Minuet by Joan Smith

brief lecture while the two talked, but got no chance to deliver it.
    “Don’t you dare to say a word about my lending Henri a few pounds,” was the first remark she directed to him after Henri’s departure. “I know you make ready a lecture, but I will not hear it.”
    He hardly dared to give vent to his admonitions after this, but did ask, “How does Mérigot live, anyway? What does he use for money?”
    “Henri is very clever. He writes reports for the government about the situation in France. He sees all the new émigrés who come over, and follows the politics there closely. He also writes for the newspapers, but under an assumed name. Dozens of very highly placed people wanted him to tutor their sons as well, but Henri would not, because it was too low a job, and besides, the women would expect him to make love to them on the side, and for Henri, love is not something for the side. It must be a grand passion for him. I feel the same.”
    This speech threw Degan into sufficient alarm that her lending of money to him was temporarily forgotten. It was clear Mérigot would get the whole inheritance, and the girl along with it, if Harlock did not take steps to keep them apart. Yet the father refused to lift a finger to limit Mérigot’s visits. He ran tame now at Berkeley Square.
    Himself Sally continued to treat in a cavalier, offhand manner that greatly offended his sense of dignity and decorum, yet when he dropped her a hint and she became more formal, this incensed him even more. She was careless of the proprieties that ought to be observed, offended a minister and a duchess, but was not only polite but familiar with shopkeepers and servants. In fact, she made little distinction in her manner between the mighty and the masses. He tried to explain what degree of condescension should be bestowed on the various classes, but came a cropper.
    “You shouldn’t have been rude to Grenville, the minister of foreign affairs, and a very important gentleman.”
    “He is a servant of the people. I am people. You told me servants are to be held accountable for doing a job properly, and I do not think he does his job properly. You scolded John Groom for not walking your horses; I scolded John Minister for his negligence.”
    “I didn’t hear you scold that little parlor maid for spilling wine on your gown.”
    “She had the toothache, Degan. Poor thing. A toothache is worse than anything. Have you ever had the toothache?”
    “What has that got to do with it?”
    “Oh, how cruel, how inconsiderate you are! You think the people have no feelings? Maybe the French are right. Maybe it’s time for a revolution in England. A tooth aches as much for a servant as for a monarch. This is how revolutions are begun, Degan—treating people like dumb animals, or worse. You left your groom standing in the rain yesterday with no coat or umbrella. Your horses were covered; your groom was not. When the Revolution comes to England, you will be one of the guillotine’s first meals.”
    “We use the rope in England, Sally.”
    “You shouldn’t. The guillotine is faster, more merciful. You wouldn’t believe how fast a life can be taken. I saw a woman beheaded in Paris. Her mouth was open crying, and still the lips were moving when Sanson picked the head out of the basket to show the crowd.”
    Degan considered it time to change the subject, but he began to have a glimmering why Sally’s ideas were so different from his own. He also got a raincoat for his groom.
    The second week wore on, and Sally was on tenterhooks for the arrival of her mother and brother in England. Every day Harlock told her it would be any time now. Fox was looking after it, but every day it was the same story, and she became uneasy. Degan and Mérigot were dining with the Harlocks that evening, before going to the play. Both the young gentlemen noticed that Sally was restless, unhappy. Mérigot tried to rally her out of her blue mood, but in truth he was highly