She looked at the girl whimsically, and Sylvia laughed.
“How angry father would be to hear you say that!” she cried. “But you wouldn’t say it to him, of course,” she added.
“You know it’s only nonsense; and there’s such a thing as tact, my dear.”
“I know,” sighed Sylvia. “I haven’t got any.”
“That’s another of the things that comes with age.”
“All the nice things come with age, I believe.”
“Well, age should have some compensations,” returned Anne, gaily.
“You have all of them,” Sylvia declared. “All the pretty things that generally belong to girls, and all the interesting things that ought to belong to women. It isn’t fair. You know how to talk to every one. I should love to hear what you say to father. It would be too amusing! Mrs. Dakin came in this morning, and said you were wonderful with the Frenchman who dined here last night. And the way you talk to Dr. Dakin is quite different from the way you talk to father. And of course, you’re quite different with me again. You always remind me of that verse in the Bible about being all things to all men!”
“You’re really a terrible young woman!” was Miss Page’s reply. “Go and sing me something. It’s the only way to stop you from proving me a monster of duplicity.”
“No, no,” urged Sylvia, eagerly. “You only speak to people as they can understand. But the wonderful thing is, that you know by instinct exactly what they will understand, and exactly how to say it.”