Innocent lifted her eyebrows with a slight, almost weary smile. A scarcely perceptible change had come over her of late—a change too subtle to be noticed by anyone who was not as keenly observant as Miss Lavinia—but it was sufficient to give the old lady who loved her cause for a suspicion of trouble.
"What is it to be modern?" she asked—"In your sense, I mean? I know what is called 'modern' generally—bad art, bad literature, bad manners and bad taste! But what do YOU call modern?"
Miss Leigh considered—looking at the girl with steadfast, kindly eyes.
"You speak a trifle bitterly—for YOU, dear child!" she said—"These things you name as 'modern' truly are so, but they are ancient as well! The world has altered very little, I think. What we call 'bad' has always existed as badness—it is only presented to us in different forms—"
Innocent laughed—a soft little laugh of tenderness.
"Wise godmother!" she said, playfully—"You talk like a book!"
Miss Lavinia laughed too, and a pretty pink colour came into her wan cheeks.
"Naughty child, you are making fun of me!" she said—"What I meant about the Duchess—"
Innocent stretched out her hand for the card of invitation and looked at it.
"Well!" she said, slowly—"What about the Duchess?"