"At least, you are determined, as usual," said Mrs Herbert, smiling, "that I shall give you a reason for everything which you cannot quite comprehend. I suspect, in the present instance, the secret consisted in Dora's thinking of herself all the time she was talking, and Miss Morton's thinking of others."
"That is not quite clear, mamma," replied Amy. "Does thinking of one's self make one stiff and formal?"
"Generally, either stiff or affected," replied Mrs Herbert; "yet it is very difficult to avoid doing it. You will often hear persons speaking of what are sometimes called 'company manners,'—not meaning exactly affectation, but a manner approaching to it, which is not quite natural; and it almost always arises from this same cause. It is, in fact, very nearly allied to selfishness; for we care so much more for ourselves than others, that we take a greater interest in thinking of ourselves than of them, and so we become disagreeable."
"But how can we help it?" asked Amy.
"By trying, every day of our lives, to consult the happiness of those we live with," answered Mrs Herbert. "I mean, in the merest trifles, such as giving up a pleasant seat, or an amusing book, or fetching things for them to save them trouble, or listening to them when they wish to talk to us. By these means we can acquire a habit of forgetting ourselves which will remain with us whether we are in company, or only with our own family."
Amy listened to her mother with an earnest wish to follow her advice; and when she joined the party in the drawing-room she found immediate opportunities of putting it in practice.
The evening was a cheerful one, for Mr Harrington proposed some Christmas games, and insisted upon every one's joining them; and although Dora and Miss Cunningham held back, and thought themselves too old, and too dignified, they were at length obliged to yield; and the rest of the party were so merry that they did not notice their grave looks and slow movements. Amy enjoyed herself thoroughly; and when her gay laugh caught Mrs Herbert's ear, it gave her more happiness than she had felt for many months, since she could now venture to dwell on the delight which Colonel Herbert would experience on seeing her so entirely what he could most have desired his child to be. Dora was almost jealous as she noticed the regard which Amy attracted, and wondered what the secret could be. Perhaps, if she had followed her cousin's example, and given up a seat to Mary Warner when she was tired, and assisted Hester Stanley when her sandal broke, and soothed one of the children when she fell down and was frightened, she too might have been a favourite; but without intending to be unkind, she managed so openly to show her dislike to what was going on, that every one endeavoured to keep aloof from her; and if they did speak, the answer was so cold, and the manner so proud, that the wish to make another attempt was impossible.
CHAPTER XIX.
When Amy met her new acquaintance the next morning, after having thought them over attentively while she was dressing, she had quite decided on the one she liked best. Julia Stanley had at first amused her so much, and was so very lively and good-tempered, that it seemed impossible not to give the preference to her; but even then there was something in her quick manner and hasty expressions which rather annoyed Amy's feelings, when contrasted with Miss Morton's gentleness and refinement; and in the course of the evening, as she observed her more narrowly, her conduct to Miss Cunningham had struck her as peculiarly disagreeable. It required but very little time to perceive Miss Cunningham's deficiencies; and Julia, who was remarkably quick and clever, had not been in her company for half an hour before she had discovered them; and her great amusement was to turn everything she said into ridicule. For the first few minutes Amy had been amused; but afterwards an endeavour of Emily Morton's to check some satirical observations, had shown her that she was wrong; and a sense of politeness soon made her aware that Julia allowed cleverness and high spirits to carry her beyond the bounds of propriety. When Dora gave Miss Cunningham what Frank would have called "a set down," it was done in a lady-like way, as far as manner was concerned. She delighted in saying the most pointed things in the most pointed tone, yet she would on no account have neglected the little attentions which Miss Cunningham's position demanded; but Julia Stanley, feeling herself infinitely superior to Lord Rochford's daughter in intellect and accomplishments, considered that she was, on this account, freed from any demands upon her politeness; and had made no scruple of pushing into a room before her, interrupting her when speaking, and endeavouring to show that she did not consider her as entitled to any respect or attention. All this was peculiarly disagreeable to Amy, who, having always lived with persons who were polite upon Christian principles, could not in the least comprehend the rudeness of self-conceit; and if Julia had offended her in one way, her sister's manner had been equally unpleasant in another. She had been Miss Cunningham's shadow and echo; she had followed her from place to place, admiring her dress and her ornaments, and begging her to describe Rochford Park, and hinting how much she should like to see it; and once or twice she had turned to Amy to extort her admiration also, when sincerity had obliged her entirely to differ.
A little of the same flattery had also been bestowed upon Dora, but it was received so coolly, that there was no temptation to repeat it a second time; for Dora, though she loved praise and flattery, still required it to be administered delicately, through the medium of a third person; and fancied herself insensible to it, because she never encouraged any one to tell her, in direct terms, that she was beautiful and clever. Mary Warner's manner resembled neither; it was not quite so polished as Amy would have liked, but it was simple and straightforward. She had never seen any place so beautiful as Emmerton, and she said so plainly; but she also said that she thought there were too many trees about it, and she should have preferred the house being built higher. It was the same with everything else—she expressed her opinion when asked without reserve; but she did not, like Julia, intrude disagreeable observations uncalled for, nor, like Hester, pretend to see beauties where there was nothing to admire. The uprightness of her father's character seemed to have descended to her; and Amy willingly forgave any little awkwardness of manner when she saw Mary's firmness and simplicity; while even Dora was rather won by the unconcern with which she listened to Miss Cunningham's impertinences, and the openness with which she acknowledged the inferiority of her own home to Emmerton—apparently thinking it a matter of indifference whether she lived in a large house or a small one. It was a point of character which Dora could appreciate and admire, though it was not one she thought it necessary to imitate. But Miss Cunningham felt very differently; and her good-humour was not at all increased by the failure of her endeavours to inspire both Julia and Mary with awe and admiration; and to complete her discomfort, when breakfast was over, Miss Morton gently proposed her practising for half-an-hour; adding that Lord Rochford had again mentioned the subject, and begged that she would assist her in perfecting the piece she had been trying, so that it might be played in the evening. Miss Cunningham did not speak, but she looked her thoughts, and yet she did not venture to rebel; for Lord Rochford, with all his fondness, had some peculiarities; and the arrangement of his daughter's studies was his peculiar hobby. It seemed, however, as if she had secretly resolved that the pleasures of a London journey should not be marred by any progress she might make under Miss Morton's tuition; and bad as her performance had been before, it was much worse this morning. Miss Morton, with unwearied patience, corrected her false notes, asked her to repeat the difficult passages, and showed her again and again how they were to be played; but the long, stiff fingers appeared to possess some innate spirit of obstinacy; they would move exactly in the way in which they should not have moved; they would play sharps for flats, and turn crotchets into quavers, and minims into crotchets; until Amy, who, with the exception of Julia Stanley, was the only person present besides, wondered how it was possible for Miss Morton to persevere, and Julia, after a pretended attempt to conceal her amusement, laughed aloud. Miss Cunningham heard the laugh, and felt it keenly, and forgetting everything but her annoyance, she jumped up from her seat, closed the book, and without speaking, rushed out of the room.