"I will tell you what I mean. Celia, there is a very, very pleasant prospect before you. Imprimis, Madam, you will be converted; that is, if she can manage it; and if she can't, it will show that you are a clever hand. In the latter case, the probability is that she won't think you worth the waste of any more time; but if she succeed in converting you, she will then proceed to form you. She will turn your feet out, and pinch your waist in, and stick your head up, and make you laugh when you are angry, and cry when you are pleased. She will teach you to talk without interruption for an hour, and yet to have said nothing when the hour is over. You will learn how to use your eyes—how to look at people and not see them, and who to see, or not to see. I can give you a hint about that, myself; a man who wears no orders is nobody—you may safely omit seeing him. A man of one order is to be treated with distant civility; a man of two, with cordiality; but a man who wears three is to be greeted with the most extreme pleasure, and held in the closest friendship."
"But if I don't like the man, I cannot make a friend of him," said Celia, in a puzzled tone.
"My dear, that doesn't come into consideration. You will have to learn never to look at the man, but only at his coat and decorations. A man is not a man in genteel society; he is a Consul, a Marquis, or a nobody. Never look at nobodies; but if a Duke should lead you to a chair, be transported with delight. You have a great deal to learn, I see. Well, after you have got all this by heart—I am afraid it will take a long while!—my mother will proceed with her work. The last act will be to take your heart out of you, and put instead of it a lump of stone, cut to the proper shape and size, and painted so as to imitate the reality too exactly for any one to guess it an imitation. And then, with a lot of satin and velvet and lace on the top, Mrs. Celia Ingram, you will be finished!"
"Oh dear! I hope not," said Celia involuntarily.
"So do I," echoed Philip, significantly.
"But, Philip, I want to ask you one thing—are you not a Protestant?"
"I?" asked Philip, with a peculiar intonation. "No."
"You are a Papist?" said Celia, in a very disappointed tone.
"No," said Philip again.
"Then what are you?" asked she, astonished.