At that moment Rachel was sitting in her room doing absolutely nothing.  When the ship was full this apartment bore some magnificent title and was the resort of elderly sea-sick ladies who left the deck to their youngsters.  By virtue of the piano, and a mess of books on the floor, Rachel considered it her room, and there she would sit for hours playing very difficult music, reading a little German, or a little English when the mood took her, and doing—­as at this moment—­absolutely nothing.

The way she had been educated, joined to a fine natural indolence, was of course partly the reason of it, for she had been educated as the majority of well-to-do girls in the last part of the nineteenth century were educated.  Kindly doctors and gentle old professors had taught her the rudiments of about ten different branches of knowledge, but they would as soon have forced her to go through one piece of drudgery thoroughly as they would have told her that her hands were dirty.  The one hour or the two hours weekly passed very pleasantly, partly owing to the other pupils, partly to the fact that the window looked upon the back of a shop, where figures appeared against the red windows in winter, partly to the accidents that are bound to happen when more than two people are in the same room together.  But there was no subject in the world which she knew accurately.  Her mind was in the state of an intelligent man’s in the beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth; she would believe practically anything she was told, invent reasons for anything she said.  The shape of the earth, the history of the world, how trains worked, or money was invested, what laws were in force, which people wanted what, and why they wanted it, the most elementary idea of a system in modern life—­none of this had been imparted to her by any of her professors or mistresses.  But this system of education had one great advantage.  It did not teach anything, but it put no obstacle in the way of any real talent that the pupil might chance to have.  Rachel, being musical, was allowed to learn nothing but music; she became a fanatic about music.  All the energies that might have gone into languages, science, or literature, that might have made her friends, or shown her the world, poured straight into music.  Finding her teachers inadequate, she had practically taught herself.  At the age of twenty-four she knew as much about music as most people do when they are thirty; and could play as well as nature allowed her to, which, as became daily more obvious, was a really generous allowance.  If this one definite gift was surrounded by dreams and ideas of the most extravagant and foolish description, no one was any the wiser.