“But we all have,” protested the lady.
“I suppose you think so. At any rate, you worship the Golden Calf.”
“Really, Dudley!” she said, in an offended tone, “you do say the rudest things! Your manners are not improving.”
“No, wearing a bit thin. Well, I must run over when you are in Paris, and see if I can’t give them a touch of French polish!”
CHAPTER XXVI
The small family party had dispersed, and as the days went by without social events, Joseline began seriously and methodically to accustom herself to the routine, and resolute to become at ease in her new life. She was painfully conscious of her ignorance of the ways of people in society. She felt that she shocked Lady Mulgrave ten times a day; and Lady Mulgrave, for all her sweet smiles, had, as she mentally expressed it, “a pick on her.” Yet she was making some progress, and from conversations listened to, she acquired a familiarity with the jargon of her surroundings, and was learning to manipulate just those turns of phrase, best calculated to sustain amiable relations.
Joseline was a great reader, and devoured books. With her, this was not a cultivated taste, but a natural appetite. From books, magazines, and reviews, she was learning with avidity, humbly conscious of her own inferiority, and that her father hoped for her to acquire a polish, and to shine.
When Lady Mulgrave and Tito had departed to Paris she and her father were thrown into one another’s constant society. Innumerable small signs of her affection afforded him a happiness such as he had not known for years. He was becoming reconciled to shocks and to strange expressions, and all the best that was in Lord Mulgrave was brought to the surface. Together the pair walked and drove, explored the estate, and visited the cottagers. The girl’s manner to their inmates was charming, and many of the elder people remembered and recalled her mother.