“Pa made his money out of pigs.”
“They’re one degree better than people, then.”
“I wish you’d let me say what I came to say.”
“Go on. No one’s hindering you but yourself.”
“Camille Barringcourt’s a pig. He’s gone and asked old Agnes Crokerly to play hostess at his big do. And I thought now Lady Flamington was gone there’d be a chance for ma and me.”
“What d’ye want with him?” said the other sneeringly. “He’s not a duke. He’s plain Mr.! Bless me, you’re coming down!”
“Ah! but he’s got a mint of money.”
“You’ve got enough money for two and more, if need be. What you want is a title. If you looked back into his people you’d find they kept a chip potato shop, I dare be bound.”
“Never!” said Susiebelle, with emphasis, the tears rising in her eyes. “He’s so real a gentleman he makes Lord Hysquint look like a twopence-halfpenny waiter in a restaurant I don’t want a duke” (her voice was rising), “I won’t have a duke! They’re common little sniggling things that are too proud for their place. One might think they’d never tasted sausage! I’ll marry who I want to, and if I don’t marry who I want, I’ll make everybody’s life a burden to them!”
And her voice rose to a high pitch, for she was hysterical, and had never been much crossed in her life before.