"Think so? I ain't sure yet," said Lady Meg. "And at any rate I don't care twopence about that. But—" A long pause marked a renewed scrutiny. "Your name's Sophy, isn't it?"
"Yes." Sophy hesitated, then forced out the words: "Sophy Grouch."
"Grouch?"
"I said Grouch."
"Humph! Well, Sophy, don't go on the stage. It's a poor affair, the stage, begging Miss Julia's pardon—I'm sure she'll do admirably at it. But a poor affair it is. There's not much to be said for the real thing—but it's a deal better than the stage, Sophy."
"The real thing?" Julia saw Sophy's eyes grow thoughtful.
"The world—places—London—Paris—men and women—Lord help them! Come with me, and I'll show you all that."
"What shall I do if I come with you?"
"Do? Eat and drink, and waste time and money, like the rest of us. Eh, Pindar?"
"Of course," said Mr. Pindar, with a placid smile.