“Yes; it was your friend Stocmar filled my case yesterday.”
“Another of the would-be shrewd ones!” said she, laughing.
“I did n't fancy him much,” said he.
“Nor I, either; he is such a snob. Now, one can't live with a snob, though one may dine with him, smoke, flirt, ride, and chat with him. Is it not so?”
“Perfectly true.”
“Sir William is not snobbish. It is his one redeeming quality.”
“I see that. I remarked it the first day we met.”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” sighed she, drearily, “what a tame, poor, commonplace thing life becomes when it is reduced to English cookery for health, and respectability for morals! I could marry Stocmar if I pleased, papa.”
“Of course you could.”
“Or O'Shea,—'the O'Shea,'” said she, with a laugh. “How droll to be the she of that species! I could have him also.”