"I feel—people tell me,—I feel I ought perhaps to tell Leonetta——"
"You are wondering," Lord Henry interrupted, hoping to help her, "whether it is your duty to enlighten the child at all concerning——"
She sat down beside him. "Yes, I am," she said quickly.
"Has she asked any questions?" Lord Henry demanded, allowing his hand for a moment to hang motionless from his mesh of hair and glancing up at the cornice.
"No, I scarcely expect that," Mrs. Delarayne replied. "But in case. You see Cleopatra was so different. I never had any difficulty with her. Her reserve was always so rigid, I would have trusted her as a cantinière in a barracks of Zouaves. I never spoke a word about anything to Cleopatra. But Leonetta!"
"Yes, I see. You think Leonetta different?"
"What ought I to do? Do help me! Some say this and some say that. Some say that a mother should speak; some say that they never did, and they don't see why I should. My sister, Miss Mallowcoid, you know, says I ought to."
Lord Henry gave vent to an expletive of contempt.
"I'll do what you say;—only what you say," said the harassed matron, resting a hand on his.
"You should begin, my dear lady," Lord Henry replied, "by utterly distrusting all the nonsense the modern world says on this subject."