“How—how—how? Don’t you know how the chorus girls ketch the lordlings? Why, keep him at a distance, you bet. I’ll tell you she’s no fool, that girl is no fool. That fledgling is a wise bird, as wise as the ‘chicken[[5]] wid de big eye.’ ”
“Will keeping a lordling at a distance catch him?”
“Ketch him? Certainly, didn’t I say so before. Keep him chasing, chasing, chasing and never satisfy him until he pops.”
“Pops, Mother?”
“Pops the question, of course. Now mark my words, see if the hussy does not pout, squirm, and lally gag; make out she’s mortal offended and play him to a finish. That is, she would do it if she knew enough—”
Of course, I could not see Mrs. Mount as she spoke; but her voice—her words and expression were totally different from what she used in society. But her words gave a stimulus to my thoughts. I was very angry. To be called a “hussy.” And the slurs the women made against me! I hated her for it, even more than I hated Jack. And so I thought again. And then I reached a decision. I would fulfil Mrs. Mount’s prophecy. I would repulse Charlie Lien and flirt with Jack Bang. But I would revenge myself on both the woman and the man, I mean Charlie Lien. If Charlie proposes to me I shall say “NO.” So bids the spirit of my ancestors.
I appeared at dinner and was the sensation of the moment. I smiled, oh so sweetly, on Mr. Bang, and after dinner settled down to a book at the side of Mumsie in the fireside circle. Mrs. Lien and Mumsie fell to talking. Out of the vast amount of small talk that I heard, the following remains in my memory:
“Do you know, Mrs. Somers, my cook absolutely refused to cook a dinner if Lady Billings was to be a guest. I reasoned with her—it was no use. ‘Mrs. Lien,’ said she, ‘I refuse to cook a dinner for Molly Fenton.’ ‘But, Kate,’ I pleaded, ‘I don’t ask you to serve it. All I ask you to do is to cook it.’ ‘I don’t care,’ she answered. ‘I’ll walk out of your house before I’ll cook a dinner for Molly Fenton, even if she now is Lady Billings. When we were children together, Mother would not allow me to play with her, and I won’t cook a dinner for her now.’ ”
[5] An Italian navvy once shot and ate an owl, and when he was asked what he had eaten, he replied: “De chicken wid de big eye.”
January 18th.