“We’ve been working at it for weeks, mamma and I,” continued she. “I’m sure we shall do well. I can hardly wait. Just fancy! I’m to meet the king and the queen!”
I saw that Edna was in the same ecstatic trance. I leaned back and tried to distract myself with the novelty of London houses and crowds. It may be you understand the mingling of pity, contempt, anger, and amusement that filled my breast. If you do not understand, explanation would merely weary you. I was no longer proud of my beautiful family; I wished to get away from them, to forget them. Edna and Margot chatted on and on about the king and queen, about the various titled people they knew or hoped to know, about the thrills of aristocratic society. I tried not to listen. After a while I said, with I hope not unsuccessful attempt at amiability:
“I’m sorry I shan’t be here to witness your triumph.”
Across Edna’s face swept a flash of vivid—I had almost said vicious—annoyance. “You’re not going before the drawing-room at Buckingham Palace!” cried she.
“I’ll have to,” said I.
“But you can’t!” protested Margot, tears of vexation in her eyes. “Everyone will think it’s dreadfully queer.”
“Don’t fret about that, my dear,” replied I lightly. “I know how it is over here. So long as you’ve got the cash they’ll never ask a question. We Americans mean money to them—and that’s all.”
“Oh, papa!” cried Margot.
“Don’t put such ideas into the child’s head, Godfrey,” said my wife, restraining herself in a most ladylike manner.
“She knows,” said I. “So do you. Money is everything with aristocracies everywhere. They must live luxuriously without work. That can’t be done without money—lots of money. So aristocrats seriously think of nothing else, whatever they may talk.”