My cousin Pattie was, then, odd, whimsical, and, I feared, witty; but that remained to be proved. She certainly acted in a manner highly unsophisticated, which arose from her youth (for my uncle told me she was not yet eighteen), and her country breeding. She had divers rusticities of speech, and a frankness of spirit that would at any moment burst out in weeping and wailing, or a fit of romping; all which was horridly ungenteel, and a great objection to genteel people taking notice of her. But, on the other hand, she was a positive beauty; and although she slouched about sometimes, when forgetful, her movements were commonly graceful and lady-like. My judgment was therefore favourable: beauty, grace, good clothes, and a grammatical way of speaking, were, as far as I knew, the only requisites for a fine woman, and I thought it was possible to make her one. The two first requisites she already possessed: good clothes were to be had of a good milliner; and as for her conversation, I flattered myself I could, in a few lessons, teach her to subdue all redundances; for in that particular she wanted nothing but pruning. CHAPTER XIII. A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF MISS PATTIE WILKINS. Having made these observations in the course of a ten minutes conversation, I perceived I had no longer any reason to be ashamed of her; but, on the contrary, to congratulate myself on the relationship. Then, permitting myself to be affectionate and frank, as a near kinsman should, I gave her freely to understand, that, with a little advice and training, which I would undertake to give her in a few lessons, she would be fit to shine in the very best society: an admission that set my uncle into an ecstasy of delight and triumph, while it somewhat discomposed the fair Pattie. She gave me a hearty stare (a thing I was glad to see, for it looked lady-like), then coloured (a circumstance I did not approve so much, since blushing is girlish and ungenteel), and then burst out a laughing, and concluded by seizing upon my hand, giving it a yeomanly shake, and saying, "Very well, cousin Ikey, you shall be my schoolmaster, and teach me all you know; and, as you say, I think you can teach me in a very few lessons." And here she looked as meek, and quiet, and almost as sanctimonious, as any saint I ever saw of a Sunday. "Very good," said I; "and the first lesson I will give you is, never to call me 'Ikey' again, for that's vulgar; but always 'Mr. Dawkins,' or just plain 'cousin;' or, as we are so nearly related, why, I don't care if you call me by my middle name, 'Dulmer.'" "Wouldn't 'Dully' be better?" said she, as sweetly as could be: "it's more affectionate, and cousins ought to be affectionate."