But with Melissa it's all so different somehow.
She spoke as if it was the most natural thing on earth for her
father to keep a shop, and she didn't seem the least little bit in
the world ashamed of it, either."
"Why should she?" I answered, with my masculine bluntness. But that
was perhaps a trifle too advanced for Lucy. Melissa was exercising
a widening influence on my wife's point of view with astonishing
rapidity; but still, a perfect lady must always draw a line somewhere.
All the way across, indeed, Melissa's lively talk was a constant
delight and pleasure to every one of us. She was so taking,--that
girl,--so confidential, so friendly. We really loved her. Then
her quaint little Americanisms were as pretty as herself--not only
her "Yes, sirs," and her "No, ma'ams," her "I guess" and "That's
so," but her fresh Western ideas, and her infinite play of fancy
in the queen's English. She turned it as a potter turns his clay.
In Britain our mother tongue has crystallised long since into set
forms and phrases. In America it has the plasticity of youth; it is
fertile in novelty--nay, even in surprises. And Melissa knew how to
twist it deftly into unexpected quips and incongruous conjunctions.
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