“Couldn’t _you_ perhaps take her, independent, unencumbered as you are?” I asked of Mrs. Meldrum. “You’re probably, with one exception, the sanest person she knows, and you at least wouldn’t scandalously fleece her.”
“How do you know what I wouldn’t do?” my humorous friend demanded. “Of course I’ve thought how I can help her--it has kept me awake at night. But I can’t help her at all; she’ll take nothing from me. You know what she does--she hugs me and runs away. She has an instinct about me, she feels that I’ve one about her. And then she dislikes me for another reason that I’m not quite clear about, but that I’m well aware of and that I shall find out some day. So far as her settling with me goes it would be impossible moreover here: she wants naturally enough a much wider field. She must live in London--her game is there. So she takes the line of adoring me, of saying she can never forget that I was devoted to her mother--which I wouldn’t for the world have been--and of giving me a wide berth. I think she positively dislikes to look at me. It’s all right; there’s no obligation; though people in general can’t take their eyes off me.”
“I see that at this moment,” I replied. “But what does it matter where or how, for the present, she lives? She’ll marry infallibly, marry early, and everything then will change.”
“Whom will she marry?” my companion gloomily asked.
“Any one she likes. She’s so abnormally pretty she can do anything. She’ll fascinate some nabob or some prince.”
“She’ll fascinate him first and bore him afterwards. Moreover she’s not so pretty as you make her out; she has a scrappy little figure.”
“No doubt; but one doesn’t in the least notice it.”
“Not now,” said Mrs. Meldrum, “but one will when she’s older.”
“When she’s older she’ll be a princess, so it won’t matter.”
“She has other drawbacks,” my companion went on. “Those wonderful eyes are good for nothing but to roll about like sugar-balls--which they greatly resemble--in a child’s mouth. She can’t use them.”
“To make fools of young men, but not to read or write, not to do any sort of work. She never opens a book, and her maid writes her notes. You’ll say that those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Of course I know that if I didn’t wear my goggles I shouldn’t be good for much.”