"Such a mere doll of a thing.

A mite!" She laughs again, but this time (having caught Lady Rylton's concentrated gaze) in a very ordinary manner--the passion, the anger has died out of it.
"Yes, she's a mere mite," says Lady Rylton.

"She is positively trivial! She is in effect a perfect idiot in some ways.

You know I have tried to impress her--to show her that she is not altogether below our level--as she certainly _is_--but she has refused to see my kindness.

She--she's very fatiguing," says Lady Rylton, with a long-suffering sigh.