to us, Diana—like a father. And I had always lived in such terror of his mere name. How easily we may be deceived.”