“What mirror?”
“The mirror of Art?”
“Why there’s nothing the matter with it.”
“Well—I don’t know,” said I, “but it seems to me as if so many people have been taught to look into it, that it has become dulled with their breath and won’t reflect anything now.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“I don’t believe I know myself,” I replied. “I haven’t been taught like you have.”
“Well—which frame would you like?” she asked a little testily.
“I’m afraid my housekeeper’ll be annoyed if I don’t take the rosewood one,” said I.