“You don’t like a foreigner and a Catholic?”
“Who the devil would?”
“But if she had rank and title?”
“Rank and title! Bubble and squeak! No, not half so good as bubble and squeak. English beef and good cabbage. But foreign rank and title!—foreign cabbage and beef!—foreign bubble and foreign squeak!” And the squire made a wry face, and spat forth his disgust and indignation.
“You must have an Englishwoman?”
“Of course.”
“Money?”
“Don’t care, provided she is a tidy, sensible, active lass, with a good character for her dower.”
“Character—ah, that is indispensable?”
“I should think so, indeed. A Mrs. Hazeldean of Hazeldean—You frighten me. He’s not going to run off with a divorced woman, or a—”