“You needn’t talk about her as if she was a monster—I mean were,” corrected herself Miss Fossett, with a hasty glance towards the Wee Laddie. “There isn’t a man I know that’s worthy of her.”
“I mean,” explained the doctor, “dat he must be a man of character—of brain. Id is de noble man dat is attracted by de noble woman.”
“By the chorus-girl more often,” suggested Miss Fossett.
“We must hope for the best,” counselled Peter. “I cannot believe that a clever, capable woman like Mary Ramsbotham would make a fool of herself.”
“From what I have seen,” replied Miss Fossett, “it’s just the clever people—as regards this particular matter—who do make fools of themselves.”
Unfortunately Miss Fossett’s judgment proved to be correct. On being introduced a fortnight later to Miss Ramsbotham’s fiancé, the impulse of Bohemia was to exclaim, “Great Scott! Whatever in the name of—” Then on catching sight of Miss Ramsbotham’s transfigured face and trembling hands Bohemia recollected itself in time to murmur instead: “Delighted, I’m sure!” and to offer mechanical congratulations. Reginald Peters was a pretty but remarkably foolish-looking lad of about two-and-twenty, with curly hair and receding chin; but to Miss Ramsbotham evidently a promising Apollo. Her first meeting with him had taken place at one of the many political debating societies then in fashion, attendance at which Miss Ramsbotham found useful for purposes of journalistic “copy.” Miss Ramsbotham, hitherto a Radical of pronounced views, he had succeeded under three months in converting into a strong supporter of the Gentlemanly Party. His feeble political platitudes, which a little while before she would have seized upon merrily to ridicule, she now sat drinking in, her plain face suffused with admiration. Away from him and in connection with those subjects—somewhat numerous—about which he knew little and cared less, she retained her sense and humour; but in his presence she remained comparatively speechless, gazing up into his somewhat watery eyes with the grateful expression of one learning wisdom from a master.
Her absurd adoration—irritating beyond measure to her friends, and which even to her lover, had he possessed a grain of sense, would have appeared ridiculous—to Master Peters was evidently a gratification. Of selfish, exacting nature, he must have found the services of this brilliant woman of the world of much practical advantage. Knowing all the most interesting people in London, it was her pride and pleasure to introduce him everywhere. Her friends put up with him for her sake; to please her made him welcome, did their best to like him, and disguised their failure. The free entry to a places of amusement saved his limited purse. Her influence, he had instinct enough to perceive, could not fail to be of use to him in his profession: that of a barrister. She praised him to prominent solicitors, took him to tea with judges’ wives, interested examiners on his behalf. In return he overlooked her many disadvantages, and did not fail to let her know it. Miss Ramsbotham’s gratitude was boundless.
“I do so wish I were younger and better looking,” she sighed to the bosom friend. “For myself, I don’t mind; I have got used to it. But it is so hard on Reggie. He feels it, I know he does, though he never openly complains.”
“He would be a cad if he did,” answered Susan Fossett, who having tried conscientiously for a month to tolerate the fellow, had in the end declared her inability even to do more than avoid open expression of cordial dislike. “Added to which I don’t quite see of what use it would be. You never told him you were young and pretty, did you?”
“I told him, my dear,” replied Miss Ramsbotham, “the actual truth. I don’t want to take any credit for doing so; it seemed the best course. You see, unfortunately, I look my age. With most men it would have made a difference. You have no idea how good he is. He assured me he had engaged himself to me with his eyes open, and that there was no need to dwell upon unpleasant topics. It is so wonderful to me that he should care for me—he who could have half the women in London at his feet.”