Mr. Perior looked at her, smiling but making no repartee.
“And Camelia has been telling me that you are responsible for her Greek.”
“Is Camelia ashamed of her Greek? She needn’t be. She was quite a good scholar.”
“But Greek! For Camelia! Don’t you think it jars? To bind such dusty laurels on that head!”
“Laurels? Camelia can’t boast of the adornment—dusty or otherwise.”
“Oh! leave me a leaf or two. You are disloyal. I am glad of my Greek. When one is so frivolous the contrast is becoming. And every twig of knowledge is useful nowadays in a woman’s motley crown, provided she wears it like a French bonnet.”
Perior observed her laughingly—Mrs. Fox-Darriel had as yet seen no hatchets.
“No danger of your being taken for a blue-stocking, Camelia.”
“No, indeed! I see to that!”
“You little hypocrite,” said Perior.