“But you love him, don’t you?” asked Diana.
“Well, he isn’t much to love!” declared Grace, with twinkling eyes. “His looks wouldn’t upset anyone’s peace! I’ve never thought of love at all—all I want is to be warm and comfortable in a decent house with plenty to eat,—and a good husband is a man who can do that, and keep it going. As for loving, that’s all stuff and nonsense!—as I always say you should never care more for a man with your ’ed than you can kick off with your ’eels.”
This profound utterance had the effect of moving Diana to the most delightful mirth. She laughed and laughed again,—and her laughter was so sweet and fresh that it was like a little chime of bells. Her voice, as already hinted, was her great charm, and whether she laughed or spoke her accents broke the air into little bars of music.
“Oh, Grace, Grace!” she said, at last. “You are too funny for words! I must learn that wise saying of yours by heart! What is it? ‘Never care more for a man with your ’ed than you can kick off with your ’eels’?—Splendid! And you mean it?”
Grace nodded emphatically.
“Of course I mean it! It don’t do to care too much for a man,—he’s always a sort o’ spoilt babe, and what he gets easy he don’t care for, and what he can’t have he’s always crying, crying after. You’ll find that true, Miss Diana!”
The sparkle of laughter quenched itself in Diana’s eyes and left her looking weary.
“Yes—I daresay you are right,” she said—“quite right, Grace!” And looking up, she spoke slowly and rather sadly. “Perhaps it’s true—some people say it is—that men like bad women better than good,—and that if a woman is thoroughly selfish, vain and reckless, treating men with complete indifference and contempt, they admire her much more than if she were loving and faithful.”
“Of course!” assented Grace, positively. “Look at Mrs. Potter-Barney!—the one the halfpenny newspapers call the ‘beautiful Mrs. Barney’! I know a maid who was told by another maid that she got five hundred guineas for a kiss!—and Lady Wasterwick has had thousands of pounds for——”
Diana held up a hand,—she smiled still, but a trifle austerely.