n't go through that experience
again for anything you could offer me. I held out for civility's sake
until the third day; and then I said, plump out, that I couldn't stand
any more of it, and went off to Chancery Lane. N o w you know the sort
of perfectly splendid modern young lady I am. How do you think I shall
get on with my mother?

PRAED [startled] Well, I hope--er--

VIVIE. It's not so much what you hope as what you believe, that I want
to know.

PRAED. Well, frankly, I am afraid your mother will be a little
disappointed. Not from any shortcoming on your part, you know: I don't
mean that. But you are so different from her ideal.

VIVIE. Her what?!

PRAED. Her ideal.

VIVIE. Do you mean her ideal of ME?

PRAED. Yes.

VIVIE. What on earth is it like?

PRAED. Well, you must have observed, Miss Warren, that people who are
dissatisfied with their own bringing-up generally think that the world
would be all right if everybody were to be brought up quite differently.
Now your mother's life has been--er--I suppose you know--

VIVIE. Don't suppose anything, Mr Praed. I hardly know my mother. Since
I was a child I have lived in England, at school or at college, or with
people paid to take charge of me. I have been boarded out all my life.
My mother has lived in Brussels or Vienna and never let me go to her.
I only see her when she visits England for a few days. I don't complain:
it's been very pleasant; for people have been very good to me; and there
has always been plenty of money to make things smooth. But don't imagine
I know anything about my mother. I know far less than you do.

PRAED [very ill at ease] In that case--[He stops, quite at a loss. Then,
with a forced attempt at gaiety] But what nonsense we are talking! Of
course you and your mother will get on capitally. [He rises, and looks
abroad at the view]. What a charming little place you have here!

VIVIE [unmoved] Rather a violent change of subject, Mr Praed. Why won't
my mother's life bear being talked about?

PRAED. Oh, you mustn't say that. Isn't it natural that I should have a
certain delicacy in talking to my old friend's daughter about her behind
her back? You and she will have plenty of opportunity of talking about
it when she comes.

VIVIE. No: she won't talk about it either. [Rising] However, I daresay
you have good reasons for telling me nothing. Only, mind this, Mr
Praed, I expect there will be a battle royal when my mother hears of my