“What! is he not an officer and a gentleman of property?” cried Betsy.
“He is both. Was no further passport necessary to obtain his admission to your father’s house?” asked Long.
She shook her head.
“I am afraid that my father has never been very particular in the matter of admitting people to our house,” she replied. “Ah! that is one of the most distressing things about our life—the life of people who are dependent on the good-will of the public for their daily bread: we cannot afford to offend any one.”
“You are thereby deprived of one of the greatest luxuries in life—the pleasure of offending the offensive,” said he, smiling. “But quite apart from being cut off from this enjoyment, I really fail to see how your father’s profession —and yours—gives the right to every adventurer to your society. It is one thing to be debarred the privilege of hurting the feelings of those who should be subjected to such treatment, and quite another to admit to your house every visitor who may come thither with no further credentials than his own impudence.”
“That is what I have always felt,” said she. “I have felt that that is one of the greatest hardships of our life. But all our life is made up of these things from which I shrink. Ah, I told you all this long ago.”
“Yes, I shall not soon forget the hour when you opened your own sweet maiden heart to me,” said he. “I had long been lost in admiration of your beauty and the unspeakable charm of your singing. I fancied more than once, however, that I noticed in your manner a certain shrinking from the favours which the public are ever ready to fling upon their favourites—yes, for a time, until a fresher favourite comes before them. I felt that that expression of timidity was the one thing by which your beauty was capable of being enhanced, but I never doubted for a moment that your shrinking from the gaze of the public was part of your nature.”
“It is indeed an unhappy part of my nature; but I have not been deaf to the cruel comments which some people have made upon me in that respect,” said she, and her face became roseate at the recollection of how her timidity had been referred to as affectation.
“I have heard such comments too; they came from women who were overwhelmed by their jealousy of your beauty and your genius.”