"I'm sure their father, Mr. Clayton, is nothing but a teacher."
"Mr. Clayton! Surely those are not Clayton's daughters!" ejaculated Mrs. Marygold, in surprise.
"They certainly are ma'am," replied Mrs. Florence in a quiet but firm voice, for she instantly perceived, from something in Mrs. Marygold's voice and manner, the reason why her friend had alluded to them as common people.
"Well, really, I am surprised that Mrs. Harwood should have invited them to her house, and introduced them into genteel company."
"Why so, Mrs. Marygold?"
"Because, as Mrs. Lemmington has just said, they are common people. Their father is nothing but a schoolmaster."
"If I have observed them rightly," Mrs. Florence said to this, "I have discovered them to be a rather uncommon kind of people. Almost any one can thrum on the piano; but you will not find one in a hundred who can perform with such exquisite grace and feeling as they can. For half an hour this evening I sat charmed with their conversation, and really instructed and elevated by the sentiments they uttered. I cannot say as much for any other young ladies in the room, for there are none others here above the common run of ordinarily intelligent girls—none who may not really be classed with common people in the true acceptation of the term."
"And take them all in all," added Mrs. Lemmington with warmth, "you will find nothing common about them. Look at their dress; see how perfect in neatness, in adaptation of colors and arrangement to complexion and shape, is every thing about them. Perhaps there will not be found a single young lady in the room, besides them, whose dress does not show something not in keeping with good taste. Take their manners. Are they not graceful, gentle, and yet full of nature's own expression. In a word, is there any thing about them that is 'common?'"
"Nothing that my eye has detected," replied Mrs. Florence.
"Except their origin," half-sneeringly rejoined Mrs. Marygold.