"What else did you learn?" said Beth.
"Oh—reading. No—I could read before I went. But music, you know, and French."
"Say some French," said Beth.
"Oh, I can't," Aunt Grace Mary answered. "But I can read it a little, you know."
"I should like to hear you play," said Beth.
"But I don't play," Aunt Grace Mary rejoined.
"I thought you said you learnt music."
"Oh yes. I had to learn music; and I practised for hours every day; but I never played."
Aunt Grace Mary smiled complacently as she spoke, took off her spectacles, and locked up her writing materials—Beth, the while, thoughtfully observing her. Aunt Grace Mary's hair was a wonderful colour, neither red, yellow, brown, nor white, but a mixture of all four. It was parted straight in the middle, where it was thin, and brought down in two large rolls over her ears. She wore a black velvet band across her head like a coronet, which ended in a large black velvet bow at the back. Long heavy gold ear-rings pulled down the lobes of her ears. All her dresses were of rustling silk, and she had a variety of deep lace-collars, each one of which she fastened with a different brooch at the throat. She also wore a heavy gold watch-chain round her neck, the watch being concealed in her bosom; and jet bracelets by day, but gold ones in the evening.