"I'm afraid we haven't done as much as we might to make it pleasant for
you," Madame continued, regretfully, "but we'll try to do better and
doubtless can, now that the weather is improving."

"It's been lots nicer than staying alone in a hotel," the girl answered.
"I used to go to the matinee a good deal, but I didn't know very many
people and it's no fun to go alone. Don't you and Rose ever go, Aunt
Francesca?"

"I go sometimes," said Rose, "but I can't even get her started."

The little grey lady laughed and tapped the arm of her chair with her
folded fan. "I fully agree with the clever man who said that 'life would
be very endurable were it not for its pleasures.' Far back, somewhere,
there must be a strain of Scotch ancestry in me, for I 'take my pleasure
sadly.'"

"Which means," commented Rose, "that the things other people find
amusing do not necessarily amuse you."

"Possibly," Madame assented, with a shrug of her delicate shoulders,
"but unless I'm obliged to, I won't sit in an uncomfortable chair, in a
crowd, surrounded by many perfumes unhappily mixed, be played to by a
bad orchestra, walked on at will by rude men, and, in the meantime,
watch the exaggerated antics of people who cannot make themselves heard,
even in a room with only three sides to it."

"I took her to a 'musical comedy' once, in a frivolous moment,"
explained Rose, "and she's never forgiven me."