The Letter of Credit

He smiled. "It is a very good habit – provided of course that the questions are properly put."

"I like to ask mother questions," Rotha said, drawing in a little.

"I have no doubt you would like to ask me questions, if you once got into the way of it. Habit is everything."

"Not quite everything, in this," said Rotha. "There must be something before the habit."

"Yes. There must be a beginning."

"I meant something else."

"Did you? May I ask, what did you mean?"

"I mean a good deal," said Rotha. "Before one could get a habit like that, one must know that the person could answer the questions; and besides, that he would like to have them asked."

"In my case I will pledge myself for the second qualification; about the first you must learn by experience. Suppose you try."

His manner was so pleasant and well bred, and Rotha felt that she had gone so near the edge of politeness, she found it best for this time to comply.

"I asked mother one day what is the meaning of a 'gentleman'; and I suppose she was too tired to talk to me, for she said I had better ask you."

"O he did me honour."

"Well, what is it then, Mr. Digby."

"I should say, it is the counterpart to a 'lady.'"

"But isn't everybody that is grown up, a 'lady'? – every woman, I mean?"

"No more than every grown up man is a gentleman."

Rotha stood looking at him, and the young man on his part regarded her with more attention than usual. He was suddenly touched with compassion for the girl. She stood, half doubtful, half proud, dimly conscious of her enormous ignorance, and with an inward monition of a whole world of knowledge to be acquired, yet beyond her reach; at the same time her look shewed capacity enough both to understand and to feel. Rotha was now nearly fourteen, with mental powers just opening and personal gifts just beginning to dawn. The child's complexion told of poor feeding and want of air and exercise; it was sallow, and her features were sharp; but her hair was beautiful in its lustrous, dark abundance; the eyes shewed the fire of native passion and intelligence; the mouth was finely cut and expressed half a dozen things in as many minutes. "Poor child!" thought the visiter; "what is to become of her, with all this latent power and possibility?"

"A gentleman, Rotha," he said aloud, "may be defined as a person who in all manner of little things keeps the golden rule – does to everybody as he would be done by; and knows how."

"In little things? Not in great things?"

"One may do it in great things, and not be a gentleman in manner; though certainly in heart."

"Then it is manner?"

"Very much."

"And a lady the same way?"

"Of course."

"What sort of little things?" said Rotha curiously.

"A lady in the first place will be always careful and delicate about her own person and dress; it does not depend upon what she wears, but how she wears it; a lady might wear patches, but never could be untidy. Then, in all her moving, speaking, and acting, she will be gentle, quiet, and polite. And in her behaviour to others, she will give everybody the respect that is due, and never put herself forward. 'In honour preferring one another,' is the Bible rule, and it is the law of good breeding. And the Bible says, 'Honour all men;' and, 'Be courteous.' – Have I spoken according to your mind, Mrs. Carpenter?"

"Beautifully," said the silent, pale seamstress, never stopping her needle. "Better than I could have done it. Now you know, Rotha."

Rotha stood considering, uneasy.

"What is the next question?" said Mr. Digby smiling.

"I was thinking – " said Rotha. "Mustn't one know a good deal, to do all that?"

"To do what, for instance?"

"To give everybody the respect that is due; it is not the same to everybody, is it?"

"No, certainly."

"How can one know?"

"There is a good deal to be learned in this world, before one can hold the balance scales to weigh out to each one exactly what belongs to him," Mr. Digby admitted.

"That is one of my troubles," said Mrs. Carpenter looking up. "I cannot give my child an education. I do a little at home; it is better than nothing; but I feel that my power grows less and less; and Rotha's needs are more and more."

"What do you know, Rotha?" said Mr. Digby.

"I don't know much of anything!" said the girl, an eloquent flush coming into her pale face. It touched him.

"A little of what, then?" said their visiter kindly.

"You would not say it was anything."

"She knows a little history," Mrs. Carpenter put in.

"Have you any acquaintance with Alexander of Macedon, Rotha?"

"The Great? asked Rotha.

"He is called so."

"Yes, I know about him."

"Think he deserved the title?"

"Yes, I suppose he did."

"What for?"

"He was such a clever man."

"Well, I have no doubt he was," Mr. Digby returned, keeping a perfectly grave face with some difficulty; "a clever man; but how did he shew it?"