good
features and pretty complexions belong to one class more than to
another, but because nicer personal habits and stricter discipline of
the mind do. A girl who was never taught to brush her teeth, to
breathe through the nostrils instead of the lips, and to chew with the
back teeth instead of the front, has a very poor chance of growing up
with a pretty mouth, as anyone may see who has observed a middle-aged
woman of that class munching a meat pie at a railway-station. And if,
into the bargain, she has nothing to talk about but her own and her
neighbour's everyday affairs, and nothing to think about to keep her
from continually talking, life, my dear child, is so full of little
rubs, that constant chatter of this kind must almost certainly be
constant grumbling. And constant grumbling, Selina, makes an ugly
under-lip, a forehead wrinkled with frowning, and dull eyes that see
nothing but grievances. There is a book in the library with some
pictures of faces that I must show you. Do you draw at all, my dear?"

"Mamma gave me a drawing-slate on my birthday," I replied, "but Joseph
bothered me to lend it to him, and now he's broken the glass. It _is_
so tiresome! But it's always the way if you lend things."

"What makes you think that it is always the way if you lend things?"
my godmother gently inquired.

"It seems as if it was, I'm sure," was my answer. "It was just the
same with the fish-kettle when cook lent it to the Browns. They kept
it a fortnight, and let it rust, and the first time cook put a drop of
water into it it leaked; and she said it always _was_ the way; you
might lend everything you had, and people had no conscience, but if
it came to borrowing a pepperpot--"

My godmother put up both her long hands with an impatient gesture.

"That will do, my dear. I don't care to hear all that your mother's
cook said about the fish-kettle."

I felt uncomfortable, and was glad that Lady Elizabeth went on
talking.

"Have you and Joseph any collections? When I was your age, I remember
I made a nice collection of wafers. They were quite as pretty as
modern monograms."

"Joseph collected feathers out of the pillows once," I said, laughing.
"He got a great many different sorts, but nurse burned them, and he
cried."

"I'm sorry nurse burned them. I daresay they made him very happy. I
advise you to begin a collection, Selina. It is a capital cure for
discontent. Anything will do. A collection of buttons, for ins