"No. I hate girls of that age; they always say you are getting stout, and that your hair isn't all your own."
Paul concealed a smile. "Did she give the apple to Sir Benjamin?" he inquired.
"Yes; to my great relief. Sir Benjamin has got a governorship out in India, so Isabel has chosen to go on living with them. She is just the sort of girl to like being with 'Excellencies,' and all that sort of thing."
"What is Miss Carnaby like? Is she pretty?"
"Oh! no; not pretty, but smart and stylish, and knows how to put her clothes on. And she is dreadfully clever. She positively terrified me the last time she was over in England."
"What sort of cleverness? Does she write books?" asked Paul, who was always interested in literary ventures.
"Good gracious, no; not so bad as that!" replied Lady Esdaile, looking shocked. "But she reads a good deal, and says sharp things, and you never know whether she is laughing at you or not. She makes me quite nervous."
"I don't like that sort of sharpness—especially in a woman."
"No more do I. And then Isabel is so abominably vain. And I don't see anything to be conceited about in mere cleverness; do you? It isn't as if she were pretty."
"Still even clever people are sometimes conceited, Lady Esdaile."