“Are they not?” said Una, quietly. “I don’t know. Perhaps my father learned all he knows from books.”
“And taught you in the same way. Tell me what books you have read.”
Una smiled softly, and as she did so, Mrs. Davenant started, and looked around at her with something like fright in her grave, still eyes.
“What is the matter?” asked Una.
“No—nothing,” replied the other. “I—you reminded me of somebody when you laughed, I can’t tell whom. But the books, you were going to tell me about the books.”
“I can’t remember all,” said Una, and then she mentioned the titles of some of the well-bound volumes which stood on the little bookshelf in the hut.
Mrs. Davenant regarded her curiously.
“Those are all books of a world that existed long ago,” she said. “You have never read any novels—any novels of present day life?”
“No, I think not.”
“Then you are absolutely ignorant of life as it is,” said Mrs. Davenant.