“Lord Culduff has gone. There came a note to him from Castello in the afternoon, and about five o'clock the phaeton appeared at the door—only with the servants—and his Lordship took a most affectionate leave of me, charging me with the very sweetest messages for you, and assurances of eternal memory of the blissful hours he had passed here.”
“Perhaps it's not the right thing to say, but I own to you I 'm glad he 's gone.”
“But why, George; was he not amusing?”
“Yes, I suppose he was; but he was so supremely arrogant, so impressed with his own grandness, and our littleness, so persistently eager to show us that we were enjoying an honor in his presence, that nothing in our lives could entitle us to, that I found my patience pushed very hard to endure it.”
“I liked him. I liked his vanity and conceit; and I wouldn't for anything he had been less pretentious.”
“I have none of your humoristic temperament, Julia, and I never could derive amusement from the eccentricities or peculiarities of others.”
“And there's no fun like it, George. Once that you come to look on life as a great drama, and all the men and women as players, it's the best comedy ever one sat at.”
“I 'm glad he 's gone for another reason, too. I suppose it's shabby to say it, but it 's true, all the same. He was a very costly guest, and I was n't disposed, like Charles the Bold or that other famous fellow, to sell a province to entertain an emperor.”
“Had we a province to sell, George?” said she, laughing.
“No, but I had a horse, and unfortunately Nora must go to the hammer now.”