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Page 64
"What was her name? It's on the tip of my tongue. Funny how you
forget these things! Freddie was pretty far gone. I recollect
once, happening to be looking round his room in his absence,
coming on a poem he had written to her. It was hot stuff--very
hot! If that girl has kept those letters it's my belief we shall
see Freddie following in Lord Stockheath's footsteps."
There was a hush of delighted horror round the table.
"Goo'," said Miss Chester's escort with unction. "You don't say
so, Mr. Judson! It wouldn't half make them look silly if the
Honorable Frederick was sued for breach just now, with the
wedding coming on!"
"There is no danger of that."
It was Joan's voice, and she had spoken with such decision that
she had the ear of the table immediately. All eyes looked in her
direction. Ashe was struck with her expression. Her eyes were
shining as though she were angry; and there was a flush on her
face. A phrase he had used in the train came back to him. She
looked like a princess in disguise.
"What makes you say that, Miss Simpson?" inquired Judson,
annoyed. He had been at pains to make the company's flesh creep,
and it appeared to be Joan's aim to undo his work.
It seemed to Ashe that Joan made an effort of some sort as though
she were pulling herself together and remembering where she was.
"Well," she said, almost lamely, "I don't think it at all likely
that he proposed marriage to this girl."
"You never can tell," said Judson. "My impression is that Freddie
did. It's my belief that there's something on his mind these
days. Before he went to London with his lordship the other day he
was behaving very strange. And since he came back it's my belief
that he has been brooding. And I happen to know he followed the
affair of Lord Stockheath pretty closely, for he clipped the
clippings out of the paper. I found them myself one day when I
happened to be going through his things."
Beach cleared his throat--his mode of indicating that he was
about to monopolize the conversation.
"And in any case, Miss Simpson," he said solemnly, "with things
come to the pass they have come to, and the juries--drawn from
the lower classes--in the nasty mood they're in, it don't seem
hardly necessary in these affairs for there to have been any
definite promise of marriage. What with all this socialism
rampant, they seem so happy at the idea of being able to do one
of us an injury that they give heavy damages without it. A few
ardent expressions, and that's enough for them. You recollect the
Havant case, and when young Lord Mount Anville was sued? What it
comes to is that anarchy is getting the upper hand, and the lower
classes are getting above themselves. It's all these here cheap
newspapers that does it. They tempt the lower classes to get
above themselves.
"Only this morning I had to speak severe to that young fellow,
James, the footman. He was a good young fellow once and did his
work well, and had a proper respect for people; but now he's gone
all to pieces. And why? Because six months ago he had the
rheumatism, and had the audacity to send his picture and a
testimonial, saying that it had cured him of awful agonies, to
Walkinshaw's Supreme Ointment, and they printed it in half a
dozen papers; and it has been the ruin of James. He has got above
himself and don't care for nobody."
"Well, all I can say is," resumed Judson, "that I hope to
goodness nothing won't happen to Freddie of that kind; for it's
not every girl that would have him."
There was a murmur of assent to this truth.
"Now your Miss Peters," said Judson tolerantly--"she seems a nice
little thing."
"She would be pleased to hear you say so," said Joan.
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