“One of the consequences of your having a house will be that you’ll have to entertain the Texan belle,” our young man said.
Littlemore sat there with his hands crossed on his stick; he looked at his friend with an eye that failed to kindle at the mention of this lady’s name. “Has she got into European society?” he rather languidly inquired.
“Very much, I should say. She has a house and a carriage and diamonds and everything handsome. She seems already to know a lot of people; they put her name in the Morning Post. She has come up very quickly; she’s almost famous. Every one’s asking about her—you’ll be plied with questions.”
Littlemore listened gravely. “How did she get in?”
“She met a large party at Longlands and made them all think her great fun. They must have taken her up; she only wanted a start.”
Her old friend rallied after a moment to the interest of this news, marking his full appreciation of it by a burst of laughter. “To think of Nancy Beck! The people here do beat the Dutch! There’s no one they won’t go after. They wouldn’t touch her in New York.”
“Oh New York’s quite old-fashioned and rococo,” said Waterville; and he announced to Littlemore that Lady Demesne was very eager for his arrival and wanted his aid to prevent her son’s bringing such a person into the family. Littlemore was apparently not alarmed at her ladyship’s projects, and intimated, in the manner of a man who thought them rather impertinent, that he could trust himself to keep out of her way. “It isn’t a proper marriage at any rate,” the second secretary urged.
“Why not if he loves her?”
“Oh if that’s all you want!”—which seemed a degree of cynicism startling to his companion.
“Would you marry her yourself?”