“I only want to know what he is.”
“Oh! some twentieth cousin of mine.”
“Mr. Arnold does not know that?”
“Oh dear! no. It is so far off I can’t count it, In fact I doubt it altogether. It must date centuries back.”
“His intimacy, then, is not to be accounted for by his relationship?”
“Ah! ah! I thought so. Jealous of the poor count!”
“Count?”
“Oh dear! what does it matter? He doesn’t like to be called Count, because all foreigners are counts or barons, or something equally distinguished. I oughtn’t to have let it out.”
“Never mind. Tell me something about him.”
“He is a Bohemian. I met him first, some years ago, on the continent.”