The story of their titles is simple, and one of everyday recurrence.
The fathers of Sleath and Dewsnap had been made respectively a baronet and a knight for services rendered to the Ministry; but as those of the former, though equally important, had been performed with less scruple, he had been rewarded with the diploma of a baronet of Great Britain, and a coat-of-arms, which taxed the ingenuity of the entire College of Heralds.
Sir Redmond Sleath was a man of violent temper naturally, especially when his will was thwarted; thus he felt himself humiliated, and, when inflamed with wine, rendered almost savage by the spirit of opposition and dismay he encountered in Ellinor Wellwood, whom he still viewed as a poor girl, without parents, friends, or protector other than Leslie Colville, and he now was far away indeed.
Dewsnap occasionally had half-tipsy thoughts of pretending to befriend this stray girl, and getting her away somehow 'on his own hook,' as he phrased it to himself.
But he had a wholesome fear of Sleath, for, notwithstanding all his wealth, the latter had obtained somehow a great ascendency over him.
'She knows too much about one now,' muttered Sleath to himself. 'The marriage dodge and the ailing uncle won't do again—so how to deceive her?'
'"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men are deceivers ever."
so says Shakespeare,' said Dewsnap, tipsily rolling his head from side to side; 'and he was right; devilish few of us are worth sighing for, I think.'
'Dolly Dewsnap turned moralist!' exclaimed Sleath, with a scornful laugh.
'Steward, some more moist!' cried Dewsnap. 'We'll drink Miss What-her-name's jolly good health. What says Byron, or some other fellow?