"I don't see what you find in Isola to be so devoted to her. I wouldn't go over there twice a week and bother with her for all the music in the world. And those cold hands of hers make you shiver. They're like a frog."
"They have grown warmer. She goes to ride every day now. And we read French and English, and—verses. I like the music so much."
Olive was still secretly jealous of Victor. But presently he was going away to finish his education. And she knew several boys who went to the Academy that she thought much more fun. Victor was growing too sober, too intellectual.
They had all become very fond of the little girl at the Savedras. Even wild Elena, in a half-bashful way, copied her. She could run races and climb and ride the pony with the utmost fearlessness, she did not squeal over bugs and mice and the little lizards that came out to sun themselves. Lena had thrown one on her, and she had never told of it. She was not a bit like Isola, although she could sit hours over the music and reading of verses. And she knew so much of those queer countries where tigers and lions and elephants lived.
"But you have never been there," the child said with severe disbelief.
"You study it in books and at school."
"I hate to study!"
"You will love it when you are older. Some day your father may take you to France, and then you will want to know the language."
"I know a little of it, enough to talk."
"Mam'selle will be glad to teach you the rest."