Sir Oswald shrugged his shoulders.
"Each one to his or her taste, Pauline. With very little more of such neglect you would have been a——"
He paused; perhaps some instinct of prudence warned him.
"A what?" she demanded, scornfully. "Pray finish the sentence, Sir Oswald."
"My dear, you are too impulsive, too hasty. You want more quietness of manner, more dignity."
Her voice deepened in its tones as she asked:
"I should have been a what, Sir Oswald? I never begin a sentence and leave it half finished. You surely are not afraid to finish it?"
"No, my dear," was the calm reply; "there never yet was a Darrell afraid of anything on earth. If you particularly wish me to do so, I will finish what I was about to say. You would have been a confirmed Bohemian, and nothing could have made you a lady."
"I love what you call Bohemians, and I detest what you call ladies, Sir Oswald," was the angry retort.
"Most probably; but then, you see, Pauline, the ladies of the house of Darrell have always been ladies—high-bred, elegant women. I doubt if any of them ever knew what the word 'Bohemian' meant."