With worldly people in general,
though the worldliness is manifest enough and is taught by plain
lessons from parents to their children, yet there is generally some
thin veil even among themselves, some transparent tissue of lies,
which, though they never quite hope to deceive each other, does
produce among them something of the comfort of deceit. But between
Lady Augustus and her daughter there had for many years been
nothing of the kind. The daughter herself had been too honest for
it. "As for caring about him, mamma," she had once said, speaking
of a suitor, "of course I don't. He is nasty, and odious in every
way. But I have got to do the best I can, and what is the use of
talking about such trash as that?" Then there had been no more
trash between them.
It was not John Morton whom Arabella Trefoil had called nasty and
odious. She had had many lovers, and had been engaged to not a few,
and perhaps she liked John Morton as well as any of them, except
one. He was quiet, and looked like a gentleman, and was reputed for
no vices. Nor did she quarrel with her fate in that he himself was
not addicted to any pleasures. She herself did not care much for
pleasure. But she did care to be a great lady,--one who would be
allowed to swim out of rooms before others, one who could snub
others, one who could show real diamonds when others wore paste,
one who might be sure to be asked everywhere even by the people who
hated her.
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