Part 20 (1/2)
”Is Horace coming down before you go?”
”No. He's too busy. Besides, he never comes when father isn't here.”
”Oh dear no, he doesn't think it proper. It's odd,” said Miss Palliser, looking down at her tea-cake with an air of profound philosophic reflection. ”You can't ask your cousin to stay with you, because it's improper; but it isn't improper to sit up making catalogues with young Mr. Thing-um-a-jig till all hours of the night.”
”Why should it be improper?”
”For Goodness' sake don't ask me. How should _I_ know? Don't you find yourself wis.h.i.+ng sometimes that Mr. Thing-um-a-jig was Mr. Jewdwine?”
”More tea, Kitty?”
”Rather! I'm going into the library to choose a book when I've finished my tea. I shall take the opportunity of observing for myself whether Mr.--Mr.--”
”Mr. Savage Keith Rickman.”
”Good Lord deliver us! Whether Mr. Savage Keith Rickman is a proper person for you to know. That reminds me. Dearest, do you know what they talk about in Harmouth? They talk about _you_. Conversation jiggers round you like a silly moth round a candle. Would you like to know what Harmouth thinks of you?”
”No. I haven't the smallest curiosity.”
”I shall tell you all the same, because it's good for you to see yourself as others see you. They say, dear, that you do put on such a thundering lot of side. They say that att.i.tude is absurd in one so young. They say you ought to marry, that if you don't marry you can't possibly hope to keep it up, and they say you never will marry if you continue to be so exclusive. Exclusive was the word. But before I left they'd married you to Mr. Jewdwine. You see dear, you're so exclusive that you're bound to marry into your own family, no other family being good enough.”
”It's certainly a new light on my character.”
”I ought to tell you that Mrs. Crampton takes a charitable view. She says she doesn't believe you really mean it, dear, she thinks that you are only very, _very_ shy. She has heard _so_ much about you, and is _dying_ to know you. Don't be frightened, Lucia, I was most discreet.”
”How did you show your discretion?”
”I told her not to die. I tried to persuade her that she wouldn't love you so much if she did know you.”
”Kitty, that wasn't very kind.”
”It was the kindest thing I could think of. It must soothe her to feel that this exclusiveness doesn't imply any reflection on her social position, but merely a weird unaccountable dislike. How is it that some people can't understand that your social position is like your digestion or the nose on your face, you're never aware of either, unless there's something wrong with it.”
”Kitty, you're not in a nice mood this afternoon.”
”I know I'm not. I've been in Harmouth. Lucy, there are moments when I loathe my fellow-creatures.”
”Poor things. Whatever have they been doing now?”
”Oh, I don't know. The same old thing. They make my life a burden to me?”
”But how?”
”They're always bothering me, always trying to get at you through me.
They're always asking me to tea to meet people in the hope that I'll ask them back to meet you. I'm worn out with keeping them off you.
Some day all Harmouth will come bursting into your drawing-room over my prostrate form, flattened out upon the door-mat.”
”Never mind.”