You are not the same.

You are--" he paused to consider, "yes, that's it.

You are a lady." The anger died out of Irma's brown eyes and flushed face.

A soft and tender and mysterious light suffused her countenance.
"No, I am not a lady," she said, "but you remember what father said.

Our mother was a lady, and I am going to be one." Almost never had the children spoken of their mother.