“Then why, why did you make them ask him,” cried Rosamond.
Eddy laughed; there was excitement in his laugh, but there was also amusement. “Why?” he said, “for fun! isn’t that reason enough. To watch him will be the best joke that ever was. I’m to introduce him to all the bigwigs, and shan’t I do it, too! Find me a title for Miss Eliza, Rose. How he’ll listen to her!—and lend the nephews money——”
“Eddy, it’s some wretched money-lender——”
“Well,” said Eddy, with a laugh, “there are many worse trades; they must have it, or they couldn’t lend it. Go away and let me change my wet clothes.”
Rosamond went away as she was bidden, partially satisfied. She was a girl of great experience in many ways. She knew the shifts of living when there is very little money to live on, and yet all the luxuries of existence have to be secured. She was not acquainted with the expedient of doing without what you cannot afford to buy, but all the other manners of doing it were tolerably familiar to her. She had none of that shrinking from a money-lender which people, who know nothing about them, are apt to suffer from. She even appreciated the advantage of keeping on good terms with members of that fraternity. It was one of their weaknesses to be eager about getting into society, putting on a semblance of gentility. Rosamond went back to her room, with that air of a princess which was natural to her, shaking her head a little over Eddy’s joke, but not so disturbed by it as she had been. Her only hope was that Johnson would not come to the ball covered with jewellery, that he would understand the wisdom of holding his tongue and refraining from the dance. She herself knew very well how to defend herself from the penalty of dancing with him. Rosamond was not out, but yet she was aware of those guiles by which girls, obliged to accept any partner that offers, defend themselves from carrying out their engagements when that is necessary. She was in no uneasiness on her own account, and a faint sense that it would be fun to see the money-lender floundering among people who after all, whatever airs they might give themselves, were not, Rosamond reflected, in society, stole through her mind. It does not matter so much when people are not in society who they associate with. Who thinks of their lesser distinctions? You are in society or you are not; and if the latter is the case what does it matter? This was the thought in her mind. She hoped that Johnson was not too Hebraic, that his nose was less pronounced than usual, and his eyes less shining. Indeed, as she endeavoured to recall his appearance, he had no speciality in the way of nose, so that on the whole there would be little harm done. If any society man happened to be there who recognised the money-lender, he could either divine the real state of the case or suppose that the Rowlands were not so well off as they looked. And in neither case, would that do any harm.
Eddy, for his part, locked his door behind him when he got inside his own room: and he risked the cold which would be so awkward on the eve of the ball, by remaining still for some time in his wet clothes. What he did was to take a paper from his pocket, which he carried to the light of the window, examining it closely, holding it up to the daylight which was subdued by the overhanging shadow of the trees, and the clouds of rain sweeping up from the sea. Then after reading it over line by line, he took it, holding it very closely in both hands as if he had been afraid that it might take wings to itself and flee away, to the smouldering fire—for it was nearly the end of October and fires were very necessary to combat the damp of the place. Then Eddy put the paper carefully into the centre of the fire, where it curled up and blackened and began to smoke, but did not burst into flame until he had seized the box of matches on the mantelpiece and had strewed a handful upon it. Then there was a series of small distinct reports like minute guns, and the whole flamed up. His clothes steamed as he stood before the fire, but he was not aware of it, nor that the damp was meantime penetrating into every muscle and limb.
After this Eddy dressed himself cheerfully in dry clothes and went downstairs. He had never been more lively or entertaining. He went down to find the whole party occupied with their letters, which came in before lunch, making that meal either a joyful feast or a meal of anxiety. Rowland it was who knitted his brows most keenly after he had received his letters. Over one of them he lingered long, casting glances occasionally at Archie, who had no letters, and who was amusing himself furtively with the two dogs, Roy and Dhu, which he had abandoned on discovering that they took to his stepmother more than to himself. Such a preference is always irritating to the legitimate owner of dog or man. He could not forgive them for their bad taste: nevertheless, when Mrs. Rowland was out of the way, the infantile graces of the two puppies were more than flesh and blood could stand out against. He had withdrawn into a deep recess of the hall in which there was a window, and where he considered himself free from inspection, and there was rolling over the two little balls, with their waving limbs and the gleams of fun that were visible under the tufts of hair that fell over their eyes. Though they were rolling over and over each other in the height of play, attacking and retreating before Archie’s hands, with which he pulled their ears and tails, now lifting one, now another, by some illegitimate portion of hair, each little dog kept an eye upon where the Mistress sat, retired in a large chair, reading her letters, waiting till she moved or looked, and ready at a moment to pick themselves up, get upon their respective legs, and run out of the recess, one after the other, as if they had been anxiously awaiting the moment when her attention might relax and she would have leisure to bestow upon her faithful retainers. It was not, however, Mrs. Rowland, but her husband, who disturbed the pastime. He looked up from his letter and called “Archie!” in a voice which meant mischief. Archie looked up startled.
“Yes,” he said, “I am here.”
“How was it you never mentioned that you had gone to see Mrs. Brown the other day when you were in Glasgow?”
Archie raised himself up, pushing the puppies away from him. “I—scarcely could have been in Glasgow,” he said, though with a slight faltering in his voice, it was so little true; “without going to see Aunt Jane.”