'Fine old place this of yours, Cadbury—dates from Charles II., I believe,' said Sir Ranald, looking approvingly round the stately dining-room, and then glancing at his silent daughter's face; 'it exhibits all the chastened grandeur that only comes by long inheritance, and was not built in a day like the palace of Aladdin.'
'It matters little when built,' replied Cadbury, bluntly, who felt a taunt in the remark, and knew precisely how Sir Ranald viewed his recent title. 'It comes to me out of Cornhill and Threadneedle Street; and I believe that Miss Cheyne will agree with me that it is better to have industrious than expensive forefathers—hewers of wood and drawers of water, though some may deem them. Bosh! Sir Ranald—all men come from Adam,' added Cadbury, who, though a peer, was somewhat of a Radical in his proclivities.
'In these points you and I differ,' said Sir Ranald, stiffly, as he sipped his glass of dry Moselle.
'In this age of the world, a fellow with a pedigree is exactly like a potato,' said Lord Cadbury, laughing.
'How do you mean?'
'That the best part of the plant is underground.'
Sir Ranald coloured with annoyance up to his pale temples, and said—
'I am astonished that you should indulge in such bad form as proverbs; and, as for pedigrees, I never knew any man undervalue them if he ever had one—real or pretended——'
Alison, fearing the conversation was taking an unpleasant turn, looked at her father imploringly, and said, with her brightest smile,
'You know, papa, that in this work-a-day age, merit is better than birth.'