“If you do marry, Violet, you must choose some one man out of the lot.”
“That’s quite true, my dear, I certainly can’t marry them all.”
“And how do you mean to make the choice?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I shall toss up.”
“I wish you would be in earnest with me.”
“Well;—I will be in earnest. I shall take the first that comes after I have quite made up my mind. You’ll think it very horrible, but that is really what I shall do. After all, a husband is very much like a house or a horse. You don’t take your house because it’s the best house in the world, but because just then you want a house. You go and see a house, and if it’s very nasty you don’t take it. But if you think it will suit pretty well, and if you are tired of looking about for houses, you do take it. That’s the way one buys one’s horses—and one’s husbands.”
“And you have not made up your mind yet?”
“Not quite. Lady Baldock was a little more decent than usual just before I left Baddingham. When I told her that I meant to have a pair of ponies, she merely threw up her hands and grunted. She didn’t gnash her teeth, and curse and swear, and declare to me that I was a child of perdition.”
“What do you mean by cursing and swearing?”
“She told me once that if I bought a certain little dog, it would lead to my being everlastingly—you know what. She isn’t so squeamish as I am, and said it out.”
“What did you do?”
“I bought the little dog, and it bit my aunt’s heel. I was very sorry then, and gave the creature to Mary Rivers. He was such a beauty! I hope the perdition has gone with him, for I don’t like Mary Rivers at all. I had to give the poor beasty to somebody, and Mary Rivers happened to be there. I told her that Puck was connected with Apollyon, but she didn’t mind that. Puck was worth twenty guineas, and I daresay she has sold him.”
“Oswald may have an equal chance then among the other favourites?” said Lady Laura, after another pause.
“There are no favourites, and I will not say that any man may have a chance. Why do you press me about your brother in this way?”
“Because I am so anxious. Because it would save him. Because you are the only woman for whom he has ever cared, and because he loves you with all his heart; and because his father would be reconciled to him tomorrow if he heard that you and he were engaged.”
“Laura, my dear—”
“Well.”
“You won’t be angry if I speak out?”
“Certainly not. After what I have said, you have a right to speak out.”
“It seems to me that all your reasons are reasons why he should marry me;—not reasons why I should marry him.”
“Is not his love for you a reason?”
“No,” said Violet, pausing—and speaking the word in the lowest possible whisper. “If he did not love me, that, if known to me, should be a reason why I should not marry him. Ten men may love me—I don’t say that any man does—”
“He does.”
“But I can’t marry all the ten. And as for that business of saving him—”
“You know what I mean!”
“I don’t know that I have any special mission for saving young men. I sometimes think that I shall have quite enough to do to save myself. It is strange what a propensity I feel for the wrong side of the post.”
“I feel the strongest assurance that you will always keep on the right side.”
“Thank you, my dear. I mean to try, but I’m quite sure that the jockey who takes me in hand ought to be very steady himself. Now, Lord Chiltern—”
“Well—out with it. What have you to say?”
“He does not bear the best reputation in this world as a steady man. Is he altogether the sort of man that mammas of the best kind are seeking for their daughters? I like a roué myself;—and a prig who sits all night in the House, and talks about nothing but church-rates and suffrage, is to me intolerable. I prefer men who are improper, and all that sort of thing. If I were a man myself I should go in for everything I ought to leave alone. I know I should. But you see—I’m not a man, and I must take care of myself. The wrong side of a post for a woman is so very much the wrong side. I like a fast man, but I know that I must not dare to marry the sort of man that I like.”
“To be one of us, then—the very first among us;—would that be the wrong side?”
“You mean that to be Lady Chiltern in the present tense, and Lady Brentford in the future, would be promotion for Violet Effingham in the past?”
“How hard you are, Violet!”
“Fancy—that it should come to this—that you should call me hard, Laura. I should like to be your sister. I should like well enough to be your father’s daughter. I should like well enough to be Chiltern’s friend. I am his friend. Nothing that anyone has ever said of him has estranged me from him. I have fought for him till I have been black in the face. Yes, I have—with my aunt. But I am afraid to be his wife. The risk would be so great. Suppose that I did not save him, but that he brought me to shipwreck instead?”
“That could not be!”
“Could it not? I think it might be so
