It is the same everywhere I've
been--servants' hall included. Why, when you meet a young couple, of what
you are pleased to call the "lower classes," walking in the Park, the man
hangs down his head as he slouches along, but the girl looks defiantly at
you, as much as to say, "I've got him. Bless him! What have you to say
about it?" while the man seems to be ashamed of himself, and evidently
feels that he's been had. Now, a man should be made to understand that
you're doing him a great favour when you give him a civil word. That's
the proper state of mind to keep a man in, and then you can do what you
like with him. I generally make him propose, so as to get it over before
any real harm's done, and to give an artistic finish to the episode.
After that we can be excellent friends, and have a jolly time. That's the
way I did with Lord Freddie. Now, here am I, chattering away as if I were
paid for talking instead of writing. Why do you look at me so? Don't you
believe what I tell you?'
'Yes, I believe all you say. What I can't understand is, why a bright
girl like you should enter a house and,--well, do what you have done
here, for instance.'
'Why shouldn't I? I am after accurate information. I get it in my own
way. Your writers here tell how the poor live, and that sort of thing.
They enter the houses of the poor quite unblushingly, and print their
impressions of the poverty-stricken homes. Now, why should the rich man
be exempt from a similar investigation?'
'In either case it is the work of a spy.
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