"Majestic! nonsense! nothing can feel less majestic."
"Then decidedly you are not what you seem."
"I was trying all the time to make you into Tressilian, only your red coat was in the way. You know I never saw you in it before."
"And so you have given up archery?"
"O, no! I shoot at home; only I cannot make a spectacle of myself,—I hate the whole thing so much."
"And you would not wear a fancy dress?"
"You see I am in mourning."
"Why, who is dead?"
"Don't you know? Old Mr. Thomas Marchmont."
"Yes, and his great-grandfather likewise! Well, you certainly are inclined to make the most of your connection with the peerage,"