Part 44 (2/2)
Miss Priscilla struggles with herself for yet another minute, and then says, quickly,--
”That young man Desmond,--will _he_ be staying in your house?”
”Not if you object, my dear,” says Mrs. O'Connor, kindly; ”though I do think it is a pity to thwart that affair. He is as nice and as pleasant a young fellow as I know, and would make a jewel of a husband; and money--say what you like, my dear Priscilla--is always something. It ranks higher than _revenge_.”
”There is no revenge. It is only a just resentment.”
”Well, I'll call it by any name you like, my dear, but I must say----”
”I must beg, Gertrude, you will not discuss this unhappy subject,” says Miss Priscilla, with some agitation.
”Well, I won't, there. Then let it lie,” says Madam O'Connor, good-humoredly. ”And tell me, now, if I come over to fetch Monica on Monday, will she be ready for me?”
”Quite ready. But we have not consulted her yet,” says Miss Priscilla, clinging to a broken reed.
”Olga is talking to her about it. And, if she's the girl she _looks_, she'll be glad of a change, and the chance of a sweetheart,” says Madam O'Connor, gayly.
”What lovely lilies!” says Mrs. Bohun, standing before a tall white group.
”Oh, don't!” says Owen Kelly, who has joined her and Monica. ”Whenever I hear a lily mentioned I think of Oscar Wilde, and it hurts very much.”
”I like Oscar Wilde. He is quite nice, and _very_ amusing,” says Olga.
”I wonder if I could make my hair grow,” says Mr. Kelly, meditatively.
”He's been very clever about his; but I suppose somebody taught him.”
”Well, I think long hair is dirty,” says Mrs. Bohun, with an abstracted glance at Ronayne's lightly-shaven head.
Then, as though tired of her sweet _role_ and of its object (Ronayne) and everything, she turns capriciously aside, and, motioning away the men with her hand and a small frown, sits down at Hermia Herrick's feet and plucks idly at the gra.s.ses near her.
”So we are dismissed,” says Kelly, shrugging his shoulders. Monica has disappeared long ago with the devoted Ryde. ”Your queen has her tempers, Ronayne.”
”There are few things so cloying as perfection,” says Ronayne, loyally.
”I entirely agree with you,--so much so that I hope Providence will send me an ugly wife. She--I beg your pardon--Mrs. Bohun does pretty much what she likes with you, doesn't she?”
”Altogether what she likes. She's been doing it for so long now that I suppose she'll go on to the end of the chapter. I hope it will be a long one. Do you know,” says the young man, with a rather sad little laugh, ”it sounds of course rather a poor thing to say, but I really think it makes me _happy_, being done what she likes with?”
”It is only to oblige a friend that I should seek to understand such a hopelessly involved sentence as that,” says Mr. Kelly, wearily. ”But I have managed it. You're as bad a case as ever I came across, Ronayne, and I pity you. But, 'pon my soul, I respect you too,” with a flash of admiration: ”there is nothing like being thoroughly in earnest. And so I wish you luck in your wooing.”
”You're a very good fellow, Kelly,” says Ronayne gratefully.
In the mean time, Olga, tiring of tearing her gra.s.ses to pieces, looks up at Hermia.
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