“Not in the least. Mr. Kennyfeck sees plainly enough—it is but too palpable—that I am as ignorant of this new world as he himself would be, if dropped down suddenly in an Indian encampment, and that as the thing I detest most in this life is any unnecessary notoriety, I want to do as far as in me lies, like my neighbors. I own to you that the little sketch with which he favored me is not too fascinating, but he assures me that with time and patience and zeal I'll get over my difficulties, and make a very tolerable country gentleman.”
“But, my dear Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a great emphasis on the epithet, “why do you think of listening to Mr. Kennyfeck on such a subject? Poor man, he takes all his notions of men and manners from the Exchequer and Common Pleas.”
“Papa's models are all in horse-hair wigs,—fat mummies in ermine!” said Miss Kennyfeck.
“When Mr. Cashel knows Lord Charles,” said Olivia.
“Or Mr. Linton—”
“Or the Dean,” broke in Mrs. Kennyfeck; “for although a Churchman, his information on every subject is boundless.”
Miss Kennyfeck gave a sly look towards Cashel, which very probably entered a dissent to her mamma's opinion.
“If I were you,” resumed she, tenderly, “I know what I should do; coolly rejecting all their counsels, I should fashion my life as it pleased myself to live, well assured that in following my bent I should find plenty of people only too happy to lend me their companionship. Just reflect, for a moment, how very agreeable you can make your house, without in the least compromising any taste or inclination of your own; without, in fact, occupying your mind on the subject.”
“But the world,” remarked Mrs. Kennyfeck, “must be cared for! It would not do for one in Mr. Cashel's station to form his associates only among those whose agreeability is their recommendation.”
“Then let him know the Dean, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, slyly.