“Good morning, my lord,” he said.
“Hey, what?” said Mr. Osborne. “Poking your fun at me, are you?”
“There’s something about you in the papers, my lord.”
“Well, I never! Let’s see,” said Mr. Osborne.
He unfolded the paper Claude had brought him.
“My lady,” he said across the table to his wife, “this’ll interest you. List of honours. Peerages, Edward Osborne, Esquire, M. P.”
It was a triumphant success. Sir Thomas actually thought that it was news to them both, and went so far as to lay down his knife and fork.
“Bless my soul!” he said. “Well, I’m sure there never was an honour more deservedly won, nor what will be more dignifiedly worn.”
Mr. Osborne could not keep it up.
“Well, well,” he said, “of course we’ve known all along; but Claude would have his joke and pretend it was news to us. Thank ye, Sir Thomas, I’m sure. Maria, my dear, I’m told your new coronet’s come home. Pass it to my lady, Claude.”