‘That would indeed be a terrible fate,’ said the Baronet with a smile.
‘By Jove, though, Sir Frederick, but we are serious!’
‘Young ladies in society don’t generally say “by Jove.”’
‘Charley does, and he was educated at Harrow.’ From a pocket in her dress she drew a box of bon-bons, opened it and popped one between her teeth. Then she proffered the box to Sir Frederick. ‘Have one?’ she said with all the nonchalance imaginable.—The Baronet smiled, and shook his head.—‘You need not notice my fingers, please,’ continued Miss Brandon. ‘I’ve inked them. Somehow, I always do ink them when I’ve an extra hard lesson to learn.—But I say, Sir Frederick, isn’t it a jolly shame that a great girl like me should still be learning lessons? I’m seventeen years two months and four days old.’
‘Young ladies’——
‘I know what you are going to say. I learned the word from Charley, so it must be right. Well, it is a shame. I’ve a great mind to run away. I’ve five pounds saved up.’
‘Perhaps Charley, as you call him, might not like you to do that.’
‘No; I suppose not; and I must study him, poor boy. It’s an awful responsibility—sometimes my brain reels under it.’ Again the Latin grammar was flung high into the air and caught as it fell.
‘Is that the way you always learn your lessons, Miss Brandon?’
‘Not always. But, I say—I do hate Latin. I shall never learn it; and if I were to learn it, it would never be of any use to me.’