“Yes, and you cawnt conceive the peens she teekes to talk of the teebles and cheers, and to thank Q, and with so much teeste to speak pure English,” said Mrs. Dareville.
“Pure cockney, you mean,” said Lady Langdale.
“But does Lady Clonbrony expect to pass for English?” said the duchess.
“Oh, yes! because she is not quite Irish bred and born—only bred, not born,” said Mrs. Dareville. “And she could not be five minutes in your grace’s company, before she would tell you that she was Henglish, born in Hoxfordshire.”
“She must be a vastly amusing personage—I should like to meet her if one could see and hear her incog.,” said the duchess. “And Lord Clonbrony, what is he?”
“Nothing, nobody,” said Mrs. Dareville: “one never even hears of him.”
“A tribe of daughters, too, I suppose?”
“No, no,” said Lady Langdale; “daughters would be past all endurance.”
“There’s a cousin, though, a Miss Nugent,” said Mrs. Dareville, “that Lady Clonbrony has with her.”
“Best part of her, too,” said Colonel Heathcock—“d——d fine girl!—never saw her look better than at the opera to-night!”