"What are you doing?" he said, as he took a chair opposite her. "Women
never make tapestry--real tapestry--in these days. You remind me of
Lady Jane Grey. Shall I get a volume of Greek and read it to you?"

She laughed. "I fear it would literally be Greek to me. Latin and I
had a fierce and desperate war, but I conquered in the end. With the
Greek, however, the war was extremely brief, and he marched off with
colors flying, and never condescended to renew the engagement."

"For all mercies make us duly thankful. A woman who knows Greek is
like a hot-house grape; a mathematically perfect thing, but scentless
and flavorless."

"You are consoling; and, indeed, I cannot see that it would have done
me much good; it certainly would not have increased my popularity
among your exacting sex. You are the first man to whom I have dared
acknowledge I know Latin. Lady Langdon was kind enough to give me
elaborate warnings and instructions before she launched me into
society. Among other things, she constantly reiterated, 'Never let a
man suspect that you know anything, my dear. He will fly from you as
a hare to cover. I want you to be a belle, and you must help me.' I
naturally asked her what I was to talk about, and she promptly replied
'Nothing. Study the American girl, they have the most brilliant way
of jabbering meaningless recitativos of any tribe on the face of the
earth. Every sentence is an epigram with the point left out. They are
like the effervescent part of a bottle of soda-water.' This was while
we were still in Wales, and she sent for six books by two of those
American novelists who are supposed to be the expounders-in-chief of
the American girl at home and abroad, and made me read them. It nearly