After it was over, back to the hotel we went. This as a dress parade was a greater success than the Drawing-room, for the really grand dresses simply swarmed in, and a better look was to be had of them.
Mrs. Mount, Doris and Miss Spruce were included in one party. Our own was very happy, in fact, I felt more genuinely happy than I have been since my first advent to Mumsie’s home. Of course, Mr. Bang abused the Scotch Grits and the Yankees, but not to excess this time.
Mumsie asked Mr. Bang what practical good there was in abusing the Yankees, to which he replied:
“Auntie, if one believes the Yankee version of their Revolution, and the causes thereof, he must conclude the Loyalists, our ancestors, were a people lacking in virility. To the everlasting harm of our country our own schools teach that twaddle. British schools teach it, because it is the essence of Whig doctrine, and the Whigs and the Liberals are fully alive to the policy of catching recruits young.”
“But what harm does it do?” persisted Mumsie.
“Simply that the English youth emigrating to America choses Yankee-land instead of Canada. And here in Canada, our young men, having been taught to despise their fathers, and respect the Yankees, have left their homes for the mammon of unrighteousness. But now a change is at hand. To-day Canada is the land of opportunity. The United States has reached the apex of its prosperity, it is becoming a tired people. The tide is flowing with us and our young men are staying at home.”
Were this diary a novel, I should now bring it to a close. What a sorry tale it is, telling only of failure, at least on my part. And what a halting lover Mr. Bang would make, providing he is a lover; I cannot help thinking. And Charlie Lien is tame even as a villain, but then he might be doctored up. A little bit of melodrama! What a pity the mock-marriage and the abduction is so worn out. Surely I can invent at least a new staging for the old theme. Perhaps if I can do so, all this, my writing, will not have been in vain. Indeed in a month I have felt the impelling force of ambition, and all the pangs that come from humiliation.
A strange mixing will take place at Norway House—Mrs. Lien, the women of wealth, in whom ennui is a genuine complaint; Mrs. Mount, who envies Mrs. Lien, but cannot command courage enough to affect her pose; Mumsie, dear old Mumsie! Mr. Bang, Charlie Lien and—. Here is a setting for an inventive mind, scope for the villain’s villainy, field for a hero’s heroism. Who might be the hero? Could Mr. Bang be a hero? He hasn’t quite the name.
January 17th.
Jack Bang has saved my life and I hate him! How I hate him! I know now the meaning of “a consuming hate.” My heart seems of lead. I am frightened because I hate him so much.