Lady Good-for-Nothing | Page 9

Dicky, seated opposite his father in a suit of sapphire blue velvet with
buttons of cut steel, partook only of the fried fowl and of a syllabub. He
had his glass of wine too, and sipped at it, not liking it much, but
encouraged by his father, who held that a fine palate could not be
cultivated too early.
By some process of dishing-up best known to himself (but with the aid,
no doubt, of the "dam scullion") Manasseh, who had cooked the dinner,

also served it; noiselessly, wearing white gloves because his master
abominated the sight of a black hand at meals. These gloves had a
fascination for Dicky. They attracted his eyes as might the intervolved
play of two large white moths in the penumbra beyond the candle-light,
between his father's back and the dark sideboard; but he fought against
the attraction because he knew that to be aware of a servant was an
offence against good manners at table.
His father encouraged him to talk, and he told of his purchase--but not
all the story. Not for worlds--instinct told him--must he mention the
word he had heard spoken. Yet he got so far as to say,--
"The people here don't like us--do they, father?"
Captain Vyell laughed. "No, that's very certain. And, to tell you the
truth, if I had known you were wandering the street by yourself I might
have felt uneasy. Manasseh shall take you for a walk to-morrow. One
can never be sure of the canaille."
"What does that mean?"
Captain Vyell explained. The canaille, he said, were the common folk,
whose part in this world was to be ruled. He explained further that to
belong to the upper or ruling class it did not suffice to be well-born
(though this was almost essential); one must also cultivate the manners
proper to that station, and appear, as well as be, a superior. Nor was this
all; there were complications, which Dicky would learn in time; what
was called "popular rights," for instance--rights which even a King
must not be allowed to override; and these were so precious that (added
the Collector) the upper classes must sometimes fight and lay down
their lives for them.
Dick perpended. He found this exceedingly interesting--the more so
because it came, though in a curiously different way, to much the same
as Miss Quiney had taught him out of the catechism. Miss Quiney had
used pious words; in Miss Quiney's talk everything--even to sitting
upright at table--was mixed up with God and an all-seeing Eye; and his
father--with a child's deadly penetration Dicky felt sure of it--was

careless about God.
This, by the way, had often puzzled and even frightened him. God, like
a great Sun, loomed so largely through Miss Quiney's scheme of things
(which it were more precise, perhaps, to term a fog) that for certain,
and apart from the sin of it and the assurance of going to hell, every one
removed from God must be sitting in pitch-darkness. But lo! when his
father talked everything became clear and distinct; there was no sun at
all to be seen, but there was also no darkness. On the contrary, a
hundred things grew visible at once, and intelligible and
common-sensible as Miss Quiney never contrived to present them.
This was puzzling; and, moreover, the child could not tolerate the
thought of his father's going to hell--to the flames and unbearable thirst
of it. To be sure Miss Quiney had never hinted this punishment for her
employer, or even a remote chance of it, and Dicky's good breeding had
kept him from confronting her major premise with the particular
instance of his father, although the conclusion of that syllogism meant
everything to him. Or it may be that he was afraid. . . . Once, indeed,
like Sindbad in the cave, he had seen a glimmering chance of escape. It
came when, reading in his Scripture lesson that Christ consorted by
choice with publicans and sinners, he had been stopped by Miss Quiney
with the information that "publican" meant "a kind of tax-collector."
"Like papa?" asked the child, and held his breath for the answer. "Oh,
not in the least like your dear papa," Miss Quiney made haste to assure
him; "but a quite low class of person, and, I should say, connected
rather with the Excise. You must remember that all this happened in the
East, a long time ago." Poor soul! the conscientiousness of her
conscience (so to speak) had come to rest upon turning such corners
genteelly, and had grown so expert at it that she scarcely breathed a
sigh of relief. The child bent his head over the book. His eyes were
hidden from her, and she never guessed what hope she had dashed.
It was