‘But why, child? My father seems to dote upon you.’
‘Oh yes! he dotes upon me, I suppose. But when the doting takes the form of scarcely allowing me to leave the house, and never to go out alone—in all the places we have been at, I never went to see the sights like other girls—I am so ignorant—you cannot imagine how ignorant. I know absolutely nothing.’
‘You know French and German, and Italian and English.’
‘What is that, when I am afraid to speak in them for fear of showing what an ignorant little fool I am!’
‘And you know politics. I sat in silent awe and amazement the other day when you were telling my father about the ministerial tactics in France and England.’
‘Oh! because I have read the papers to papa for years. I don’t know any grammar, nor any arithmetic, nor——’
‘What can you want with them? Grammar is bosh.’
‘Jerome!’
‘Of course it is bosh. Never be afraid to call it bosh. And as for arithmetic, you can add up what you receive and what you spend, I suppose.’
‘But I don’t mean that kind of arithmetic. I knew an English girl a little while ago where we were at Florence. She was spending the winter holidays there, and papa allowed me to go to see her sometimes. She showed me the work she had to do during the holidays, and it made me feel, oh, so fearfully ignorant. One of her sums was, “Find the present value of £760 at four and five-eighths per cent. for eighty days.” That is what I call arithmetic,’ said Avice, despondently.