"Well—it is not pleasant," continued the garrulous lady. "And now, when I think of it, I have a call to make in Aldgate to-day; and so, when I leave here, I shall take a Whitechapel 'bus. Nasty place that Aldgate, sir?"
"Really, madam, I never heard of it until now," said Lord Dunstable, with marvellous stiffness of manner.
"Never heard of Aldgate, sir?" literally shouted the lady. "Why, you must be very green in London, then."
"I know no place east of Temple Bar, madam," was the cold reply. "I am aware that there are human habitations on the other side; and I could perhaps find my way to the Bank—but nothing more, madam, I can assure you."
And he turned towards Egerton, who was pretending to look out of the window.
"Well—I never!" exclaimed the lady, now eyeing the nobleman with sovereign contempt.
"My dear aunt," said Egerton, desperately resolved to put an end if possible to this awkward scene; "allow me to introduce my friend Lord Dunstable: Lord Dunstable—Mrs. Bustard."
"Oh! delighted at the honour!" cried the nobleman, instantly conquering his surprise at this announcement of the relationship existing between his young friend and the vulgar lady who complained of having been "scrooged up in an omnibus:"—"proud, madam, to form your acquaintance!"
And his features instantly beamed with smiles—a relaxation from his former chilling manner, which appeared like a sudden transition from the north pole to the tropics.
On her side, the aunt had started up from the sofa, quite electrified by the mention of the magic words—"Lord Dunstable;" and there she stood, cruelly embarrassed, and bobbing up and down in a rapid series of curtseys at every word which the nobleman addressed to her. For this was the first time in her life that she had ever exchanged a syllable with a Lord, unless it were with a Lord Mayor on one or two occasions—but that was only "cakes and gingerbread" in comparison with the excitement of forming the acquaintance of a real Lord whose title was not the temporary splendour of a single year.