three cheers for what's really no merit at all! What does the young
man expect?

"Now, that's unkind, Sally dear. You wouldn't like _me_ to. Anyhow,
that's what mamma _does_. Takes ladies of a certain position or with
expectations into corners, and says she hates the expression gentleman
and lady, but _they_ know what she means...."

"_I_ know. And they goozle comfortably at her, like Goody Vereker."

"Doesn't it make one's flesh creep to have a mother like that? I do get
to hate the very sight of shot silk and binoculars on a leg when she
goes on so. But I suppose we never shall get on together--mamma and I."

"What does the Professor think about him?"

"Oh--papa? Of course, papa's _perfectly hopeless_! It's the only true
thing mamma ever says--that he's _perfectly hopeless_. What do you
suppose he did that Sunday afternoon when Julius Bradshaw came and had
tea and brought the Strad--the first time, I mean?... Why, he actually
fancied he had come from the shop with a parcel, and never found out he
couldn't have when he had tea in the drawing-room, and only suspected
something when he played Rode's 'Air with Variations for Violin and
Piano.' Just fancy! He wanted to know why he shouldn't have tea when
every one else did, and offered him cake! And Sunday afternoon and
a Stradivarius! _Do_ say you think my parents trying, Sally dear!"

Sally assented to everything in an absent way; but that didn't matter
as long as she did it. Laetitia only wanted to talk. She seemed, thought
Sally, improved by the existing combination of events. She had had to
climb down off the high stilts about Bradshaw, and had only worked in
one or two slight _Grundulations_ (a word of Dr. Vereker's) into her
talk this morning. Tishy wasn't a bad fellow at all (Sally's
expression), only, if she hadn't been taught to strut, she wouldn't
have been any the worse. It was all that overpowering mother of hers!

Before she parted with her friend that afternoon Sally had a sudden
access of Turkish directness:

"Tishy dear, _are_ you going to accept Julius Bradshaw if he asks you,
or _not_?"

"Well, dear, you know we must look at it from the point of view of what
he would have been if it hadn't been for that unfortunate nervous
system of his. The poor fellow couldn't help it."

"But are you, or not? That's what _I_ want an answer to."

"Sally dear! Really--you're just like so much dynamite. What would you
do yourself if you were me? I ask you."