“But, sir,” I said, “suppose he have the power, and do use it. What will you think of me then?”
“Why, that like another Helen, you’ve fired another Troy,” says my papa, quoting from one of the songs in the cantata sung at the Harmonic Society last night; “and, like the Trojan elders, we shall esteem you the more because we have suffered so much through you.”
Calcutta, April ye 21st.
My troubles en’t by no means ended yet, Amelia, although the dreadful Unknown has so far left me in peace since his billet of last Saturday. ’Tis his prophecy uttered at the Masquerade that now threatens to prove true. Passing through the parlour this afternoon, on my way to the varanda, I found my papa and Mrs Freyne there together—a thing unusual at any time, and particularly at that hour of the day, when Mrs Freyne is wont to retire to her chamber in order to fit herself by a second period of rest for the gaieties of the evening. That’s a pert remark for me to make, en’t it, my dear? I know my Amelia will say so. Questionless ’tis made because I can’t find it possible to sleep for two entire hours both before and after dinner, and therefore am jealous of one that can. But oh, my dear Miss Turnor, I wish I knew why my stepmother dislikes me so terribly. Perhaps you’ll tell me that ’tis because I am not so complaisant towards her as I ought to be. But indeed I do all I can to oblige her, though I must confess I don’t feel towards her as I should wish to be able to do. “See there!” you’ll say, “you wonder that Mrs Freyne should dislike you when she sees you dislike her.” True, my dear, but I was prepared when I came here to exhibit the greatest complaisance imaginable, while she (I must say it) did not even feign the slightest sentiment of kindness towards me. There, Amelia! your Sylvia is a saucy ill-mannered creature, passing judgments that don’t become her on her elders and betters, and accusing them of misusing her instead of bewailing her own failures in duty towards them. But indeed my mamma has done me an ill-turn this afternoon, as you shall hear.
“You’ll oblige me by telling me what you have against him, sir,” she was saying, when I came into the room. “I understand he’s a nobleman in his own country.”
“That’s very likely, madam. I have known several noblemen of that sort.”
“I’m sure he has money enough,” says Mrs Freyne, angrily.
“True, madam; too much. I should be glad to know how he gets it.”
“By honest trading, sir, of course. I wonder at your remark.”
“No interloper could make by honest trading in these days the fortune Mr Menotti boasts of,” says my papa. I jumped when I heard the name.