“A girl who ought to be dressed like a duchess,” sighed Vansittart.
“Well, on this I read her one of my lay sermons. I told her that so far from getting good value for her money, she got very bad value for her money; that she and her sisters, in their thirst for stuff at a shilling a yard, reduced from three and sixpence, made themselves in a manner queens of shreds and patches. She was very ready to admit the force of my reasoning, poor child. And then she pleaded that her sisters were so young—they had no control over their feelings when they found themselves in a great drapery show. It seemed a kind of fairyland, where things were being given away. And then such a scramble, she tells me, women almost fighting with each other for eligible bits of stuff and last season’s finery. I told her that I had hardly ever seen the inside of a big shop, and that I hated shopping. ‘What,’ she cried, ‘you who are rich! I thought you would enjoy it above all things.’ I told her no; that Lewis and Allanby sent me one of their people, and I chose my gown from a pattern-book, and the fitter came and tried it on, and I had no more trouble about it; or that I went to my dressmaker, and just looked over her newest things in a quiet drawing-room, without any of the distracting bustle of a great shop.”
“My sweetest Maud, what a dear little snob she must have thought you!”
“I don’t think she did. She seemed pleased to know my ways. And then I told her that I should like to see her and her sisters all dressed alike, in one of my favourite colours; and then I told her that I knew of a most meritorious family—invented that moment—who were going to Australia, and whom I wanted to help. ‘In a colony, those bright colours your sisters wear would be most suitable,’ I said. ‘Will you make an exchange with me—just in a friendly way—give me as many of your bright gowns as you can spare, and I will give you a piece of good serge and a piece of the very best cloth in exchange?’ ”
“Did she stand that?” asked Vansittart.
“Not very well. She looked at me for a moment or two, blushed furiously, and then got up and walked to the window, and stood there with her back towards me. I knew that she was crying. I went over to her and put my arm round her neck and kissed her as if she had been my first cousin. I begged her to forgive me if I had offended. ‘I really want to help those poor girls who are going to Melbourne,’ I said; ‘and your bargains would be just the thing for them. They could get nothing half as good for the same money.’ I felt ashamed of myself the next moment. I had lied so well that she believed me.”
“Never mind, Maud; the motive was virtuous.”
“ ‘No, they couldn’t,’ she said; ‘not till next July. The sales are all over.’ And then, after a little more argument, she yielded, and it was agreed that I should drive over to the Homestead next morning, and we would hold a review of the frocks and furbelows, and whatever was suitable for my Australian emigrants I should take, giving the sisters fair value in exchange. Eve stipulated that it should be only fair value. Well, the review was capital fun. The girls were charming—evidently proud of their finery, expatiating upon the miraculous cheapness of this and that, and the genuineness of the sales at the best houses. They had sales on the brain, I think. Of course I left them all the gay frocks suitable for home evenings; but I swooped like a vulture on their outdoor finery. I had taken a large portmanteau over with me, and we crammed it with frocks and fichus and Zouave jackets for my Australians. I am sorry to say the portmanteau is still upstairs in the box-room. And now, Jack, you know the history of the serge frocks.”
“You are a dear little diplomatist; but I’m afraid you must have made Miss Marchant suffer a good deal before your transmutation was accomplished.”
“My dear Jack, that girl is destined for suffering—of that kind; small social stings, the sense of the contrast between her surroundings and those of other girls no better born, only better off.”
“She will marry and forget these evil days,” said Vansittart.
“Let us hope so; but let us hope that she will not marry you.”
“Why should you—or anyone—hope that?”
“Because it ain’t good enough, Jack; believe me, it ain’t. She is a sweet girl—but her father’s character is the opposite of sweet. Hubert has made inquiries, and has been told, by men on whose good faith he can rely, that the Colonel is a blackleg; that there is hardly any dishonourable act that a man can do, short of felony, which Colonel Marchant has not done. He is well known in London, where he spends the greater part of his time. He is a hanger-on of rich young men. He shows them life. He wins their money—and like that other hanger-on, the leech, he drops away
