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Updated: May 8, 2025
Smugg was not in the room, and the rest of us congratulated Joe, and made up a purse for him to give Pyrrha, with our best respects, and he bowed himself out, mightily pleased, and asseverating that we were real gentlemen. Then we sat and looked at the table. "It robs us of a resource," pronounced Gayford, once again making himself the mouthpiece of the party.
We had a noisy evening that night. I suppose we felt below par, and wanted cheering up. Anyhow, we made an expedition to the grocer's, and amazed him with a demand for his best champagne and his choicest sherry. We carried the goods home in a bag, and sat down to a revel. Smugg had some bread and cheese in his own room; he said that he had letters to write.
Yet he had breakfasted Mary and an eggshell testified to that effect. We said nothing, and he began to bleat Horace. In a minute of silence I happened to hear what it was: it referred to a lady of the name of Pyrrha; the learned may identify the passage for themselves. The next day the same thing happened except that it was close on twelve before Smugg appeared.
For my part, I took very considerable interest in Pyrrha's side of the question. I amused myself by constructing a fancy-born love of Pyrrha's for her social superior, and if he had been one of ourselves, I should have seen no absurdity. But Smugg refused altogether to fit into my frame.
I may say at once that Betsy Dill was very pretty, in a fine, robust style, and all four of us were decidedly enamored of her charms. Usually we courted her in a body, and scrupulous fairness was observed in the matter of seeking private interviews. Smugg had never spoken to her so we should all have sworn.
"No offense, gentlemen," he repeated; "but she's bin walking with me two years come Michaelmas." A pause followed. Then the chairman expressed the views of the meeting. "The deuce she has!" said he. "Off AND on," added Joe candidly. I looked at Smugg. He had shrunk down low in his seat, and rested his head on his hand.
So I left that aspect to the subject, and continued: "I suppose it was for letting Mr. Smugg kiss you?" "I couldn't help it." I had great doubts of that she could have tackled Smugg with one hand; but I said pleasantly: "No more could he, I'm sure." Pyrrha cast an alarmed glance at the house. "Oh, I'll be careful," I laughed. "Yes, and I'll let you go.
"Pique!" said Jack, and he shut the door. It was common knowledge that Smugg was engaged to be married. Familiarity had robbed the fact of some of its surprisingness, but there remained a substratum of wonder, not removed even by the sight of his betrothed's photograph and the information that she was a distant relative who had been brought up with him from infancy.
She did not believe in it, and she knew that I knew she did not, but the little compliment pleased her, all the same. "Smugg," I pursued, "is ill in bed. But perhaps he wouldn't have come, anyhow." "If you please, sir " Pyrrha began; but she stopped. "Yes, Betsy? What is it?" "Would you take a message for me, sir?" "If it's a proper one, Betsy, for a married lady to send."
There was no glamour about Smugg; and, to tell the truth, I should have thought that any girl, be her station what it might, faced with the alternative of Smugg and Joe, would have chosen Joe. In my opinion, Pyrrha was merely amusing herself with Smugg, and I was rather comforted by this reversal of the ordinary roles.
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