"We are wasting our time; I have a great deal to talk to you about. I don't often see you; I am so busy, you know."
"Yes, mother," said Christian; "but it seems a pity, doesn't it?"
"It can't be helped, dear. Your father is a man of great importance, and I am obliged to be with him all I can. And this is the time for your education. I want you to be a very accomplished girl. I don't care a bit about learning or anything of that sort, but I do want you to play well—so well that people will talk and look at you, and remark on the brilliancy of your touch. And I want you to have a lovely voice. When you are old enough you must have the very best instruction for that. And then I want you to paint a little, and recite; recitations are very popular, only they must be well done. And I want you, of course, to be a good linguist; your French must be perfect. By-and-by you shall go to Paris to get a proper accent. German is nice too, but not so important as French. Italian would be useful; you are sure to spend a few years in Italy. You must dance beautifully; but then there is no doubt on that point, for you dance well already."
Christian sat very upright; she did not speak.
"Well," said her mother, "does my list of accomplishments appeal to you? Do you want to be all that your mother could desire?"
"You leave out some things," said Christian—"the story part—all about history and the lovely, lovely things that happened long ago. I don't want just to be——"
"Just to be what, dear?"
"I can't explain myself; but when I think—oh, mumsy! I will tell you. You mustn't be angry with me, but I don't want to be a brilliant, accomplished girl; I want to be a heroine."
"You silly, silly child! A heroine! What do you mean?"
"I want to be the sort of girl who would do great things—who would——"