“Then too,” said Charles, shifting a little in his chair, “there’s another thing.—I’d tackle Grattan; but girls hang by each other. You might prevent little Carrie from thinking me a reprobate.”
“How?” said Amethyst.
“Well—tell her it’s nothing uncommon. Might happen to any gentleman. ‘As drunk as a lord’ is a proverb, you know. I shan’t make a bad husband—assure you I shan’t.”
Amethyst stood by the table, perfectly silent. She felt that, if she spoke, her tongue would sting worse than ever Tory’s could.
“But of course,” said Charles, more freely, and getting a little angry, “if you tell her that when a fellow’s once down he’s always down, she’ll give me the sack. And that’s what all you women do think, specially the religious ones. You think yourselves so much better than other people!”
“No, Charles, we don’t,” said another voice; and Una, who had come into the room while he was speaking, came forward, and stood near him, her slight swaying figure leaning against the table, and her large melancholy eyes fixed on his face. “Indeed we don’t think that. We know—religion—will help every one.”
“Hallo!” said Charles, “little Una talking goody! What? Do you think I shall turn pious?”
“I think,” said Una, “that God will help you just as much as He helps me. And, indeed, we don’t despise you.”
“Oh, Una!” said Charles, in an odd, simple voice, “He’ll punish me. Why, I never said my prayers since I went to school. But I should go to church, if my wife wanted me to, and I’d rather she was strict. You can tell little Carrie so, Una. And look here—a man don’t mean anything, you know, if a word slips out ladies aren’t accustomed to, specially after dinner. Tell her so—there’s a good girl. You mean to say a kind thing.”
What Una might have answered was interrupted by the entrance of Lord Haredale, who called his son away, rather curtly, and Amethyst broke out—