"My father is very rich."
"Is he? And what are you going to do when you grow up?"
"Oh, I'm going to be a lady."
"Yes, that's about all you can be, I suppose," he nodded, and looked really sorry for her.
"I shall be very rich, and I shall do just what I like—except darning and needlework. They're hijjus!"
"Hideous," he said, with a touch of pedantic reproof which consorted oddly with his jacket and trousers.
"I always say 'hijjus' when it's quite too awful and past words. How would you like to be a manager of one of my father's mills?"
"I don't know," he said, regarding her doubtfully. "I'm thinking perhaps I wouldn't make a very good manager. Not yet."
Then her hand happened to touch her pocket, which reminded her of her lunch.
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I'll sit down here and you shall have some of my lunch, and you shall tell me the names of all those hills and lochs opposite. Aren't they splendid?"