The girl arose, made him a mocking obeisance, and swinging the turban in her hand passed into the alcoved music room; a little later an Italian air, soft, dreamy, drifted to them from the keys of the piano.
“She will make a sensation,” prophesied Dumaresque, sagely.
“You mean socially? No; if left to herself she would ignore society; it is not necessary to her; only her affection for me brings her from her studies now. Should I die tomorrow she would go back to them next week.”
“But why, why, why? If she were unattractive one could understand; but being what she is––”
“Being what she is, she has a fever to know all the facts of earth and all the guesses at heaven.”
“And bars out marriage!”
“Not for other people,” retorted the dowager.
“But to what use then all these accomplishments, all this pursuit of knowledge? Does she mean to hide it all in some convent at last?”
“I would look for her rather among some savage tribes, doing missionary work.”