Besides, I was not certain that my estimate of myself was so very absurd.
“All the money I have in the world,” I exclaimed aloud, “is two-and-eightpence-halfpenny. I would like to bet every farthing of it, that if a man—I don’t care what man, any man—saw me now he’d fall head over heels in love with me at sight.”
As I looked in the glass I felt convinced that my money would be perfectly safe. I knew it—was sure of it, in fact. As I observed the image which was mirrored there, something told me—I don’t pretend to know what, but something did—that there was not a man breathing who would not desire—with a pretty strong desire too—to stand well in my—I will call them on this occasion only—fair eyes. It was a singular feeling, the more so since it amounted to absolute conviction. I am not conceited—my worst enemy has never called me that. For one thing, I have never had anything to be conceited about. But then I knew, knew! that no man could look at me without desiring me. And in my time such numbers of men have looked at me only to wish that I was at Jericho, or that they were.
It did seem so odd. And it was a queer sensation. I felt as if I had all at once become possessed of some strange, occult, man-compelling power. And I believe I had. That unfinished sentence was still upon the dressing-table. I picked it up, and looked at it, and wondered.
Something about it caught my eye. Before, it had read, “You shall have your wish u—,” and there had stopped. Since I saw it last an “n” had been added; so that it now read, “You shall have your wish un—.” Was the sentence still to be completed? If so, what form would it have in its perfect state?
What had I been wishing? That every man might fall in love with me at sight? Well! was that the one which was to be granted? The gratification of such a wish could hardly fail to provide one with entertainment. And I had had so little entertainment in my time. Was I the victim of hallucination? or the heroine of an up-to-date fairy tale? It did not matter, so long as the hallucination was substantial enough; or the fairy tale as amusing as this one bade fair to be. Let me see: the baker’s boy, the shop-walker, the hairdresser, and these five men. Unmistakably these persons had suddenly seen attractions in me which they had not observed before. To bag eight men during a few fleeting minutes of a single forenoon was not bad sport. And the miscellaneous character of the bag was not the least satisfactory part of it. If matters proceeded as they had begun, there could be no doubt whatever that I should be provided with sufficient entertainment.
In the meantime I must not forget that I was to dine with these five gentlemen. It seemed to me to be rather a large order. I never had dined with a gentleman except in company with members, feminine members, of my own family. And now to be about to dine alone with five! And such a five!
“I cannot say, whatever may be their feelings towards me, that I am the least bit in love with them.” That, to myself, I frankly admitted. “As for Major Tibbet, he’s a person for whom I have no kind of use, and never should have. Yet it seems that he is to be my principal host, at least as far as the dinner is concerned. I should like to know what he fancies he likes in me, since I dislike everything he likes, himself included. Let’s hope that he won’t go on to the theatre with us afterwards. The proceedings at the theatre bid fair to be peculiar. Let me figure it out. Mr Carter has a box, and Mr Purchase hopes to have one. I wonder what will happen if he finds that there isn’t one to be had? Will they come to blows? or will they behave like sensible beings, and agree to share a box—and me? That would certainly be the more reasonable course to pursue. Though I quite understand that when a man has a box all to himself, and a girl alone in it, there are things which he can say with greater ease. I wonder where Mr Hammond’s stall is, and Mr Rumford’s. It is devoutly to be hoped that they are outside stalls, and that each is not the centre of a different row. In that case it must be distinctly understood that the transfer of me is to take place at the end of each act, because if they attempt to haul me from one stall to another in the middle of a scene, there’ll be a scene. Indeed, I think it’s probable there’ll be a scene in any case. Because when the people see me being passed from one man to another, and the four men who haven’t me glaring at the one who has—and I’m afraid they will glare—they’ll begin to take an interest in what is going on, so that the traffic of the stage may suffer. I am convinced that I shall be sufficiently entertained.”
A thought occurred to me, which would have occurred to a sensible girl at the very first. But I am not a sensible girl, and in particular I was very far from feeling sensible just then! So that it only came to me at the tag end, as it were, and then with a sort of a kind of a shock.
“What shall I wear? There’s the black, and the white, and the blue; and they none of them suit me, and they’re all of them old; and I believe that each of them stands in need of repairs. So the outlook’s promising. Now, if my fairy godmother were to clothe me all over with sumptuous raiment, as she did Cinderella, in this the hour of my triumph, that would be something like. I’d dazzle them, that I would. But as that is not likely to happen, I shall have to consider in which of the relics I call my evening gowns I look least beastly.”