'That's very nice. And where has she taken you?' asked the old lady.
'Oh, it's I who have taken her, rather.' And Laura hesitated.
'Where do you mean?—to say her prayers?'
'Well, to some concerts—and to the National Gallery.'
Lady Davenant laughed, disrespectfully, at this, and the girl watched her with a mournful face. 'My dear child, you are too delightful! You are trying to reform her? by Beethoven and Bach, by Rubens and Titian?'
'She is very intelligent, about music and pictures—she has excellent ideas,' said Laura.
'And you have been trying to draw them out? that is very commendable.'
'I think you are laughing at me, but I don't care,' the girl declared, smiling faintly.
'Because you have a consciousness of success?—in what do they call it?—the attempt to raise her tone? You have been trying to wind her up, and you have raised her tone?'
'Oh, Lady Davenant, I don't know and I don't understand!' Laura broke out. 'I don't understand anything any more—I have given up trying.'
'That's what I recommended you to do last winter. Don't you remember that day at Plash?'
'You told me to let her go,' said Laura.
'And evidently you haven't taken my advice.'
'How can I—how can I?'
'Of course, how can you? And meanwhile if she doesn't go it's so much gained. But even if she should, won't that nice young man remain?' Lady Davenant inquired. 'I hope very much
