she tried ever so.

It was Tara's mother, Lady Despard, who had the happy idea of sharing
lessons, that would otherwise be rather a lonely affair for both. But it
was Roy's mother who had the still happier idea of teaching them
herself. Tara's mother joined in now and then; but Roy's mother--who
loved it beyond everything--secured the lion's share. And Roy was old
enough by now to be proudly aware of his own good fortune. Most other
children of his acquaintance were afflicted with tiresome governesses,
who wore ugly jackets and hats, who said "Don't drink with your mouth
full," and "Don't argue the point!"--Roy's favourite sin--and always
told you to "Look in the dictionary" when you found a scrumptious new
word and wanted to hear all about it. The dictionary, indeed! Roy
privately regarded it as one of the many mean evasions to which
grown-ups were addicted.

His ripe experience on the subject was gleaned partly from neighbouring
families, partly from infrequent visits to "Aunt Jane"--whom he hated
with a deep unreasoned hate--and "Uncle George," who had a kind, stupid
face, but anyhow tried to be funny and made futile bids for favour with
pen-knives and half-crowns. Possibly it was these uncongenial visits
that quickened in him very early the consciousness that his own
beautiful home was, in some special way, different from other boys'
homes, and his mother--in a still more special way--different from other
boys' mothers....

And that proud conviction was no mere myth born of his young adoration.
In all the County, perhaps in all the Kingdom, there could be found no
mother in the least like Lilámani Sinclair, descendant of Rajput chiefs
and wife of an English Baronet, who, in the face of formidable barriers,