“I’m bored,” said Mrs Maxwell with gloom. “Bored.”
Teresa dropped into ease at once.
“Here?”
“Here? Oh no. It’s more serious, bigger. I’ve had too much Rome, too many stones, bricks, sarcophaguses, instructive people. Then I’m not thinking so much of myself as of Jem. Do you wish to see him buy up all the rubbish in the place?”
“Well, go!” said Teresa, laughing.
“And be as dull as ditch-water in some forlorn place! Thank you.”
“What do you want, then?”
Teresa knew Mary Maxwell of old, and felt sure that she was fully possessed with what she intended to do, although she did not often, as now, admit a personal motive. She was very attractive and spoilt, and had really convinced herself that she made others her first consideration.
“Look at Sylvia,” she went on.
“Sylvia is a girl who shows up better in the country than in these—these very learned places.”