The Diversions of a Princess/The Rev. Mr. Gregson

E'S much too good for you," said Wisdom.

"How can I be improved if I never know anyone better than myself?" said Anne. "It's a good deed to flirt with Mr. Gregson if it brightens his life. An East End curate has a very hard time of it. I listened to your dictates and sent away Willie Addleshaw, and now my spirits are low and I want spiritual comfort."

"You are only amusing yourself," said Wisdom.

"And Mr. Gregson's poor people," said Anne. "I'm going to sing to his Factory Club boys, poor darlings."

"I thought Mr. Gregson formed his Factory Club to give the poor refined amusement," said Wisdom.

"My songs are not vulgar," said Anne, defiantly. "'Mary was a Housemaid' is only coquettish. I sing it with point, to make it amusing. One can be amusing without being vulgar."

"You might not be thought vulgar on the stage of the Tivoli" said Wisdom.

"I'm not so certain," said Anne, thoughtfully. "I can't help seeing the possibilities of the song, and I have such a wonderful gift of suiting myself to my company, that"

"In any case your coquettish songs will scarcely help to educate the factory boys up to Mr. Gregson's high ideals," said Wisdom, quickly.

"I'm sure the boys will love my songs," said Anne.

"What will Mr. Gregson feel like while you arc singing them?" said Wisdom.

"We go down to amuse the boys, I hope, not each other," said Anne.

Mr. Gregson will be even more grieved than shocked," said Wisdom.

"I like shocking Mr. Gregson," said Anne, wickedly; "he's so sweet when I'm penitent."

"You like the excitement of confessing your sins to him," said Wisdom, coldly. "And you are so flattered at your wickedness having such an effect on him that you do not care how much you make him suffer. Remember that he believes you have a soul."

"I don't see why he shouldn't have an interesting soul to save now and then as well as his stupid factory boys," muttered Anne, slightly ashamed of herself all the same.

"You know perfectly well that whatever impression Mr. Gregson makes on you is a purely emotional if not wholly imaginative one," said Wisdom. "Your soul is never affected in the least."

"But my heart is," said Anne. "I think it is perfectly fine of a cultured man to waste—I mean spend—all his time in a filthy slum."

"That's what Mr. Gregson's wife would have to do," said Wisdom.

"Oh, why be serious?" said Anne, trying not to listen to Wisdom's plain speaking. "Why not take things lightly?"

"Because Mr. Gregson doesn't," said Wisdom. "That's why you like him, you know—because he takes life seriously."

"It's so interesting to know a man who puts being good before being clever or amusing himself or even making money," said Anne, reflectively. "I've never looked up to any man before. I'm quite serious in my respect for Mr. Gregson!"

"Don't mistake hero worship for love," said Wisdom; "or respect for mutual sympathy. It's been done before with disastrous consequences."

"I wish you'd be quiet," said Anne, desperately. "Who's thinking of marrying?"

"Mr. Gregson," said Wisdom. "He can't help seeing what an interest you take in his work among the factory boys."

"I'm interested in such heaps of things," said Anne. "Mr. Gregson doesn't know that," said Wisdom. "Your enthusiasm is quite peculiar to yourself And remember you told him your ideal life would be to live in a slum as he did, and work among the poor."

"You can admire things without doing them, can't you?" said Anne. "I adore Kubelik's playing, but I don't go home and practise it. Still I always find everything interesting that I do, so if I did marry Mr. Gregson, and lived in his slums, I might catch his enthusiasm and be contented"

"To give up all your other interests?" said Wisdom. "Theatres, parties, friends, flirting, travelling"

"One must eat one's cake or keep it," said Anne. "Suppose I choose to keep it?"

"Stale cake's unappetising," said Wisdom. "After you've married Mr. Gregson, and tied yourself up for life, you might regret it if you came up West and saw the restaurants, the shops, the park, the friends of whom you are so fond! No one who knows you lives at Bethnal Green! It's too far to drive to. Think how you'd feel when you had to mount an omnibus and jolt back to its loneliness, away from all the fun and friendship."

"Oh, I couldn't," said Anne; "I'd have to stay up West for a bit anyway!"

"And leave Mr. Gregson alone in his miserable little rooms?" said Wisdom. "He'll be climbing the stair now, tired and saddened after his hard day's work. You are sitting here in this cosy chair, before a blazing fire, well-dressed, well-dined, well-satisfied! But Mr. Gregson is coming home to find no fire, no flowers, no brightness, not even a good supper!"

"Oh, poor, poor Mr. Gregson," said Anne, with the ready tears coming to her eyes.

"What are you doing?" said Wisdom.

"No flowers!" said Anne, and she emptied the bowl of roses that an Express messenger had brought to her that morning. Outside the window the rain dashed against the pane. "His room shall be brightened," said Anne. "I'll brighten it myself"

"You can't go to Mr. Gregson's rooms alone to-night," said Wisdom.

"He shall have a fire," said Anne, "and a supper. I'll cook it myself I'll take my chafing-dish."

"But what will people say?" said Wisdom.

"No one who knows me lives in Bethnal Green," said Anne.

"What will your people think?" said Wisdom.

"I don't much care," said Anne, and she rung the bell. "They ought to be used to me by now," said Anne.

"What will Mr. Gregson think?" said Wisdom.

"That he has one true sympathetic friend," said Anne, heroically.

"His father was a bishop, and his sisters" said Wisdom.

"Bother his sisters!" said Anne.

A maid appeared.

"Whistle a hansom, please," said Anne.

"You can't go alone," said Wisdom.

"I am going to cheer up a fellow-creature," said Anne, and she wrapped paper round the wet stems of the roses.

"Mr. Gregson will be far too embarrassed to enjoy your society," said Wisdom. "He's an Oxford man—a county man! He'll insist on seeing you home at once; he'll be shocked out of his respectable skin; he'll be pained to death to think he should have been the cause of compromising you; and he'll most certainly propose to you. He'll think it his duty."

"Oh, dear!" said Anne. "Why can't girls be kind to men, without being misunderstood?"

"Men are too conventional, not to say conceited," said Wisdom. "Mr. Gregson is eligible! He will never respect you quite so much if you go to-night, even though he propose to you!"

"1 should refuse him, of course!" said Anne, indignantly.

"Then he will justly feel you are a heartless flirt to have shown such vivid interest in him, and lured him to humiliation," said Wisdom.

"It's a hateful—hateful world!" said Anne; but she put down the flowers.

"The hansom is here, miss," said the maid.

"I've changed my mind," said Anne.