It is the little things, the trifles, the way of talking, the way
of listening, the amount of sympathy shown, and so on, that make a
man or woman popular. People do not ask whether he or she may be
morally sleeping volcanoes, who, if fairly roused, might slay a
rival or burn a city; they simply look at the surface--is a man
or a woman pleasant, agreeable, easily pleased, ready to take a
share in making things go, to show a certain amount of sympathy in
other people's pleasures or troubles--in fact, to form a pleasant
unit of the society of a station?
"So in the house you might be the most angelic temper in the world,
but if you wore creaky boots, had a habit of slamming doors, little
tricks of giggling or fidgeting with your hands or feet, you would
be an unpleasant companion, for you would be constantly irritating
one in small matters. Of course, it is just the same thing with
your opinion of me. You have an idea that I am a good enough sort
of fellow, because I have done my best to enable you to carry out
your plans and wishes, but that has nothing to do at all with my
character as a man to live with. Till we saw each other, when you
got out of the gharry, we really knew nothing whatever of each
other."
Isobel shook her head decidedly.
"Nothing will persuade me that I didn't know everything about you,
uncle. You are just exactly what I knew you would be in look, and
voice, in manner and ways and everything. Of course, it is partly
from what I remember, but I really did not see a great deal of you
in those days; it is from your letters, I think, entirely that I
knew all about you, and exactly what you were.
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