“Don’t approve of me?”
“Yes; I don’t suppose any one ever said such a thing to you before, did they? I don’t approve of lords as an institution. I think the world has got beyond them—far beyond.”
“Oh, so do I. I don’t approve of myself in the least. Sometimes it comes over me—how I should object to myself if I were not myself, don’t you know? But that’s rather good, by the way—not to be vainglorious.”
“Why don’t you give it up then?” Miss Stackpole enquired.
“Give up—a—?” asked Lord Warburton, meeting her harsh inflexion with a very mellow one.
“Give up being a lord.”
“Oh, I’m so little of one! One would really forget all about it if you wretched Americans were not constantly reminding one. However, I do think of giving it up, the little there is left of it, one of these days.”
“I should like to see you do it!” Henrietta exclaimed rather grimly.
“I’ll invite you to the ceremony; we’ll have a supper and a dance.”
“Well,” said Miss Stackpole, “I like to see all sides. I don’t approve of a privileged class, but I like to hear what they have to say for themselves.”