"And what are these?"
"Racine, Corneille, La Fontaine, and Boileau."
"What useless trash!.... And these?"
"Dante, Tasso, and Petrarch; ... and these six larger volumes are the 'componimenti lirici' of various authors."
"Oh goodness, child!... don't jabber your stupid school jargon to me.... There!... take them all away again; I can't very well see how they are to help you make a governess of yourself: grammars, I should think, and dictionaries, would be more to the purpose for that sort of profitable usefulness."
"And I have got them too, aunt, in my clothes trunk; and if you will but be pleased to let me give my time to it, I am quite sure that I shall get on very well."
"Get on!... get on to what, child?"
"To reading both French and Italian with facility, ... and perhaps to writing both with tolerable correctness."
"Well, ... if it will enable you to get your bread one of these days, I am sure that I don't wish to hinder it,—so go to work as soon as you will,—only pray don't let me hear any more about it, for I quite hate the sort of thing,—though of course, my dear, if I was in your situation, I should know it was my duty to think differently. But those whom Providence has blessed with wealth, have a right to indulge their taste, ... and my taste is altogether that of a lady."
From this time the aching void in the heart, and almost in the intellect of Agnes, seemed supplied. Her aunt, when she did not want her as a walking companion, suffered her to go on reading and scribbling to her heart's content, and the more readily, perhaps, from its giving her the air of being still a child learning lessons, which was exactly the footing on which she wished to keep her, if possible, for another year or two, as she was by no means insensible to the inconvenience of having a grown-up niece, while still in the pride of beauty herself.