Sylvia shook her head very decidedly. “I can’t imagine anything that would annoy her more, if she’s the girl I suppose her to be.”
“But I’d like her to have a friend like you,” he urged.
Sylvia looked at him severely. “Are you quite sure that you don’t want to change her?” she asked.
“Of course. Why?”
“Choosing friends for somebody else is not very wise; it sounds uncommonly like a roundabout way of developing her. No, no, I won’t meet your Jenny.”
“I see what you mean,” Avery assented. “I’ll write to Michael and tell him I’ve met you. Shall I tell him about Lily? Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had even a post-card. My fault, really. Yes, you can tell Michael that she’s probably quite happy and—no, I don’t think there’s any other message. Oh yes, you might say I’ve eaten one or two rose-leaves but not enough yet.”
Avery looked puzzled.
“Apuleius,” she added.
“Strange girl. I wish you would go and see Jenny.”