‘I think he describes beautifully. Would you like to hear what he said today?’ ‘I would,’ I replied, sincerely. ‘“Agra,”’ read this astonishing young lady, ‘“is India’s one pure idyll. Elsewhere she offers other things, foolish opulence, tawdry pageant, treachery of eunuchs and jealousies of harems, thefts of kings’ jewels and barbaric retributions; but they are all actual, visualized, or part of a past that shows to the backward glance hardly more relief and vitality than a Persian painting”--I should like to see a Persian painting--“but here the immortal tombs and pleasure-houses rise out of colour delicate and subtle; the vision holds across three hundred years; the print of the court is still in the dust of the city.”’ ‘Did you really let him go on like that?’ I exclaimed. ‘It has the license of a lecture!’ ‘I encouraged him to. Of course he didn’t say it straight off. He said it naturally; he stopped now and then to cough. I didn’t understand it all; but I think I have remembered every word.’ ‘You have a remarkable memory. I’m glad he stopped to cough. Is there any more?’ ‘One little bit. “Here the moguls wrought their passions into marble, and held them up with great refrains from their religion, and set them about with gardens; and here they stand in the twilight of the glory of those kings and the noonday splendour of their own.”’ ‘How clever of you!’ I exclaimed. ‘How wonderfully clever of you to remember!’ ‘I had to ask him to repeat one or two sentences. He didn’t like that. But this is nothing. I used to learn pages letter-perfect for Aunt Emma. She was very particular. I think it is worth preserving, don’t you?’ ‘Dear Cecily,’ I responded, ‘you have a frugal mind.’ There was nothing else to respond. I could not tell her just how practical I thought her, or how pathetic her little book. Chapter 1.VI.