“Push! Bless my soul, ma’am! you have been pushing one or other of those girls ever since they were in their teens, but your pushing signifies nothing. The men, don’t you see, back as fast as the women advance?”
“Coarse!—Too coarse an observation for you, commissioner!” said Mrs. Falconer, with admirable temper; “but when men are angry they will say more than they think.”
“Ma’am, I don’t say half as much as I think—ever.”
“Indeed!—That is a candid confession, for which I owe you credit, at all events.”
“It’s a foolish game—it’s a foolish game—it’s a losing game,” continued the commissioner; “and you will play it till we are ruined.”
“Not a losing game if it be played with temper and spirit. Many throw up the game like cowards, when, if they had but had courage to double the bet, they would have made their fortune.”
“Pshaw! Pshaw!” said the commissioner: “Can you double your girls’ beauty? can you double their fortune?”
“Fashion stands in the place both of beauty and fortune, Mr. Falconer; and fashion, my girls, I hope you will allow, enjoy.”
“Enjoy! What signifies that? Fashion, you told me, was to win Count Altenberg—has it won him? Are we one bit the better for the expense we were at in all those entertainments?”
“All that, or most of it—at least the popularity-ball—must be set down to Lord Oldborough’s account; and that is your affair, commissioner.”