"In England all young ladies are conservative, at least all I have ever known," continued Wilton.
"Conservative!—I have read that word often in the journals. Is it legitimacy, Church and state, and all that?"
"Exactly."
"Well, the young ladies I know—and they are but few—are very charming, very accomplished; but they know nothing, absolutely nothing. Is it not strange?"
There was not the slightest approach to cynicism in her tone, but she looked at Wilton as if fully expecting him to share her wonder.
"Is this the character of the young ladies of the unknown land into which I am about to plunge? I fancied Scotchwomen were educated within an inch of their lives."
"I know English girls best. Some are very learned; have been taught quantities; they can tell the very year when printing was tried, and when Queen Elizabeth first wore silk stockings, and when every great pope was born; and they read French and German; and oh, I cannot tell all they can do and say. And yet—yet, they know nothing—they care for nothing—they lead such strange lives."
"I suppose the lives of all girls are much alike," observed Wilton, more and more curious to find out some leading acts concerning his rather original companion. "But, as we are both bound for the same place, perhaps I may have some opportunity of communicating my observations on the intellectual status of the Monkscleugh young ladies?"
"There is very little probability of such an event," said she, with an amused smile.