Ethel. Because why?
Clive. Because I always thought that fairy somehow must be the most beautiful creature in all the world—that is “why and because.” Do not make me Mayfair curtsies. You know whether you are good-looking or not: and how long I have thought you so. I remember when I thought I would like to be Ethel’s knight, and that if there was anything she would have me do, I would try and achieve it in order to please her. I remember when I was so ignorant I did not know there was any difference in rank between us.
Ethel. Ah, Clive!
Clive. Now it is altered. Now I know the difference between a poor painter and a young lady of the world. Why haven’t I a title and a great fortune? Why did I ever see you, Ethel; or, knowing the distance which it seems fate has placed between us, why have I seen you again?
Ethel (innocently). Have I ever made any difference between us? Whenever I may see you, am I not too glad? Don’t I see you sometimes when I should not—no—I do not say when I should not; but when others, whom I am bound to obey, forbid me? What harm is there in my remembering old days? Why should I be ashamed of our relationship?—no, not ashamed—shy should I forget it? Don’t do that, sir; we have shaken hands twice already. Léonore! Xavier!
Clive. At one moment you like me: and at the next you seem to repent it. One day you seem happy when I come; and another day you are ashamed of me. Last Tuesday, when you came with those fine ladies to the Louvre, you seemed to blush when you saw me copying at my picture; and that stupid young lord looked quite alarmed because you spoke to me. My lot in life is not very brilliant; but I would not change it against that young man’s—no, not with all his chances.
Ethel. What do you mean with all his chances?
Clive. You know very well. I mean I would not be as selfish or as dull, or as ill educated—I won’t say worse of him—not to be as handsome, or as wealthy, or as noble as he is. I swear I would not now change my place against his, or give up being Clive Newcome to be my Lord Marquis of Farintosh, with all his acres and titles of nobility.
Ethel. Why are you for ever harping about Lord Farintosh and his titles? I thought it was only women who were jealous—you gentlemen say so.—(Hurriedly.) I am going to-night with grandmamma to the Minister of the Interior, and then to the Russian ball; and to-morrow to the Tuileries. We dine at the Embassy first; and on Sunday, I suppose, we shall go to the Rue d’Aguesseau. I can hardly come here before Mon—. Madam de Florac! Little Léonore is very like you—resembles you very much. My cousin says he longs to make a drawing of her.
Madame de Florac. My husband always likes that I should be present at his dinner. Pardon me, young people, that I have been away from you for a moment.