And there was a distinct pause, before she answered, gently: "You
mistake--I have a devoted little friend here, in Clara, but Blanche is my
daughter!" She was a singular being, that daughter. It is seldom indeed
that a girl, who is not bad, can yet be such a thorn in the side of a
mother. She was a most disconcerting, baffling creature--a tricksy,
elfish spirit, that delighted in malicious fun. Pleasure-loving,
indolent, and indifferent alike to praise or blame, she (incredible as it
seems) would willingly give up a good part to save herself the trouble of
playing it. I recall a trick she once performed in my favor. I thought
the _Player-Queen_ in "Hamlet" was a beautiful part, and I hungered to
play it; but it belonged to Blanche, and, of course, she was cast for it;
but said she: "You could have it, for all I'd care!" Then, suddenly, she
added: "Say, you may play it with the next _Hamlet_ that comes along!"