“It means,” said Annas, “that you are indifferent in the matter of politics.”
“If it meant only that,” I said, “I should not think much about it. But surely it means more, much more. It means that I am disloyal; that I do not care whether the King or the Elector wins the day; or even that I do care, and am willing to hide my belief for fashion’s or money’s sake. This red ribbon on me is a lie; and an acted lie is no better than a spoken one.”
My Aunt Dorothea came in so immediately after I had spoken that I felt sure she must have heard me.
“Dear me, what a fuss about a bit of ribbon!” said she. “Cary, don’t be a little goose.”
“Aunt, I only want to be true!” cried I. “It is my truth I make a fuss about, not my ribbons. I will wear a ribbon of every colour in the rainbow, if Grandmamma wish it, except just this one which tells falsehoods about me.”
“My dear, it is so unbecoming in you to be thus warm!” said my Aunt Dorothea. “Enthusiasm is always in bad taste, no matter what it is about. You will not see half-a-dozen ladies in the room in white ribbons. Nobody expects the Prince to come South.”
“But, Aunt, please give me leave to say that it will not alter my truthfulness, whether the Prince comes to London or goes to the North Pole!” cried I. “If the Elector himself—”
“’Sh-’sh!” said my Aunt Dorothea. “My dear, that sort of thing may be very well at Brocklebank, but it really will not do in Bloomsbury Square. You must not bring your wild, antiquated Tory notions here. Tories are among the extinct animals.”
“Not while my father is alive, please, Aunt.”
“My dear, we are not at Brocklebank, as I told you just now,” answered my Aunt Dorothea. “It may be all very well to toast the Chevalier, and pray for him, and so forth—(I am sure I don’t know whether it do him any good): but when you come to living in the world with other people, you must do as they do.—Yes, Perkins, certainly, put Miss Courtenay a red ribbon, and Miss Drummond also.—My dear girls, you must.”