“Your present position, Lady Lackington, might inspire a very natural degree of pride.”
“It has not done so yet, my Lady. My experience of the elevated class to which I have been raised has been too brief to impress me; a wider knowledge will probably supply this void.”
“And yet,” said Lady Georgina, sarcastically, “it is something,—the change from Miss Davis to the Viscountess Lackington.”
“When that change becomes more real, more actual, my Lady,” said Lizzy, boldly, “it will, assuredly, bear its fruits; when, in being reminded of what I was and whence I came, I can only detect the envious malevolence that would taunt me with what is no fault of mine, but a mere accident of fortune,—when I hear these things with calm composure, and in my rank as a peeress feel the equal of those who would disparage me,—then, indeed, I may be proud.”
“Such a day may never come,” said Lady Georgina, coldly.
“Very possibly, my Lady. It has cost me no effort to win this station you seem to prize so highly; it will not exact one to forego all its great advantages.”
“What a young lady to be so old a philosopher! I 'm sure Lord Lackington never so much as suspected the wisdom he acquired in his wife. It may, however, be a family trait.”
“My father was so far wise, my Lady, that he warned me of the reception that awaited me in my new station; but, in his ignorance of that great world, he gave me, rather, to believe that I should meet insinuated slights and covert impertinences than open insults. Perhaps I owe it to my vulgar origin that I really like the last the best; at least, they show me that my enemies are not formidable.”
“Your remarks have convinced me that it would be quite superfluous in me to offer my protection to a lady so conversant with life and the world.”
“They will, at least, serve to show your Ladyship that I would not have accepted the protection.”