From _My Lady Ludlow_.
Mrs. Brooke is a rough diamond, to be sure. People have said that of
me, I know. But, being a Galindo, I learnt manners in my youth and can
take them up when I choose. But Mrs. Brooke never learnt manners, I’ll
be bound. When John Footman handed her the tray with the tea-cups, she
looked up at him as if she were sorely puzzled by that way of going on.
I was sitting next to her, so I pretended not to see her perplexity, and
put her cream and sugar in for her, and was all ready to pop it into
her hands—when who should come up but that impudent lad Tom Diggles
(I call him lad, for all his hair is powdered, for you know that it
is not naturally grey hair) with his tray full of cakes and what not,
all as good as Mrs. Medlicott could make them. By this time, I should
tell you, all the parsonesses were looking at Mrs. Brooke, for she had
shown her want of breeding before; and the parsonesses, who were just
a step above her in manners, were very much inclined to smile at her
doings and sayings. Well! what does she do but pull out a clean Bandana
pocket-handkerchief, all red and yellow silk; spread it over her best
silk gown—it was, like enough, a new one, for I had it from Sally, who
had it from her cousin Molly, who is dairy-woman “at the Brookes’,” that
the Brookes were mighty set-up with an invitation to drink tea at the
Hall. There we were, Tom Diggles ever on the grin (I wonder how long
it is since he was own brother to a scarecrow, only not so decently
dressed), and Mrs. Parsoness of Headleigh—I forget her name, and it’s no
matter, for she’s an ill-bred creature, I hope Bessy will behave herself
better—was right-down bursting with laughter, and as near a hee-haw as
ever a donkey was; when what does my lady do? Ay! there’s my own dear
Lady Ludlow, God bless her! She takes out her own pocket-handkerchief,
all snowy cambric, and lays it softly down on her velvet lap, for all the
world as if she did it every day of her life, just like Mrs. Brooke, the
baker’s wife; and when one got up to shake the crumbs into the fireplace,
the other did just the same. But with such a grace! and such a look at
us all! Tom Diggles went red all over; and Mrs. Parsoness of Headleigh
scarce spoke for the rest of the evening; and the tears came into my old
silly eyes; and Mr. Gray, who was before silent and awkward in a way
which I tell Bessy she must cure him of, was made so happy by this pretty
action of my lady’s that he talked away all the rest of the evening, and
was the life of the company.