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.