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Tales of two people
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“They vary, I suppose?”
“Just you talk to mamma about that!”
That didn’t seem urgent. “Another time,” I murmured, “I shall be pleased to exchange impressions.”
I don’t think Prudence heard. She was looking very thoughtful, a minute wrinkle ornamenting her brow.
“The boys must have their education; the girls must have justice done to them.”
“To be sure! And so – ?”
“And why shouldn’t one fall in love with a man who – who – ”
“Would be delighted to do all that?”
“Of course he’d be delighted. I mean a man who – who could do it.”
“Rich?”
“Papa says differences in worldly position are rightly ordained.”
“No doubt he’s correct. Your man would have to be quite rich, wouldn’t he? Seven besides you!”
“Oh, we aren’t accustomed to much,” said Prudence, with a smile at me which somehow made me wish for a cheque-book and an immense amount of tact; a balance at the bank we will presuppose.
“And may I ask,” I resumed, “why you are selected out of all the family for this – er – sacrifice?”
She blushed, but she was wary. “I’m the eldest girl, you see,” she said.
“Just so,” I agreed. “I was very stupid not to think of that.”
“The others are so young.”
“Of course. It would be waiting till it was too late?”
“Yes, Mr Wynne.”
I interpolate here a plain statement of fact. The other girls resemble their mother, and the vicar’s type, reproduced in Miss Prudence, is immeasurably the more refined – not to say picturesque.
“Oh, if you won’t be serious!” sighed Prudence – though, as has been seen, I had said nothing.
“It certainly is not a laughing matter,” I admitted.
“How difficult the world is! Was Sir John at the Jenkins’s?”
“Sir John?”
“Sir John Ffolliot – of Ascombe, you know.”
“Tall red-faced young man?”
“Yes, very – I mean, rather. Rather tall, anyhow.”
“Oh yes, he was there.”
“When Clara talked about me?”
“So far as I recollect, he was not in earshot at that moment, Miss Prudence. But then I wasn’t in earshot while she talked to him. So possibly – ”
“Now she really is a cat, isn’t she?”
“I haven’t the smallest doubt of it. But you must make allowances.”
“I do. Still I can’t see why plain people are to say just what they like!”
“Nobody minds them,” I observed consolingly.
The conversation flagged for a moment or two. That didn’t matter; one can always look at the view.
“Is my hat crooked?” asked Miss Prudence with affected anxiety.
“I should say you’d get him, if you really want him,” I remarked.
My thoughts were switched off in another direction by Miss Prudence’s next utterance. I don’t complain of that; it was probably rightly ordained, as the vicar would have said; there’s something in a meadow and a river that resists middle age – and I don’t know that a blue frock, with eyes to match, and hair that —
“Do you happen to know how much a bishop gets?” asked Prudence.
“Not precisely, Miss Prudence. It varies, I believe – like what girls cost. All I know is that it’s never enough for the needs of his diocese.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” She looked rather troubled over this information.
“So the papers say – and the bishops too sometimes.”
“Still you wouldn’t call them exactly poor, would you?”
“I call them poor! Good Lord!” was my observation.
“You know our bishop’s Palace?”
“A charming residence, Miss Prudence – even stately.”
“And Sir John says he drives awfully good horses.”
“Let us rely on Sir John where we can.”
“And Mr Davenport says he gives away a lot.”
“Mr Davenport?”
Другие электронные книги автора Anthony Hope
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Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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