“Faugh!” said the old lady, vigorously, “sentimentality is the national bane.”
“No, Caroline,” said Cheriton, sadly, “you’ve no soul. Why don’t you present me?”
“My niece, Miss Perry,” said Caroline. “Lord Cheriton, my old friend.”
“Oh, how do you do?” said Miss Perry, shooting forth her hand in her own private and particular manner to Aunt Caroline’s old friend. “I hope you are quite well.”
The manner in which Cheriton enclosed the ample paw of Miss Perry, which nevertheless, speaking relatively, contrived to appear long and slender, in his own delicately manicured fingers was almost epic.
“Miss Perry,” said he, “this is a great moment in my life.”
“Don’t be a coxcomb, Cheriton,” said Caroline Crewkerne with great energy.
No one made fuller use than that old woman of the privilege accorded to age of being as rude as it pleases. But it was so necessary that the wearer of the vegetable basket should not get notions under it before she had been in Hill Street an hour.
“My dear Miss Perry,” said Cheriton, with the magniloquent air with which he asked an occasional question in the Hereditary Chamber, “are you acquainted with the vast metropolis?”
“I have always lived at Slocum Magna,” said Miss Perry with perfect simplicity.