She had not grown less American, certainly, since she had left home; even
the little conformities to Europe that she practiced were traits of
Americanism. Clementina was not becoming sophisticated, but perhaps she
was becoming more conventionalized. The knowledge of good and evil in
things that had all seemed indifferently good to her once, had crept upon
her, and she distinguished in her actions. She sinned as little as any
young lady in Florence against the superstitions of society; but though
she would not now have done a skirt-dance before a shipful of people, she
did not afflict herself about her past errors. She put on the world, but
she wore it simply and in most matters unconsciously. Some things were
imparted to her without her asking or wishing, and merely in virtue of
her youth and impressionability. She took them from her environment
without knowing it, and in this way she was coming by an English manner
and an English tone; she was only the less American for being rather
English without trying, when other Americans tried so hard. In the region
of harsh nasals, Clementina had never spoken through her nose, and she
was now as unaffected in these alien inflections as in the tender cooings
which used to rouse the misgivings of her brother Jim. When she was with
English people she employed them involuntarily, and when she was with
Americans she measurably lost them, so that after half an hour with Mr.
Hinkle, she had scarcely a trace of them, and with Mrs. Lander she always
spoke with her native accent.