"Well, you will be, and that's all the same; but I have no such title to honour, thank God."
They walked on in silence for a little while, for Mr Moffat hardly knew how to manage the business he had in hand. "It is quite delightful to watch these people," he said at last; "now they accuse us of being tuft-hunters."
"Do they?" said Miss Dunstable. "Upon my word I didn't know that anybody ever so accused me."
"I didn't mean you and me personally."
"Oh! I'm glad of that."
"But that is what the world says of persons of our class. Now it seems to me that the toadying is all on the other side. The countess here does toady you, and so do the young ladies."
"Do they? if so, upon my word I didn't know it. But, to tell the truth, I don't think much of such things. I live mostly to myself, Mr Moffat."
"I see that you do, and I admire you for it; but, Miss Dunstable, you cannot always live so," and Mr Moffat looked at her in a manner which gave her the first intimation of his coming burst of tenderness.
"That's as may be, Mr Moffat," said she.
He went on beating about the bush for some time—giving her to understand how necessary it was that persons situated as they were should live either for themselves or for each other, and that, above all things, they should beware of falling into the mouths of voracious aristocratic lions who go about looking for prey—till they came to a turn in the grounds; at which Miss Dunstable declared her determination of going in. She had walked enough, she said. As by this time Mr Moffat's immediate intentions were becoming visible she thought it prudent to retire. "Don't let me take you in, Mr Moffat; but my boots are a little damp, and Dr Easyman will never forgive me if I do not hurry in as fast as I can."