Lottie made no reply. She went upstairs to the little drawing-room, where the lamp had been screwed as low as possible to keep alight for her when she should return. The room was still more dim than Lady Caroline’s, and looked so small and insignificant in comparison. On the table was a tray with some bread and butter and a cup of milk, which was Lottie’s simple supper after her dissipation; for Lady Caroline’s cup of tea was scarcely enough for a girl who had eaten a not too luxurious dinner at two o’clock. She had no mind, however, for her supper now; but sat down on the little sofa and covered her eyes with her hand, and went back into her thoughts, half to prolong the excitement into which she had plunged, half to still herself and get rid of this sudden transport. It would be difficult to say which she wished most; to calm herself down or to continue that state of exaltation which proved to her new capabilities in her own being. She thought it was the former desire that moved her, and that to be quiet was all she wanted; but yet that strong tide running in her veins, that hot beating of her heart, that expansion and elevation of everything in her, was full of an incomprehensible agony of sweetness and exquisite sensation. She did not know what it was. She covered her eyes to shut out the immediate scene around her. The little shabby room, the bread and butter, and Law’s slouching figure manipulating the lamp—these, at least, were accessories which she had no desire to see.
“Bother the thing!” said Law, “I can’t get it to burn. Here, Lottie! you can manage them. Oh! if you like to sit in the dark, I don’t mind. Were your fine people disagreeable? I always told you they wanted nothing but that you should sing for them and amuse them. They don’t care a rap for you!”
Lottie took no notice of this speech. She withdrew her hand from her face, but still kept her eyes half-closed, unwilling to be roused out of her dream.
“They’re all as selfish as old bears,” said Law; “most people are, for that matter. They never think of you; you’ve got to look after yourself; it’s their own pleasure they’re thinking of. What can you expect from strangers when a man that pretends to be one’s own father——?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lottie, slowly waking, with a feeling of disgust and impatience, out of her finer fancies. She could not keep some shade of scorn and annoyance from her face.
“You needn’t put on those supercilious looks; you’ll suffer as much from it as I shall, or perhaps more, for a man can always do for himself,” said Law; “but you—you’ll find the difference. Lottie,” he continued, forgetting resentment in this common evil, and sinking his voice, “he’s down there at the old place again.”
“What old place?”
As soon as his complaining voice became familiar, Lottie closed her eyes again, longing to resume her own thoughts.
“Oh! the old place. Why, down there; you know—the place where—— I say!” cried Law, suddenly growing red, and perceiving the betrayal of himself as well as of his father which was imminent. “Never mind where it is; it’s where that sharp one, Polly Featherstone, works.”