Pearl Veal's Answer to the Duke of Nocastle
The engagement of Miss Bumpschus to the Duke of Nocastle was announced in this morning's papers almost to the exclusion of all other news. There were pictures of Ethel looking like an Oriental beauty, of the little Duke, magnificent in the uniform of the Guards, of the Bumpschus house in town and the Newport villa; of Leeking Castle, the ancestral seat of the Fitznits—indeed, of everything in the lives of the high contracting parties that could be photographed. The equanimity with which Mrs. Radigan received the news was most surprising. I had expected to find her completely unstrung when I called this afternoon, but instead she was in the library, just back from a drive, and making tea.
"Isn't it absurd?" she said laughingly, pointing to the paper behind which Pearl Veal was ensconced in a deep chair, reading of the glories of the Duke and the house of Bumpschus. "They are making the best of it, I hear; have a press agent and all that; so for weeks we shall read of nothing else. It is disgusting to see people courting notoriety that way."
I thought of her own plans of last week and involuntarily raised my eyebrows in astonishment. She noticed it, but went calmly on:
"Ethel actually looks beautiful in some of those pictures—I wonder how they were made?—and as for the Duke, you might suppose he was a real dashing sort of a fellow. Won't they look well coming down the aisle together! Why, in order to take his arm she will have to walk like a camel."
Pearl's paper rattled to the floor, revealing her smiling softly, those fine eyes of hers intent upon her sister.
Mrs. Radigan understood. "Of course, my dear," she said grimly, "if you had taken him we should have avoided such an absurd picture somehow." She paused a moment, trying to think how. The inspiration came to me first.
"Sir Charles Wigge," said I, "as long as he did the proposing, he might well lead the bride down the aisle—the Duke could toddle after him."