"A mésalliance!—humph! I presume, sir, in plain English, it means marrying beneath her rank in life?"
The marquis bowed.
"I beg to observe, sir," said Mr John Forster, "that our family is a very old one. I can show you our pedigree. It has lain for some years by the side of your daughter's bundle in the iron safe."
"I have no doubt of the excellence of your family, Mr Forster. I can only express my deep regret that it is not noble. Excuse me, Mr Forster; except you can prove that—"
"Why, I could prove it by purchasing a dozen marquisates, if I thought proper!"
"Granted, Mr Forster. In our country they are to be purchased; but we make a great difference between the parvenus of the present day and the ancienne noblesse."
"Well, Mr Marquis, just as you please; but I consider myself quite as good as a French marquis," replied Mr Forster, in a tone of irritation.
"Better than many, I have no doubt; but still, we draw the line. Noble blood, Mr Forster."
"Noble fiddlestick! Monsieur le Marquis, in this country, and the inhabitants are not fools, we allow money to weigh against rank. It purchases that, as it does everything else, except heaven. Now, Monsieur le Marquis—"
"Excuse me, sir; no money will purchase the hand of Julie de Fontanges," replied the marquis.