"Then after tea, if I am not sent for to do any special thing, I read to myself. I look up anything that I don't know about that I have chanced to hear spoken of by the people who come--I am allowed to take books from the library." "Then you do see people sometimes?" Matilda's interest revived again. "What are they like, Kitten?" "Sometimes I do, but not often--only when I chance to be sent for, but next week Her Ladyship has got a big charity tableaux entertainment on hand, that she is arranger and patroness of, and I shall come across lots of people of society, some of the ones you know the names of so well in the _Flare_." "The Duchess of Dashington and the Countess of Blanktown--really, Kitten!" This was fashion, indeed! "Probably--but I don't know about the Duchess of Dashington. I don't think Lady Garribardine approves of her." "Not approve of the Duchess of Dashington!" Matilda exclaimed, indignantly. "Her that has gentlemen to tea in her bedroom to give herself airs like that! Well, I never!" This particular Duchess' photographs were the joy of the halfpenny illustrated papers, and Matilda was accustomed to see her in skating costume waltzing with her instructor, and in golf costume and in private theatrical costumes, almost every other week. "No--she speaks of her very cheaply--but I will tell you all about it on Sunday fortnight. I'll have heard everything by then, because the tableaux will be over." Matilda returned to her muttons. "Then you have supper, I suppose?" "No--I go up and dress myself and put on my best blouse and have my dinner at eight o'clock; after that I generally read the paper or French books--and at ten I go to bed." "Gracious! what's the good of dressing if you don't see anyone? How you'll use up your blouse!" Matilda was aghast at such folly! "I am supposed to be a lady, Tild, and a lady is expected to dress in the evening if she is alone on a desert island." "What stuff! Whatever for?" "Self-respect." "Fiddlesticks." Presently Katherine grew reflective, her catechism over. "I wish you could see it all, Tild; it would enlarge your brain--it is all so different from Bindon's Green. If you could only hear their point of view, I assure you, dear, it might be two different nations--those barefoot urchins climbing on the rails are much nearer their level than we are." But Matilda could not stand this; her wrath rose. "Those dirty boys nearer your new people than a real lady like Mabel Cawber, and your own brothers and sisters! Katherine, how dare you! Horrid little guttersnipes with no pride of themselves; why, they aren't even ashamed to be here of a Sunday among decent people--they'd do anything!" "That is just it, Tild--so would the aristocrats if they wanted to, and wouldn't be a bit ashamed or even think of it, and they have 'no pride of themselves,' either--but you'll never understand, Tild, not if you live to be a hundred years old." "And I don't want to, there!"