“Oh Mr. Muniment, Mr. Muniment!” Rosy exclaimed with exaggerated solemnity, holding up at him a straight, attenuated forefinger. Then she added: “No, she doesn’t do you good, that beautiful, brilliant woman.”
“Give her time, my dear—give her time,” said Paul, looking at his watch.
“Of course you’re impatient, but you must hear me. I’ve no doubt she’ll wait for you—you won’t lose your turn. But what would you do, please, if any one was to break down altogether?”
“My bonnie lassie,” the young man returned, “if you only keep going I don’t care who fails.”
“Oh I shall keep going, if it’s only to look after my friends and get justice for them,” said Miss Muniment—“the delicate, sensitive creatures who require support and protection. Have you really forgotten that we’ve such a one as that?”
The young man walked to the window with his hands in his pockets and looked out at the fading light. “Why does she go herself then, if she doesn’t like her?”
Rose Muniment hesitated a moment. “Well, I’m glad I’m not a man!” she broke out. “I think a woman on her back’s sharper than a man on his two legs. And you such a wonderful one too!”
“You’re all too sharp for me, my dear. If she goes—and twenty times a week too—why shouldn’t I go once in ever so long? Especially as I like her and Lady Aurora doesn’t.”
“Lady Aurora doesn’t? Do you think she’d be guilty of hypocrisy? Lady Aurora delights in her; she won’t let me say that she’s fit to dust the Princess’s shoes. I needn’t tell you how she goes down before them she likes. And I don’t believe you care a button; you’ve something in your head, some wicked game or other, that you think she can hatch for you.”
At this he turned round and looked at her a moment, smiling still and whistling just audibly. “Why shouldn’t I care? Ain’t I soft, ain’t I susceptible?”