"I didn't talk to the gardeners."
"You went out when I told you not to."
"You see!" appealed Charlotte, "she does vivisect me. Last time Aunt Sophie was the anesthetic: sometimes it's even worse. You don't hear of these things, papa, because I don't often complain; but there they are. And mamma is so pleased with herself about it—that's what tries me!"
"Charlotte," said her father, "that's not pretty—that's not respectful."
"No, but it's true."
The Queen attempted a diversion. "Why do you want an allowance? I give you pocket-money, and you get all the dresses you need."
"I get a great many more," admitted Charlotte; "but I don't get one that I really like."
"That shows your want of taste."
"Of course, I haven't your taste, mamma, you can't expect it; and what's too good for me doesn't suit me."
But this obliquity of speech missed its point, for of her own taste the Queen had no doubt whatever.