“You’ll have a better opinion of them when you know them,” said Edna, once more serene and sweetly friendly.
“I don’t think badly of them,” I replied. “I admire their cleverness. But you mustn’t ask me to respect them. They hardly expect it. They don’t respect themselves. If they did, they’d not be stealing, but working.”
Margot listened with lowered eyes. I saw that she was ashamed of and for me. Edna concealed her feelings better. She forced an amiable smile. “I don’t know much about these things,” she said politely. “But, Godfrey, you mustn’t desert us, at least not until after the drawing-room. I’ve told our ambassador you’re to be here, and he has gone to no end of trouble to arrange for you.”
“Howard?” said I. “That pup! I despise him. He’s a rotten old snob. They tell me his toadyism turns the stomach of even the English. He’s a disgrace to our country. But I suppose he’s little if any worse than most of our ambassadors over here. They’ve all bought their jobs to gratify their own and their wives’ taste for shoe polish.”
This speech so depressed the ladies that their last remnant of vivacity fled, not to return. You are sympathizing with them, gentle reader, and they are welcome to your sympathy. We drove in silence the rest of the way to the hotel in Piccadilly, where they were installed in pompous luxury and had made equally luxurious provision for me. When I was alone with my valet I reasoned myself out of the grouchy mood into which the evidences of my family’s fresh access of folly had thrown me. To quarrel with them, to be irritated against them, was about as unreasonable as attacking a black man for not being white. I had long since realized, as the result of much experience and reflection, that character is no more to be changed than any other inborn quality. My wife had been born an aristocrat, and had brought into the world an aristocratic daughter. She was to be blamed neither for the one thing nor for the other. And it ill became my pretensions to superior intellect to gird at her and at Margot. The thing for me to do was to let them alone—keep away.
At dinner, which was served in our apartment, I took a different tone with them, and they met me more than half way. So cheered was my lovely daughter that after dinner she perched on the arm of my chair and ventured to bring up the dangerous subject. Said she:
“You’re not going to be mean to me and run away, are you, papa?”
Looking at Edna, but addressing Margot, I replied: “Your mother will tell you that it’s best. We three never can agree in our ideas of things. I’m an irritation. I spoil your pleasure.”
“No—no, indeed!” cried the girl. “I’ve been looking forward to your coming. I’ve been telling everybody how handsome and superior you are. And I want them to see for themselves.”
Most pleasant to hear from such rare prettiness, and most sincerely spoken.