“Oh, do let me see it.”
“No, I don’t think I’ll show it you. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll read you some extracts from it, if you like.” She said this as if it were an epic poem, and she was promising them a rare literary treat.
She took something out of her bag. “I know he doesn’t work very hard at school, but then the winter term is such a trying one; so cold for them to get up in the morning, poor little darlings!”
“Poor pets!” said Bertha.
Lady Kellynch took it out, while the others looked away discreetly, as she searched for suitable selections.
After a rather long pause she read aloud, a little pompously and with careful elocution:
“‘Doing fairly well in dictation, and becoming more accurate; in Latin moderate, scarcely up to the level of the form. …’”
“Is it in blank verse?” asked Bertha.
“Oh no! … Of course he’s in a very high form for his age.” She then went on, after a longer pause: “‘Music and dancing: music, rather weak … dancing, a steady worker.’ That’s very good, isn’t it? … ‘Map-drawing: very slovenly.’” (She read this rather proudly.) “‘Conduct: lethargic and unsteady; but a fair speller.’ Excellent, isn’t it? Of course they’re frightfully severe at that school. … Oh yes, and there’s ‘Bible good, but deficient in general knowledge. Has a little ability, but rarely uses it. …’ It’s dreadfully difficult to please them, really! But I think it’s very satisfactory, don’t you?”
Realising that Lady Kellynch had only read aloud the very best and most brilliant extracts that she could find in the report—purple patches, as one may say—Bertha gathered that it could hardly have been worse. So she congratulated the mother warmly and cordially, and said how fond she was of Clifford.