“What’s a goddess?” was the next question.
He explained as best he could, and, unwilling to lose the opportunity for a lesson, finished with some emphasis by saying that they knew their own worth and were above the mean vanities and tempers of common women. Therefore were they loved and respected.
“You mean,” says she, as sharp as a needle, “that I shouldn’t rage the way I’m apt. I know you saw me smack Betty’s face t’other day when she let fall the tea on my muslin gownd. Well, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you was coming. I know, too, I anger Sir Harry, answering back, and that’ll be the worse for me. But what am I to do if I feel that way? I’m fit to burst my girdle sometimes. Things do so anger me.”
“You make a great mistake in such behaviour, since you invite my opinion.” His very voice awed her, with the clear-cut vowels and consonants and the cool distinction of phrase and manner. Sir Harry spoke like a Sussex gentleman, but Greville like a prince, she thought; there was a serene remoteness about him, as from the height of a throne, which was sufficiently alarming, but attracting also.
She was woman enough to sense his contempt of Sir Harry, and that in itself set him high. Suddenly her eyes gloomed. She grew reckless.
“And what does it matter what I do? Here to-day and gone to-morrow as the saying is? The likes of me end in a ditch mostly. A short life and a merry one, say I! I’ll go my own way, and let them that don’t like me leave me!”
Greville was in no way stirred. He turned a leaf or two and considered the illustrations. Then, with studied politeness:
“You mistake very much, madam, if you consider your career so hopeless. You have gifts that might be improved and win you a secure position. At present you throw them away—if you will allow me to be frank—in vulgar”—he hesitated delicately at the word—“tantrums that bring you to a lower level than you merit. ’Tis a great pity.”
Her mood changed again instantly.
“Oh, sir, I beseech you not call me madam. I’m but a poor country girl, and it confuses me that I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels. Call me Emily, and for God’s sake advise me, for I don’t see no end to all this, but slipping back in the mud. You must know Sir Harry’s temper is violent. Look here, bend this way. He won’t see.”