“That is a foolish idea to start with, my dear. You will find that if you like people, people will like you. Do not be afraid of your relations. Be good—tempered and pleasant, and just yourself.”
“Faix, it’s easy talking, Miss Usher dear. But which self? I’ve two, you see. The one that comes natural—the common country girl, reared, as ye may say, on the side of the road, and the new self, that’s a grand lady, and must mind her manners and her talk, and hold up her nose as if there was a smell under it!”
“Not at all,” protested her counsellor. “I hope you will be gracious and polite to every one; it is only nobodies who give themselves airs. Your father has invited me to pay you a visit later, and I shall look for wonderful improvements and bring you a little prize. You are improved as it is; you have learnt a great deal.”
“It will all run out of my head the moment I get among strangers,” declared her pupil, in a tone of deep dejection.
“At any rate they will make allowances.”
“More likely they’ll make fun of me!”
“Nonsense! Now, you must try and remember some of the things you have learnt. Promise me you will not say ‘Faix,’ ‘Musha,’ and ‘Begorra’; in fact, my dear child, you should endeavour to cultivate silence.”
“Sure, don’t I know that well! and yet for the life of me I can’t hold me tongue. I can’t stop myself. I’ve been so encouraged to talk as much as ever I liked since I could talk at all, the words just slip out of me mouth before I know they are gone—and often words I never meant to say at all. I tell the black truth, and let them take it or leave it—man, woman, or child.”
“You must make up your mind to listen and learn,” said Miss Usher, soothingly. “You learn quickly. Now, I’ve a little book for you here.” It was a neat edition of The Manners of Good Society. “Read this over; it won’t tell you everything, but you will find it a help.”