“Yes; he is a solicitor,” she said, repeating the well-known word with a little pride in its correctness. “But perhaps I am to go to school.”
“To school? You!” exclaimed Arthur, thinking of the opera and the manager-lover. “Should you like that?”
“I know nothing but music,” said Violante, blushing; “I never had any time. But I should like to learn. What is school like?”
Violante did not know why her companion turned away his head and made no answer for a moment.
“I can’t tell you much about girls’ schools,” he said presently. “I know one that must be rather a jolly place. I suppose the girls learn lessons, and go to walk, and have masters. I should think you would find it dull.”
“I should think it was peaceful,” said Violante, using a stronger word than she meant.
“Do you think so much of peace?” he said, rather sadly.
“It is because I have been so tired,” she answered simply, and he thought: “Poor little girl! she is fretting after the manager. But to send a prima donna to school; how ridiculous! Well, I won’t discourage her.”
“I know some school-mistresses who are very kind and lively. My sister goes there. She is very happy,” he added aloud, but thinking to himself that even the liberal Miss Vennings would hardly admit a disappointed opera-singer to their school.
“And on Sunday, what do they do in England on Sunday? Oh, yes,” noticing that he glanced at her Bible. “Yes, we are Protestants, like mamma; but I did not often go to the service at the Consulate, because, of course, Sunday was an opera night. What do English girls do on Sunday?”