Her laugh died rapidly away at sight of the effect of her words. Mr. Fountain started, and his face turned red and pale alternately.
“Refuse my friend—refuse Talboys in that way? Thoughtless girl, you don't know what you are doing. His family is all but noble. What am I saying? noble? why, half the House of Peers is sprung from the dregs of the people, and got there either by pettifogging in the courts of law, or selling consciences in the Lower House; and of the other half, that are gentlemen of descent, not two in twenty can show a pedigree like Talboys. And with that name a princely mansion—antiquity stamped on it—stands in its own park, in the middle of its vast estates, with title-deeds in black-letter, girl.”
“But, uncle, all this is encumbered—”
“It is false, whoever told you so. There is not a mortgage on any part of it—only a few trifling copyholds and pepper-corn rents.”
“You misunderstand me; I was going to say, it is encumbered with a gentleman for whom I could never feel affection, because he does not inspire me with respect.”
“Nonsense! he inspires universal respect.”
“It must be by his estates, then, not his character. You know, uncle, the world is more apt to ask, 'What has he, then what is he?'”
“He is a polished gentleman.”
“But not a well-bred one.”
“The best bred I ever saw.