meeting with Paul Avery in the park. “I dislike arrogance on the part of those whose lot in life it is to attend to the wants of their betters, and that young man is arrogant. I would have complained about him if I’d thought it would have done any good, but this is a democratic age, and he certainly wouldn’t have been dismissed. I should have been told it is difficult to find these people nowadays, and that he has some specia l talent which renders him indispensable.”
Lucy was almost aghast.
“You don’t honestly mean that you—that you would have lost him his job if you could?” she demanded in shocked tones.
The Countess regarded her with a cynical gleam in her eyes.
“ Oh, what a thing it is to be young! ” she exclaimed. “My dear, you don’t need to be quite so transparent. This Paul Avery is personable, and he has you eating out of his hand after you have known him only a few hours! What will it be like after you have met him another half-dozen or so times? You will have lost your heart to him so completely that there will be no regaining it!”
Lucy felt herself flushing scarlet. She denied anything of the sort.
“I—I think he is very pleasant,” she insisted. “He has been very kind to me ...”
“Kind?” the Countess sneered. “In what way? He bought you tea, and walked with you in Kensington Gardens, and you talked about the ducks and things together.” Lucy had rather naively revealed that Avery had arrived prepared to feed the swans, if that was what she wanted. “Such an afternoon’s excursion I find wildly exciting!” with increasing sar c asm. “What will you do next. Take a bus to Hampton Court and get lost together in the maze there, or a trip on a river steamer that will involve you with all the other passengers, singing lustily on the way home? Especially if there’s a moon! Young lovers always adore the moon!”
Lucy stared at her, wondering at the harsh note in her voice, and the unfeeling mockery in her eyes. At the same time, the glow in her cheeks grew more brilliant.
“We are not in the least likely to become lovers,” she stated stiffly.
“Oh no?” The old lady ca c kled. “Then what will you become? Duck fanciers? Or connoisseurs of afternoon tea? Believe me, I didn’t buy you an entire new wardrobe of clothes to enable you to throw yourself away on a hotel waiter.”
At this Lucy felt indignation rise up in her, and she spoke indignantly.
“I didn’t ask you to buy me any new clothes, madame. And if that is the way you feel about my private concerns I would rather that you took them back.”
The Countess smiled at her suddenly, and rather humorously.
“My sweet child, there is nothing I could do with them,” she observed complacently. “You will have to wear them, and go on wearing them, and I will admit that I have formed plans which will provide us both with a lot of distraction in the future. I think it is high time we shut up this dark little maisonette for a few months, or allowed Augustine to remain behind and take care of it, and went abroad to the Continent to stay in some smart hotel, or perhaps rent a villa. Then you can meet the kind of people I wish you to meet, and perhaps marry well. In that way you can justify all the expenditure I have been put to on your account,” as if some justification was essential after such an orgy of spending.
Lucy experienced the chill of dismay.
“But you don’t really want to go abroad, do you, madame ?” she asked. “I mean ... why should you?”
“Why should I not, if it comes to that?” Her employer helped herself to a sugared almond from a dish on the centre table. “I have discovered how easy it is to raise a little money by the sale of some of my jewellery, and for years I have lived in a state of poverty and misery which I now deplore. In future we will live very differently, and you, because you are young, must have some fun ... lots and lots of fun! And I shall be so much amused
Lucy was almost aghast.
“You don’t honestly mean that you—that you would have lost him his job if you could?” she demanded in shocked tones.
The Countess regarded her with a cynical gleam in her eyes.
“ Oh, what a thing it is to be young! ” she exclaimed. “My dear, you don’t need to be quite so transparent. This Paul Avery is personable, and he has you eating out of his hand after you have known him only a few hours! What will it be like after you have met him another half-dozen or so times? You will have lost your heart to him so completely that there will be no regaining it!”
Lucy felt herself flushing scarlet. She denied anything of the sort.
“I—I think he is very pleasant,” she insisted. “He has been very kind to me ...”
“Kind?” the Countess sneered. “In what way? He bought you tea, and walked with you in Kensington Gardens, and you talked about the ducks and things together.” Lucy had rather naively revealed that Avery had arrived prepared to feed the swans, if that was what she wanted. “Such an afternoon’s excursion I find wildly exciting!” with increasing sar c asm. “What will you do next. Take a bus to Hampton Court and get lost together in the maze there, or a trip on a river steamer that will involve you with all the other passengers, singing lustily on the way home? Especially if there’s a moon! Young lovers always adore the moon!”
Lucy stared at her, wondering at the harsh note in her voice, and the unfeeling mockery in her eyes. At the same time, the glow in her cheeks grew more brilliant.
“We are not in the least likely to become lovers,” she stated stiffly.
“Oh no?” The old lady ca c kled. “Then what will you become? Duck fanciers? Or connoisseurs of afternoon tea? Believe me, I didn’t buy you an entire new wardrobe of clothes to enable you to throw yourself away on a hotel waiter.”
At this Lucy felt indignation rise up in her, and she spoke indignantly.
“I didn’t ask you to buy me any new clothes, madame. And if that is the way you feel about my private concerns I would rather that you took them back.”
The Countess smiled at her suddenly, and rather humorously.
“My sweet child, there is nothing I could do with them,” she observed complacently. “You will have to wear them, and go on wearing them, and I will admit that I have formed plans which will provide us both with a lot of distraction in the future. I think it is high time we shut up this dark little maisonette for a few months, or allowed Augustine to remain behind and take care of it, and went abroad to the Continent to stay in some smart hotel, or perhaps rent a villa. Then you can meet the kind of people I wish you to meet, and perhaps marry well. In that way you can justify all the expenditure I have been put to on your account,” as if some justification was essential after such an orgy of spending.
Lucy experienced the chill of dismay.
“But you don’t really want to go abroad, do you, madame ?” she asked. “I mean ... why should you?”
“Why should I not, if it comes to that?” Her employer helped herself to a sugared almond from a dish on the centre table. “I have discovered how easy it is to raise a little money by the sale of some of my jewellery, and for years I have lived in a state of poverty and misery which I now deplore. In future we will live very differently, and you, because you are young, must have some fun ... lots and lots of fun! And I shall be so much amused
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