"You don't say!… Over in America we've never thought of that: we let our grafters run loose. But who's the tall one next to him? My! but can't you see him, Branny, with his long legs crossed?"
Branny was puzzled.
"—on a tomb, in chain armour, with his hands so." Corona put her two palms together, as in the act of prayer.
"Oh, I see! Well, as it happens, his house has a private chapel with five or six of just those tombs—all of his ancestors. He's Sir John Shaftesbury, and he's pricked for High Sheriff next year. One of the oldest families in the county; in all England, indeed. Everyone loves and respects Sir John."
"Didn't I say so!" The small palms were pressed together ecstatically. "And does he keep a dwarf, same as they used to?"
"Eh?… If you mean the little man beside him, with the straw-coloured gloves, that's Mr. Bamberger; Mr. Julius Bamberger, our Member of Parliament."
"Say that again, please."
The child looked up, wide-eyed.
"He's our Member of Parliament for Merchester; immensely rich, they say."
"Well," decided Corona after a moment's thought, "I'm going to pretend he isn't, anyway. I'm going to pretend Sir John found him and brought him home from Palestine."