“And what need have we of them, papa? Will not our pride of good blood teach us other lessons than repining? Can't we show the world that a gentleman born bears his altered fortunes with dignity?”
“Ye're right, Bella; that's the very thing they must acknowledge. There is n't a day passes that I don't make the clerks in the 'Long Room' feel the difference between us. 'No liberties, no familiarities, my lads,' I say,—'keep your distance; for, though my coat is threadbare, and my hat none of the best, the man inside there is Paul Kellett of Kellett's Court.' And if they ask where that is, I say, 'Look at the Gazetteer,'—it's mighty few of them has their names there: 'Kellett's Court, the ancient seat of the Kellett family, was originally built by Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke.'”
“Well, here we are, papa, in a more humble home; but you'll see how cheery it will be.”
And so saying, she pushed open a little wicket, and, passing through a small garden, gained the door of a little one-storied cottage, almost buried in honeysuckle.
“Yes, Betty, wet through!” said she, laughing, as the old woman held up her hands in horror; “but get papa his slippers and that warm dressing-gown, and I 'll be back in a minute.”
“Arrah! why didn't you take a car for her?” said the old woman, with that familiarity which old and tried service warrants. “Sure the child will get her death from this!”
“She wouldn't let me; she insisted on walking on her feet.”
“Ayeh, ayeh!” mattered the crone, as she placed his slippers on the fender, “sure ye oughtn't to mind her. She'd get a fever rather than cost you a shilling. Look at the shoes she's wearin'.”
“By the good day! you'll drive me mad, clean mad!” cried he, savagely. “Don't you know in your heart that we have n't got it? Devil a rap farthing; that we're as poor as a church mouse; that if it wasn't for this beggarly place——”
“Now, Betty,” cried the girl, entering,—“now for our tea, and that delicious potato-cake that I see browning there before the fire.”