'Told you what, Madame?'

'About his meeting with the judge,' said Mrs Burnham. 'You see, Puggly, they had dinner at the Bengal Club yesterday, and after they'd bucked about this and that, Mr Kendalbushe asked if he might broach a rather delicate matter. Now, as you know, dear, Mr Burnham holds Mr Kendalbushe in the highest esteem so of course he said yes. And would you like to hazard a guess, Puggly dear, about what this matter was?'

'A point of law?'

'No, dear,' said Mrs Burnham, 'far more delicate than that: what he wanted to ask was whether you, dear Puggly, might look favourably upon his suit.'

'Suit?' said Paulette, in confusion. 'But Madame, I cannot say. I have no memory of his costume.'

'Not that kind of suit, you gudda,' said Mrs Burnham, with a good-natured laugh. 'Suit of marriage is what he meant. Don't you samjo, Puggly? He's planning to propose to you.'

'To me?' cried Paulette in horror. 'But Madame! Why?'

'Because, my dear,' said Mrs Burnham with a good-natured laugh, 'he is most greatly impressed by your simple manners and your modesty. You have quite won his heart. Can you imagine, dear, what a prodigious stroke of kismet it will be for you to bag Mr Kendalbushe? He's a nabob in his own right – made a mountain of mohurs out of the China trade. Ever since he lost his wife every larkin in town's been trying to bundo him. I can tell you, dear, there's a paltan of mems who'd give their last anna to be in your jooties.'

'But with so many splendid memsahibs vying for him, Madame,' said Paulette, 'why would he choose so poor a creature as myself?'

'He is evidently very impressed by your willingness to improve yourself, dear,' said the BeeBee. 'Mr Burnham has told him that you are the most willing pupil he has ever had. And as you know, dear, Mr Burnham and the judge are completely of a mind in these things.'

'But Madame,' said Paulette, who could no longer control her trembling lip, 'surely there are many who know the Scriptures far better than I? I am but the merest novice.'

'But my dear!' laughed Mrs Burnham. 'That's exactly why you have won his regard – because you're a clean slate and willing to learn.'

'Oh Madame,' moaned Paulette, wringing her hands, 'surely you are pleasanting. It is not kind.'

The BeeBee was surprised by Paulette's distress. 'Oh Puggly!' she said. 'Are you not glad of the judge's interest? It is a great triumph, I assure you. Mr Burnham approves most heartily and has assured Mr Kendalbushe that he will do everything in his power to sway you. The two of them have even agreed to share the burden of your instruction for a while.'

'Mr Kendalbushe is too kind,' said Paulette, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. 'And so is Mr Burnham. I am greatly honoured, Madame – yet I must confess that my sentiments are not the same as those of Mr Kendalbushe.'

At this, Mrs Burnham frowned and sat upright. 'Sentiments, my dear Puggly,' she said sternly, 'are for dhobis and dashies. We mems can't let that kind of thing get in the way! No, dear, let me tell you – you're lucky to have a judge in your sights and you mustn't let your bunduk waver. This is about as fine a shikar as a girl in your situation could possibly hope for.'

'Oh Madame,' said Paulette, weeping freely now, 'but are not the things of this world mere dross when weighed against love?'

'Love?' said Mrs Burnham, in mounting astonishment. 'What on earth are you bucking about? My dear Puggly, with your prospects, you can't be letting your shokes run away with you. I know the judge is not as young as he might be, but he's certainly not past giving you a butcha or two before he slips into his dotage. And after that, dear, why, there's nothing a mem needs that can't be cured by a long bath and a couple of cushy-girls. Believe me, Puggly, there's a lot to be said for men of that age. No badmashee at all hours of the night, for one thing. I can tell you, dear, there's nothing more annoying than to be puckrowed just when you're looking forward to a sip of laudanum and a nice long sleep.'

'But Madame,' said Paulette, miserably, 'do you not feel it would be penible to spend one's life thus?'

'That's the best part of it, dear,' said Mrs Burnham cheerfully. 'You won't have to. He's no chuckeroo after all, and I doubt he is long for this world. And just imagine – after the dear, sainted man is gone you'll be able to swan off to Paris with his cuzzanah and before you know it, some impoverished duke or marquis will come begging for your hand.'

'But Madame,' said Paulette, sobbing, 'what will be my profit from this, if my youth is forfeit and I have wasted the love that is in my heart?'

'But Puggly dear,' protested the BeeBee. 'You could learn to love the judge, could you not?'

'But one cannot learn to love, Madame,' Paulette protested. 'Surely it is more like a coup de foudre – how do you say in English – like being shot by his bolt?'

'Shot by his bolt!' Mrs Burnham clapped her hands over her scandalized ears. 'Puggly! You really must watch what you say.'

'But is it not true, Madame?'

'I'm sure I wouldn't know.' Her suspicions awakened, Mrs Burnham turned to rest her chin on her hand and directed a long, searching glance at Paulette. 'Pray tell me, dear Puggly – there isn't someone else, is there?'

Paulette was in a panic now, knowing that she had given away more than she should have. But denial was futile too, she knew, for to tell a direct lie to someone as shrewd as Mrs Burnham was merely to double the risks of detection. So instead she hung her head, in silence, and lowered her streaming eyes.

'I knew it!' said the BeeBee triumphantly. 'It's that American, isn't it – Hezekiah or Zebediah or whatever? But you're out of your mind, Puggly! It would never serve. You're too poor to throw yourself away on a sailor, no matter how handsome or well-spoken. A young seaman – why, that's the worst kismet any woman could wish for, even worse than a wordy-wallah! They're gone when you need them, they never have a dam's worth of silver to call their own, and they're dead before the children are out of their langoots. With a classy for a husband, you'd have to find a job as a harry-maid just to get by! I don't think it would suit you at all, dear, cleaning up other people's cabobs and emptying their dawk-dubbers. No, dear, it can't be allowed, I won't hear of it…'

Suddenly, as her suspicions deepened, the BeeBee cut herself short and clamped her hands on her mouth. 'Oh! dear, dear Puggly – tell me – you haven't…?… you haven't… No! Tell me it isn't so!'

'What, Madame?' said Paulette, in puzzlement.

The BeeBee's voice sank to a whisper. 'You haven't compromised yourself, Puggly dear, have you? No. I will not credit it.'

'Compromise, Madame?' Paulette proudly raised her chin and squared her shoulders. 'In matters of the heart, Madame, I do not believe that half-measures and compromises are possible. Does not love demand that we give our all?'

'Puggly…!' Mrs Burnham gasped, fanning herself with a pillow. 'Oh my dear! Oh heavens! Tell me, dear Puggly: I must know the worst.' She swallowed faintly and clutched her fluttering bosom: '… is there?… no surely there isn't!… no… Lud!…'

'Yes, Madame?' said Paulette.

'Puggly, tell me the truth, I conjure you: there isn't a rootie in the choola, is there?'

'Why, Madame…'

Paulette was a little surprised to see Mrs Burnham making such a to-do about a matter she usually touched upon so lightly – but she was glad, too, to have the conversation turned in this new direction, since it presented a good opportunity for escape. Hugging her stomach, she made a moaning sound: 'Madame, you are prefectly right: I am indeed a little foireuse today.'

'Oh dear, dear Puggly!' The BeeBee dabbed her streaming eyes and gave Paulette a pitying hug. 'Of course you're furious! Those budzat sailors! With all their udlee-budlee, you'd think they'd leave the larkins alone! My lips are sealed, of course – no one will learn of it from me. But Puggly dear, don't you see? For your own sake, you must marry Mr Kendalbushe at once! There is no time to waste!'