The thing! THE THING! What on earth did it mean?
Marjorie first heard the phrase on the lips of Lady Denby, and gradually she recognised it as a social influence that was as powerful as it was mysterious. It was one of the most elusive of her problems, for, while she understood vaguely, the significance of the term, she failed entirely to apply its principles to the exigencies of her new life. “Besides,” she said to herself, “one discovers what is the thing, only to find presently, that it isn’t . . . or the other way round. There doesn’t seem to be any fixed rule.”
It was hers to learn in the hard school of experience, that Ottawa in the twentieth century, was controlled by a social code quite as remorseless in its way as the tribal etiquette which governed the Algonquins when Champlain visited its site, three hundred years before. Wherever she went, the attitude of the people from Government House down to those who moved on the very periphery of its circle, was such as to repress and chill the frank and unquestioning impulse for friendliness that lent much charm to her character. She developed a curious sort of nervousness—an inner quaking, that disconcerted her, and made her feel unnatural. She became so fearful of offending people, that her manner was frequently described as obsequious. Now and then, she knew she was being criticised, but could not, for the life of her, fathom the reason.
The Thing . . . of course, but what was The Thing?
She had tried to break the children of saying “ma’am”. Lady Denby told her it wasn’t the thing.
“No nice people speak like that, Althea, darling,” Marjorie declared. “You should say, ‘Yes, mother,’ or ‘No, Lady Denby,’ or ‘I don’t know, Miss Deane,’—as the case may be, but please, darling, don’t say ‘ma’am’!” And yet to her astonishment, she heard Miss Leila Brant address no less a personage than the Lady of Government House in this ill-bred manner!
“This, ma’am,” said she, “is one of the forks used at the Carlyle table. It’s really rather a good thing, and I was thrilled at having picked it up.”
“You have some very interesting bits,” observed The Lady, graciously.
“Oh, ma’am! How can I ever thank you for those words,” cried Miss Brant. “Even the slightest breath of praise from you, means—well, it means more than you can possibly realise.”
Ma’am . . . ma’am . . . Why, Marjorie could scarcely believe that she wasn’t dreaming.