"Is not that just what I am telling you?" replied Lady Ingram, with that graceful wave of her hands which Celia had seen before. "My dear, you must not feel. Feeling is the one thing which the mode cannot permit."
"Pardon me, Madam," answered Celia, looking perplexed now; "but it seems to me that you are trying to make me into a statue."
"Exactly so, my dear Celia—that is just it. A modish woman is a piece of live marble: she eats, she drinks, elegantly and in small quantities—she sleeps, taking care not to lie ungracefully—she walks, glidingly and smoothly—she converses, but must be careful not to mean too much—she distributes her smiles at pleasure, but never shows real interest in any person. My dear, a heart is absolute ruin to a modish woman! She may do anything she likes but feel. Now look at me. Have you seen any exhibition of feeling in me since you have known me?"
Celia felt herself quite safe in acquitting Lady Ingram on that count.
"No, of course not," continued her step-mother; "I hope I know myself and the mode too well. Now, as to walking, what do you think the Consul said to me last night when you left the room?"
Celia confessed her inability to guess it.
"He said, 'What a pity that young lady cannot walk!'"
Celia's eyes opened rather widely.
"It is quite true, you absolutely cannot walk. You have no idea of walking but to go backwards or forwards. A walk should be a graceful, gliding motion, only just not dancing. There—that will do for this morning. As to walking, you shall have dancing lessons; but remember the other things I tell you. You must not blush, nor weep, nor eat more than you can help—in public, of course, I mean; you can eat an ox in your own chamber, if you please—and above everything else, you must give over feeling. You can go now if you wish it."
"Madam, you order impossibilities!" said Celia, with tears in her eyes. "I will eat as little as you please, if it keep me alive; and I will do my best to walk in any manner you wish me. I will try to give over blushing, if I can, though really I do not know how to set about it; but to give over feeling—Madam, I cannot do it. I do not think I ought to do it, even at your command. I must weep when I am sorrowful—I must laugh when I am diverted. I will not do it more than I can help, but I cannot make any promise beyond that."