The girl was tempted to inquire whether her grandmother called herself “everything”; but she checked this question, answering instead that she knew she was giving up much. “You’re taking a step of which you will feel the effect to the end of your days,” Mrs. Tramore went on. “In a good conscience, I heartily hope,” said Rose. “Your father’s conscience was good enough for his mother; it ought to be good enough for his daughter.” Rose sat down—she could afford to—as if she wished to be very attentive and were still accessible to argument. But this demonstration only ushered in, after a moment, the surprising words “I don’t think papa had any conscience.” “What in the name of all that’s unnatural do you mean?” Mrs. Tramore cried, over her glasses. “The dearest and best creature that ever lived!” “He was kind, he had charming impulses, he was delightful. But he never reflected.” Mrs. Tramore stared, as if at a language she had never heard, a farrago, a _galimatias_. Her life was made up of items, but she had never had to deal, intellectually, with a fine shade. Then while her needles, which had paused an instant, began to fly again, she rejoined: “Do you know what you are, my dear? You’re a dreadful little prig. Where do you pick up such talk?” “Of course I don’t mean to judge between them,” Rose pursued. “I can only judge between my mother and myself. Papa couldn’t judge for me.” And with this she got up. “One would think you were horrid. I never thought so before.” “Thank you for that.” “You’re embarking on a struggle with society,” continued Mrs. Tramore, indulging in an unusual flight of oratory. “Society will put you in your place.” “Hasn’t it too many other things to do?” asked the girl. This question had an ingenuity which led her grandmother to meet it with a merely provisional and somewhat sketchy answer. “Your ignorance would be melancholy if your behaviour were not so insane.” “Oh, no; I know perfectly what she’ll do!” Rose replied, almost gaily. “She’ll drag me down.” “She won’t even do that,” the old lady declared contradictiously. “She’ll keep you forever in the same dull hole.” “I shall come and see _you_, granny, when I want something more lively.” “You may come if you like, but you’ll come no further than the door. If you leave this house now you don’t enter it again.” Rose hesitated a moment. “Do you really mean that?” “You may judge whether I choose such a time to joke.” “Good-bye, then,” said the girl. “Good-bye.”