He held my hand devotedly till the end of the performance. When he put us into the carriage, I was last. He whispered in my ear: “Expect me next week.” Miss Staveley might be as ill-natured as she pleased, on the way home. It didn’t matter what she said. The Eunice of yesterday might have been mortified and offended. The Eunice of to-day was indifferent to the sharpest things that could be said to her.
.......
All through yesterday’s delightful evening, I never once thought of Philip’s father. When I woke this morning, I remembered that old Mr. Dunboyne was a rich man. I could eat no breakfast for thinking of the poor girl who was not allowed to marry her young gentleman, because she had no money.
Mrs. Staveley waited to speak to me till the rest of them had left us together. I had expected her to notice that I looked dull and dismal. No! her cleverness got at my secret in quite another way.
She said: “How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to please indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments last night.”
“The accompaniments of the Oratorio?”
“No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip.”
I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, it was not to be done. I said: “I hope Mr. Dunboyne’s father will not hear how kind he was to me.”
Mrs. Staveley asked why.
My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: “Because papa is a poor man.”