“I shall be at home, my Lord.”
“O, -e;-propos,-where are you?”
“Young ladies, my Lord,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “are no where.”
“Prithee,” whispered his Lordship, “is that queer woman your mother?”
Good Heavens, Sir, what words for such a question!
“No, my Lord.”
“Your maiden aunt then?”
“No.”
“Whoever she is, I wish she would mind her own affairs: I don’t know what the devil a woman lives for after thirty: she is only in other folk’s way. Shall you be at the assembly?”
“I believe not, my Lord.”