CHAPTER XIV.
But although Augusta had maintained an attitude of stiff defiance, she was by no means pleased with herself. She rang for her maid, dressed for the street, and a few moments later was on her way to Murray Hill. When she reached the Creighton’s she went directly up to Mabel’s room, and, after a hasty tap, entered. Mabel was lying full-length on the divan among her rainbow pillows, a silver bottle of smelling-salts at her nose.
She rose at once.
“I have a headache,” she said coldly. “Sit down.”
“Mabel!” said Augusta precipitately, “should you think me dishonourable if I married the Duke of Bosworth?”
“If I did would it make any difference?”
“No; but I’d rather you didn’t.”
Mabel turned her head away and looked into the logs burning on the hearth.
“Until you yourself told me that it was over,” pursued Augusta, “I gave him no sort of encouragement; but as you cannot marry him yourself, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”
“No; I suppose there is no reason why you shouldn’t. Only it is something I couldn’t do myself.”
“You don’t know whether you could or not. Nobody knows what abstract sentiments he’ll sacrifice when he wants a thing badly. If somebody suddenly died and left you a fortune, wouldn’t you take him from me if you could?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Well, that would be much more dishonourable than anything I have done.”
“I suppose so. I don’t care. I don’t call that kind of thing honour. I wouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
“I fail to see any distinction, Mabel. You never had any reasoning faculty. I am much more suited to the Duke, anyhow, for he is really clever.”
“It isn’t cleverness he’s after.”
“Oh, of course he must have money. One is used to that. It’s like knowing that lots of people come to your house because you give good dinners; but you don’t like them any the less; in fact, don’t think about it. We have to take the world as we find it. If you regard the Duke as a fortune-hunter I wonder you can still love him.”
Mabel turned her head and regarded Miss Forbes with a haughty stare. “I do not love him,” she said, “I despise him too thoroughly. It is my pride only that is irritated. Don’t let there be any doubt on that point.”
“Well, I am delighted—relieved! It has worried me, made me genuinely unhappy; it has indeed, Mabel dear. I will admit that I had misgivings, that I was not altogether satisfied with myself; but now I can be as happy as ever again. And you don’t think it dishonourable? Please say that.”
“No, I don’t think it dishonourable; (for we are no longer friends),” she added to herself; but she was too generous to say it aloud.
Augusta went away a few minutes later, and Mabel, who was not going out that evening, flung herself on the divan, and sobbed into her cushions.