"So would many others," answered Emily; "and they would like to be beautiful too, but they cannot make themselves so. Elegance is a gift as much as beauty."
A conscious smile passed over Margaret's countenance; she felt that one gift at least she possessed, and the sight of Miss Cunningham's plain face was more agreeable to her than ever; she was sure it must be such a contrast to her own.
"Then," said Mary Warner, "you would not advise any person to imitate the manners of another?"
"No," replied Emily; "because persons' manners ought to suit with their minds; and as all persons have different minds, so they must, to a certain degree, have different manners. Manners should be the veil through which the mind is seen, not the covering by which it is hidden."
"Come, Frank!" exclaimed Henry Dornford, who was tired of having to labour alone; "do leave all the young ladies to discuss their manners by themselves; it can be nothing to you, and I want you dreadfully."
"Coming, coming," said Frank, hastily, "only I must say one thing, that
I know I can see some persons' minds in their manners quite plainly.
Yours, Dora, for instance; any one might see you are as proud as a queen
by the way you march into a room."
"Oh Frank!" half whispered Amy, as she saw the angry flush on Dora's check, "do not say such things as that; you have vexed Dora, I am sure."
"I did not mean any harm," said Frank, "only it is a truth; now I will just ask every one, don't you all think I am right?"
Poor Dora's dignity was shocked beyond expression at the idea of this public criticism; but she tried to laugh as her only resource. Every one looked and felt awkward; and Frank, who had spoken thoughtlessly from the impulse of the moment, wished his words unsaid. Happily Henry Dornford broke the silence by calling again to him to leave them; and Frank this time had no wish for any more last words. Dora strove to recover her equanimity, but in vain; she fancied every one must be thinking of and judging her, and she knew that what Frank had said was true. Perhaps, if he had expressed himself differently, her annoyance might have been less; for she had always imagined it dignified and suitable to her position to have rather proud manners—it kept people at a distance, and made them recollect who she was, and she fancied that pride and dignity must go together. But to hear her manners discussed in her presence by school-girls and school-boys, was a very different thing; and after a few efforts to appear unconcerned, she left the party to themselves, and retired to her own room. Amy saw by her countenance what was passing in her mind; but she did not like to follow her, for she knew there were times when pity and sympathy would be more distasteful to Dora than anything. When her cousin was unhappy, Amy had no hesitation in endeavouring to comfort her; but when she had done wrong, it would have seemed interfering improperly to take any notice of it, for Amy never forgot that Dora was her superior in age, and in the knowledge of many things she had acquired by being the eldest of the family, and by having been brought forward far beyond her years.
Dora's absence was not much regretted, and the work went on so quickly and merrily, that the sound of the dinner-bell was pronounced by all to be very unwelcome; but dinner was quickly ended, and Henry Dornford again summoned them to put the finishing stroke to the whole, and to say if anything more were needed. The question went round in rotation; and, being a little tired, they felt no inclination to suggest further improvements. But Amy, perceiving that Dora was not there, immediately proposed that her opinion should be asked.