She opened her mouth to answer, closed it again, and finally said, “Well, why didn’t you stay then?”
“You made it perfectly clear you had no use for me. I asked you if I could come on with you to Bath, but you didn’t want any disreputable companions accompanying you, so I tried to change myself, to become whatever it is you think you want. Well I'm finished with it. I'm not a saint, and I can’t become one with you cutting me at every effort I make. You didn’t like my old self, and you don’t seem to like the new one any better. You delight in torturing me. If you’ve turned into a flirt, be one full-time. I like it very well, but don’t slip back into being an outraged spinster the minute I respond.”
“I am not a flirt!”
“You’re giving a fair imitation of one. There is a name for girls who lead men on, only to swat them down at the last minute. I shan’t sully your virginal ears with it, but you’ll hear it from someone soon enough if you go on in this way.”
“Why stick at telling me then, since I am so clearly lost to all sense of propriety?"
“You’d like to have something else to beat me over the head with, but I’m on to you now, Miss Mallow. You knew all along what I was. I may have been a damned fool, but I was never a hypocrite.”
“No, not before you came here with a poker up your spine and this pompous air of self-righteousness. You- you of all people, to be reading me a lecture in morals!”
"The tables are turned, are they not?”
“I never lectured you, much as you deserved it.”
“Indeed you did not! You enjoyed leading me on to reveal every last shred of my shame, while you sat with your mouth pursed and to ask me another leading question. But you’ve led me on for the last time. This is the end of it.”
A clap of thunder pealed, and a flash of lightning rent the sky. These ominous signs were followed by a sprinkling of rain, and the argument had to be discontinued while they ran back to the carriage. No further squabbling was possible with the Dowager and Clarence present. They elected to continue the painting session at the Countess’ home, and Prudence in a tight voice said that she would like to be left at Laura Place.
She was sure she had lost Dammler. She considered his lecture, and while it angered her, she had to admit there was some justice in it. He had been behaving very properly since coming to Bath, and she had been chaffing him. In fact, the more proper he had become, the harder she had tried to make him stop. And he loved her, he had even said that, and she hadn’t known how to turn it to her advantage. She may have been trying to flirt, but she realized she had a long way to go. How could she have stood there and heard him tell her he loved her and managed to send him away angry? “This is the end of it.”
Dammler went home to Pulteney Street even more perturbed. As usual, he had said too much, too violently, been too quick-made a fool of himself. There was perhaps some justification in what he had said, but it was no way to go about conciliating an angry lady. He hadn’t the patience to hang on in this shilly-shallying manner. Wise Prudence had seen through him, knew he was no stodgy worthy, and didn’t care for his pretense. She had liked him best as himself, so he would be himself. He couldn’t go on pretending to be what he was not for the rest of his life.
Dammler went into town, ordered six dozen red roses to be delivered to her that day, and a dozen dozen the next, and sent off to the Abbey for the family engagement ring. He then went to his cousin’s home and sat in the Purple Saloon, watching the rain glide down the windows.
The first six dozen red roses were delivered to Laura Place, where they caused a pleasant stir.
“He means to do it up proper this time,” Clarence said. “He will be here today if he has to drive all night.”
“He is only staying at Pulteney Street,” Prudence reminded him.
“Aye, so he is. He should be here any minute.”
Looking out at the sodden earth, Prudence didn’t expect he would come that day, nor did he. This is a little reminder to me, she smiled to herself. When a gentleman takes to sending an excess of flowers and diamonds, he means no good. She looked carefully among the flowers for a diamond, but there was none. He is telling me that what I deserve after my flirtation is a carte blanche, but still it was not what she expected. She had no dread on that score. The only question in her mind was when he would arrive in person. When the dozen dozen roses arrived the next morning, Mrs. Mallow was thrown into quite a tizzy.
“What can he mean by this?” she asked her daughter. “It seems so very odd, but no doubt it is some sort of a joke.”
“Yes, it is a joke. Mama,” Prudence told her.
Mrs. Mallow looked at her daughter’s satisfied smile, and though she did not see the humour of the situation, but only the foolish extravagance of more flowers than they had vases for, she was happy. At three o’clock Clarence returned from the second sitting, bringing the canvas with him, two-thirds finished. Already a snub-nosed Mona Lisa was taking shape, her orange cheeks standing out against the background of unvariegated green. There was only the family crest to be done, and a few finishing touches. Dammler came along with him.
Prudence, half-hidden behind a tub of roses, asked how the Countess liked her painting.
“She is well pleased with it,” Clarence asserted. “I saw that poor shabby thing Romney did. Pitiful. Made her look like a parrot Well, well, I see we are bathed in roses. Madrid in town?”
“Seville do you mean?” Mrs. Mallow asked.
“The Spanish fellow who is always dashing after Prudence.”
“No, Dammler sent these flowers, Uncle,” Prudence told him. “Such an abundance-almost an excess,” she peered at the Marquis as she said this. He was trying to look nonchalant, but there was a question in his eyes, and an unsteadiness about the lips.
“I guess we know by now what this means, eh?” Clarence announced with a smile of approval.
From Prudence’s blushes and Dammler’s self-conscious expression, Mrs. Mallow assumed her brother was right for once, and thought of a way to allow them privacy in these tight quarters. “Oh, Clarence, you’ll never guess who is here,” she lied brightly. “Mrs. Hering."
“Eh? No such a thing. I had a note from her only this morning and she is in bed with flu, poor soul. I shall tell her to have Knighton drop round to see her. He is always happy to make a call. He will go anywhere.”
“Not that Mrs. Hering. Her sister-in-law-the elder Mrs. Hering. She has taken the rooms right below us. We must go to see her."
"Yes, we’ll drop down this evening and make them welcome.”
“Let us go now, Clarence,” Wilma persisted with a rueful glance at Prudence, who bit her lip and nodded her head vigorously. “There is no study here for Prudence and Lord Dammler to chat about books in private. Writers want a little privacy. We’ll run along to see Mrs. Hering now, shall we?”
“I am always happy to listen to talk of books. They need not avoid the subject on my account”
“Yes, but she is waiting for us now, Clarence,” she persisted, then took him by the arm and suggested he bring Lady Cleff’s portrait for Mrs. Hering to admire.
Clarence, Wilma and Lady Cleff’s picture hastened into the corridor, and Wilma carefully closed the door behind them.
“Anunlooked-for piece of tact on your mama’s part,” Dammler said with a tentative smile.
“What delayed my uncle’s catching the hint even longer than usual might be that the elder Mr. Hering is a bachelor, you see.”