Mame’s smile crumpled under the sheer action-pressure of her mind. “Some ways it ain’t. Some ways it’s wanting.”
“A shade more of—er, distinction perhaps?”
“Distinction.” Mame darted on the word like a bird on an insect. “You said it. Distinction’s mine. And I’ll get it, too—if it kills me.”
“My de-ah young lady, perfectly simple for a girl of your talent.”
“Honest? You think that?” The good grey eye glowed hopefully. “I wish I could say mag-nif-i-cent as poyfect as you can.”
“You will, my de-ah young lady, believe me, you will.”
“Well, I’ll start to learn right now.”
Mr. Falkland Vavasour smiled approval. He advised her to draw three deep breaths from the lower chest and to pronounce the word syllable by syllable.
Mame stood to her full height. She inflated. “Mag-nif-i-cent! Mag-nif-i-cent! Mag-nif-i-cent!”
“My de-ah young lady, what could be better?”