“I think all women like that,” she sighed. “We could all of us be good if the person we love went on being demonstrative. It is the cold matter-of-fact devotion that kills love, and makes one want to look elsewhere to find it again.”
Then we talked of possibilities about the Duke. I told her I knew his toquade, and she, of course, was fully acquainted with mamma’s history.
“I must tell you, dear, I fear he will be difficult,” she said. “He is a strangely prejudiced person, and obstinate to a degree, and he worships Robert, as we all do.”
I would not ask her if the Duke had taken a dislike to me, because I knew he had.
“I asked you to meet him on Saturday on purpose,” she continued. “I felt sure your charm would impress him, as it had done me, and as it did my husband—but I wonder now if it would have been better to wait. He said, after you were gone, that you were much too beautiful for the peace of any family, and he pitied Mr. Carruthers if he married you! I don’t mean to hurt you, child. I am only telling you everything, so that we may consult how best to act.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, and I squeezed her hand again; she does not put out claws like Lady Ver.
“How did he know anything about Mr. Carruthers?” I asked, “or me—or anything?”
She looked ashamed.
“One can never tell how he hears things. He was intensely interested to meet you, and seemed to be acquainted with more of the affair than I am. I almost fear he must obtain his information from the servants.”
“Oh, does not that show the housemaid in him! Poor fellow!” I said, “He can’t help it, then, any more than I could help crying yesterday before Robert in the Park. Of course we would neither of us have done these things if it were not for the tache in our backgrounds, only, fortunately for me, mine wasn’t a housemaid, and was one generation further back, so I would not be likely to have any of those tricks.”