“Is it his appearance, may I ask? Is he too short for your ideal? Are his eyes too small, and his hair too thin? Does he slouch in walking, and turn his toes in? Is it any trumpery of that sort?” asked Lady Valeria, though in her heart such things were not scored as “trumpery.”
“Were such things trumpery when you were young?” her grandchild longed to ask, but duty and good training checked her.
“His appearance is bad enough,” she replied, “but I do not attach much importance to that.” “As if I believed it!” thought Lady Valeria.
“Then what is it that proves fatal to him in your sagacious judgment?”
“I beg you as a favour not to ask me, madam. I cannot—I cannot explain to you.”
“Nonsense, child,” said the old lady smiling, “you would not be so absurd if you had only seen a little good society. If you are so bashful, you may look away; but at any rate you must tell me.”
“Then it is this,” the maiden answered, with her grey eyes full on her grandmother’s face, and a rich blush adding to their lustre: “Captain Chapman is not what I call a good man.”
“In what way? How? What have you heard against him? If he is not perfect, you can make him so.”
“Never, never! He is a very bad man. He despises all women; and he—he looks—he stares quite insolently—even at me!”
“Well, this is a little too good, I declare!” exclaimed her grandmother, with as loud a laugh as good breeding ever indulges in. “My dear child, you must go to London; you must be presented at Court; you must learn a little of the ways of the world; and see the first gentleman in Europe. How his Royal Highness will laugh, to be sure! I shall send him the story through Lady de Lampnor, that a young lady hates and abhors her intended, because he even ventures to look at her!”