Kathleen (who also does not like to be beaten—giving up the knife despondently). What can the nasty hard thing be?
L. It is nothing but indurated clay, Kate: very hard set certainly, yet not so hard as it might be. If it were thoroughly well crystallised, you would see none of those micaceous fractures; and the stone would be quite red and clear, all through.
Kathleen. Oh, cannot you show us one?
L. Egypt can, if you ask her; she has a beautiful one in the clasp of her favourite bracelet.
L. Well, so is that thing you've been scratching at.
Kathleen. My goodness!
(Takes up the stone again, very delicately; and drops it. General consternation.)
L. Never mind, Katie; you might drop it from the top of the house, and do it no harm. But though you really are a very good girl, and as good-natured as anybody can possibly be, remember, you have your faults, like other people; and, if I were you, the next time I wanted to assert anything energetically, I would assert it by 'my badness,' not 'my goodness.'
Kathleen. Ah, now, it's too bad of you!