“I hope you find your pupil progressing favourably.”
“Very middling,” with a shake of her head. “You know perfectly well you have been bored to death nearly the whole evening, because there were only two or three people you thought worth talking to.”
“And if so—it is hardly my fault.”
“Why, of course it is! The people were just as nice as you, really—rather nicer in fact—the only difference is a mere question of having studied Browning, and Darwin, and a lot of musty old German and French writers, whom, I’ll be bound to say, you don’t half understand.”
“Possibly not. But they have a way of developing the mind.”
“Developing the mind!” scornfully. “What’s the matter with my mind?—it develops itself. I don’t pore over musty books.”
“Perhaps you are naturally more gifted,” with light satire.
“Sarcasm is wasted on me,” she retorted. “It flows off like water from a duck’s back. Why not tell me straight I’m an ignoramus? Just as I tell you straight that all your learning and experience does not give you the right to think yourself so superior to other people, and give yourself such airs.”
“You are very outspoken,” smiling a little in spite of himself.
“Yes; but I can take plain speaking, too, so if you want to have your revenge, fire away. I know that I’ve got a snub nose and no complexion, and am always more or less untidy, because I’ve been told so often, but you can tell me again if you like.”