“You and I should be used to the virulent gossip of Naples by this time. There is nothing to hide, and you are at liberty to hear the circumstances and judge for yourself. Mrs. Hart is a young woman of the utmost merit and talents. She is in poor circumstances and has been recommended to me by a friend that she may study singing with Galluci and fit herself for the operatic stage. It could not be done to the same advantage in England. You know that as well as I. And therefore I extended hospitality to her and to her mother; a most worthy, excellent woman. Of course I knew that my motives would be misrepresented. When is it ever otherwise? But you are now acquainted with all the facts, and in case you have a very natural delicacy in asking the question, I will tell you once and for all, there is nothing whatever between me and Mrs. Hart.”
“What are her antecedents?” asked Mrs. Dickenson, coldly overlooking this assurance. Sir William’s mental vision swiftly embraced Up Park, Edgware Row, and a few more memories before he answered firmly:
“A quiet respectable home in London with her mother. This is the chance of her life. But come and judge yourself of her uncommon talents. With your love of music I am certain they will delight you, and your countenance would be invaluable for her.”
There was a pause while Mrs. Dickenson marshalled her words and ideas.
“My dear uncle, it is impossible you should realize the scandal that is going about. If you did, how can I doubt that you would make some other arrangement for the young woman? In a dissolute court like this you will hear no objection from the Royalties or nobility, but there are worthy English people here who will undoubtedly report the matter in London—”
“Damn them and their officiousness!”
“—and it may have very unpleasant results,” proceeded Mrs. Dickenson calmly, “so that I feel I cannot, in view of my daughters, in any way encourage what may be very harmful to you and all the family. I don’t speak of higher motives but they exist in all their fulness.”
Perhaps there is nothing more irritating to the average man than a highly moral attack descending like a flail on a harmless pleasure. Whatever were his hopes for the future the situation was still innocent, and it was nothing less than maddening to have Emma at home, bathed in tears and writing passionate love letters to Greville, and Mrs. Dickenson here upbraiding him with illicit relations which would have filled Emma with as much disgust as herself. He lost his temper between the pair of them.
“Commend me to the really pure-minded female for licentious suggestions,” he said, rising with sarcastic decision. “I had thought better of your good sense. If an elderly man cannot show compassion to a girl young enough to be his granddaughter without these unpleasant insinuations he had better not lay himself open to such attacks. I wish you a very good morning.”
Mrs. Dickenson started towards him with a cry. The word “marriage” was tolling in her ear, and she the sole family representative to arrest this fatal folly! Oh, if Greville, the cool, the worldly-wise, the influential with his uncle, were but here! That was her thought.