I grew crimson, partly with mortification and partly with astonishment.  I had a strong natural desire to be pretty, but I felt sure I had been taught somehow that it was much more meritorious not to care about it.  It certainly did not please me when (if I had offended them) the maids said I should never be as pretty as Maud Mary Ibbetson, my bosom friend; but when nurse took the good looking-glass out of the nursery, and hung up the wavy one which used to be in her room instead, to keep me from growing vain, I did not dispute her statement that “the less little girls looked in the glass the better.”  And when I went to see Maud Mary (who was the only child of rich parents, and had a cheval-glass in her own bed-room), it was a just satisfaction to me to feel that if she was prettier, and could see herself full length, she was probably vainer than I.

It was very mortifying, therefore, to find that my godmother not only thought me plain, but gave me no credit for not minding it.  I grew redder and redder, and my eyes filled with tears.

Lady Elizabeth was very nice in one way—­she treated us with as much courtesy and consideration as if we were grown up.  People do not think about being polite to children, but my godmother was very polite.

“My dear child,” she said, holding out her hand, “I am very sorry if I have hurt your feelings.  I beg your pardon.”

I put my hot and rather dirty little paw among her cool fingers and diamond rings.  I could not mutter to her face, but I said rather under my sobs that “it seemed such a thing” to be blamed for not being pretty.

“My dear Selina, I never said anything about your being pretty.  I said I should be sorry if you did not grow up nice-looking, which is quite another thing.  It will depend on yourself whether you are nice-looking or not.”

I began to feel comforted, but I bridled my chin in an aggrieved manner, which I know I had caught from Mrs. Marsden, the charwoman, when she took tea in the nursery and told long tales to nurse; and I said I “was sure it wasn’t for want of speaking to” nurse that my hair did not wave like Maud Mary’s, but that when I asked her to crimp it, she only said, “Handsome is that handsome does, and that ought to be enough for you, Miss Selina, without my slaving to damp-plait your hair every night.”

I repeated nurse’s speech pretty volubly, and with her sharp accent and accompanying toss.  My godmother heard me out, and then she said—­

“Nurse quoted a very good proverb, which is even truer than it is allowed to be.  Those who do well grow to look well.  My little goddaughter, that soft child’s face of yours can be pinched and pulled into a nice shape or an ugly shape, very much as you pull and pinch that gutta-percha head I gave you, and, one way or another, it is being shaped all along.”

“But people can’t give themselves beautiful figures, and eyes, and mouths, and hands, as you said papa had, unless they are born so,” I objected.