‘Mother’s milk makes a true born Englishman,’ said the father; ‘and I make no doubt our young markiss will prove the same.’
‘How I long to see him!’ exclaimed one of the daughters.
‘And so do I!’ said her sister; ‘and in his uniform! How beautiful it must be!’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said the mother; ‘and perhaps you will laugh at me for saying so, but after seeing my Thomas in his state livery, I don’t care much for seeing anything else.’
‘Mother, how can you say such things? I am afraid the crowd will be very great at the fireworks. We must try to get a good place.’
‘I have arranged all that,’ said Thomas, with a triumphant look. ‘There will be an inner circle for the steward’s friends, and you will be let in.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed his sisters.
‘Well, I hope I shall get through the day,’ said his mother; ‘but it’s rather a trial, after our quiet life.’
‘And when will they come on the terrace, Thomas?’
‘You see, they are waiting for the corporation, that’s the mayor and town council of Montacute; they are coming up with an address. There! Do you hear that? That’s the signal gun. They are leaving the town-hall at this same moment. Now, in three-quarters of an hour’s time or so, the duke and duchess, and the young markiss, and all of them, will come on the terrace. So you be alive, and draw near, and get a good place. I must look after these people.’