Lady Munro's feeling for her niece was one of mingled pride, affection, disgust, and fear—disgust for the life-work she had chosen, fear of her supposed "cleverness." Lady Munro despised learned women, but she was not at all willing that they should despise her. She exerted herself to talk well, but even Mona's evident admiration could not put her quite at her ease.
"How is it we have seen so little of you, Mona?" she said, when they had left Sir Douglas to his wine. "Where were you when we were last at home?"
"In Germany, I suppose. I went there for three years after I left school."
"To study music?"
"Both music and painting in a small way."
"You wonderful girl! Then you are a musician?"
"Gott bewahre!" burst from Mona involuntarily. "My musical friends thought me a Turner, and my artistic friends thought me a Rubinstein; from which you may gather the truth, that I had no real gift for either."
"So you say! I expect you are an 'Admirable Crichton.'"
"If that be a euphemism for 'Jack-of-all-trades and master of none,' I suppose I am—alas!"
"And does Homer never nod? Do you never amuse yourself like other girls?"