Joan Smith - Imprudent Lady / An Imprudent Lady

"The thing is,” he went on, “she is supposed to pretend she is sick to stave him off a little longer-waiting for God only knows what-I have no plan to rescue her. But the silly chit is falling in love with him. Now, what shall I do with her?”

“What is she telling you she wants to do?”

“I blush to confess it, but she plans to run away in the dead of night in the melodramatic manner of popular fiction. She must have been dipping into Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic novels when my back was turned. She hopes for him to come after her and make her number one wife, I imagine.”

“It sounds an excellent plan. The ladies will adore it, whatever the gentlemen may think. They would prefer him to use brute force or some vile scheme to have his way with her, I suppose, but if Shilla has decided she will bolt, bolt it is.”

“You don’t think it too hackneyed?”

“No, you will wrap it up in your fine silver phrases and the world will take it for a new thing.”

“It would never happen in the East,” he shook his head dubiously.

“Who will know that except yourself?”

“Only you. Can I count on your discretion?”

“You may be sure I won’t mention it to a soul.”

“I’ll let her bolt then. Now, you have helped me. What is your stumbling block? If you have a refractory hero on your hands I will be happy to trim him into line for you.”

“No, it’s not that. I'm not in the mood, that’s all.”

He looked around the room, and for the first time spotted Uncle Clarence’s pictures. “Good God! No wonder you’ve run dry with such a gallery to watch you. The work of Mr. Elmtree, no doubt. I recognize the pose. Oh, yes, and a symbol apiece. Who are they?”

“What an ignoramus,” she jeered. “You don’t recognize Shakespeare? Don’t be fooled by the luxuriant head of curls. Uncle did not like him to have a receding hairline."

“It was the candle that fooled me. But I won’t ask its significance. Andthe other fellow?”

“Milton, of course. Looking quite like his old self, but for the inch or so Uncle took off the end of his nose. And the other in the night gown is Aristotle.”

“They bear a remarkable resemblance to each other, do they not?”

“How can you say so? Shakespeare has a moustache.”

“Still, they could be taken for brothers.”

“There is a certain similarity between all my uncle’s pictures. You must develop an eye for the fine points. You will come out looking much like them when he gets around to doing you. You can’t escape forever you know.”

“You do me too much honour, but I must always be distinguished by my black patch.”

“Cretin!” she laughed. “You cannot think he would paint anything so different. You will have two round agates like the rest of us.”

He smiled, but picked her up on it all the same. “What a little diplomat you are, Miss Mallow. He wouldn’t paint anything so different. So grotesque you mean. He only paints over a fault. But you must not regard me in disgust because of it. The patch comes off shortly.”

“It is not in the least grotesque. Quite makes you, in fact. I like it excessively.”

“You put me at a disadvantage,” he smiled oddly.

"What can you mean? You are going to start finding fault with me. That’s it.”

“No, but I had hoped to ask you to exchange your cap for my patch one of these days. Today, in fact, or tonight rather, for the ball. My patch will have to stay on 'til a little later.”

“Oh, you go to the ball?” she said, relieved. She had hoped he would be there, that she would have at least one friend.

“I thought we were going together. But it was presumptuous of me. No doubt you have made other plans.”

“No,” she corrected hastily, smiling so there was no possibility of offence taken on his side, and clearly none on hers.

“I should have told-asked you sooner. I meant to bring the invitation myself and arrange it, but I have been busy writing and I see Hettie has bungled it. No matter; you don’t know her set yet, and I’ll have you to myself this once.”

Such gallantry as this set her maiden heart aflutter. There was never any flirtation between them. Their friendship was real friendship and no more, but her heart was not stone and it beat faster at such words as these.

“I had planned to go alone; I shall be happy for your escort.”

“You are not living up to your reputation, Miss Prudence Mallow. If you went alone, you would be taken up by the most raffish element at the party. Hettie will have a very mixed company. A brace of the royal dukes, rubbing elbows with nabobs and other parvenus.”

"Am I so abandoned-looking? I made sure my cap would protect me.”

“Ah, but you are not going to wear your cap, are you?” He looked at the cap she wore as he spoke.

“I had planned to, certainly.”

“I wish you would not. But about your question, no, you are not abandoned-looking in the least. It is only that a new lady coming on the scene is discovered first by the blades. Your finer specimen waits for an introduction, but the caper merchants will be all over you.”

She laughed this warning away, believing herself too old and much too plain to attract anything in the nature of a rake.

“I’ll hold them all at bay, and introduce you to nothing but bishops and vegetarians.” He arose. “I am taking up too much of your time with my foolishness. I’ll call for you at eight. 'Til then!” He raised one hand in a salute and was off.

Her writing block was miraculously cured. She wrote away till dinner time, and over the meal she was able to inform her protectors at what hour her ‘beau,’ as Clarence would persist in calling him, was calling for her, without ever having to reveal there was ever any question of his coming.

Clarence would not miss such an event as his niece setting off for a ball at the home of a countess on the arm of a marquis. In fact, he was so thrilled he too rigged himself in formal black satin breeches and white silk hose to see them off.

"A fine looking couple we have together there,” he congratulated his sister. “A pity he is maimed, but I will paint it out. I see Prue has taken off her cap. That will give him the clue she is thinking of accepting him. I shall paint her without her cap. It was a mistake for her to set it on. I urged her not to do it, but girls will be girls. Well, Wilma, will it be piquet or Pope Joan? We haven’t played Pope Joan for a week.”

Miss Mallow was well aware of the attention caused when Dammler rode out in his carriage, but she was not prepared to fall heiress to such a large overflow of it herself. She looked dignified and pretty in the green gown she had had made, but had she looked a dowd she would have attracted attention due to her escort. Any female Dammler bothered to bring to a polite party was fair game for quizzing by the gentlemen, and jealousy from the ladies. He made some initial efforts to protect her from the wilder bucks, but once she began dancing they separated, and she stood up with anyone who asked her, and was thankful to every man who did so. Two or three times Dammler hastened to her side at the conclusion of a dance to whisk her away from her partner.

“You don’t want to encourage old Malmfield,” he warned Prudence the first time. “A bit of a devil with the ladies.”

“He is old enough to be my father.”

“His mistress is young enough to be your daughter. Your best protection from him is that you are too old.”

“I hope I am not too old at twenty-four for a man in his fifties!” she laughed. “His present friend, I take it, is an infant.”

“I thought you were older than that,” Dammler said frankly, regarding her face critically, almost as though he didn’t believe her.