“Oh, I see,” said Lady Aurora sympathetically. And with a smile she went on: “Then you’re all the more of an exception—in the upper class!”
Her way of taking it was the kindest in the world, but it didn’t blind Hyacinth to the fact that from his own point of view he had been extraordinarily indiscreet. He had believed a moment before that he would have been proof against the strongest temptation to refer to the mysteries of his lineage, inasmuch as if made in a boastful spirit (and he had no desire as yet to treat it as an exercise in humility) any such reference would inevitably contain an element of the grotesque. He had never opened his lips to any one about his birth since the dreadful days when the question was discussed with Mr. Vetch’s assistance in Lomax Place; never even to Paul Muniment, never to Millicent Henning nor to Eustache Poupin. He had his impression that people had ideas about him, and with some of Miss Henning’s he had been made acquainted: these were of such a nature that he sometimes wondered if the tie uniting him to her were not on her own side a secret determination to satisfy her utmost curiosity before she had done with him. But he flattered himself he was impenetrable, and none the less he had begun to swagger idiotically the first time a temptation (really to call a temptation) presented itself. He turned crimson as soon as he had spoken, partly at the sudden image of what he had to swagger about and partly at the absurdity of a challenge from the model of civility before him. He hoped she didn’t particularly regard what he had said—and indeed she gave no sign whatever of being startled by his claim to a pedigree, she had too much quick delicacy for that; she appeared to notice only the symptoms of confusion that followed. But as soon as possible he gave himself a lesson in humility by remarking: “I gather you spend most of your time among the poor and I’m sure you carry blessings with you. But I frankly confess I don’t understand a lady’s giving herself up to people like us when there’s no obligation. Wretched company we must be when there’s so much better to be had.”
“I like it very much—you don’t understand.”
“Precisely—that’s what I say. Our little friend on the bed is perpetually talking about your house, your family, your splendours, your gardens and greenhouses. They must be magnificent of course—”
“Oh, I wish she wouldn’t; really I wish she wouldn’t. It makes one feel dreadfully!” Lady Aurora interposed with vehemence.
“Ah, you had better give her her way; it’s such a pleasure to her.”
“Yes, more than to any of us!” sighed her ladyship helplessly.
“Well, how can you leave all those beautiful things to come and breathe this beastly air, surround yourself with hideous images and associate with people whose smallest fault is that they’re ignorant, brutal and dirty? I don’t speak of the ladies here present,” Hyacinth added with the manner which most made Millicent Henning (who at once admired and hated it) wonder where on earth he had got it.
“Oh, I wish I could make you understand!” cried Lady Aurora, looking at him with troubled, appealing eyes and as if he were unexpectedly discouraging.
“But when all’s said I think I do understand! Charity exists in your nature as a kind of passion.”