“Gringo,” I said, “isn’t that a perfectly touching sight, to see that dear old man going about leaning on those two young people?”
Gringo spoke very gruffly. He pretended he didn’t care, but I could see he was deeply moved.
“Now my kind master’s got some folks,” he said. “There’s not a line of worry about him. We’ll see something very fancy in his life now.”
And we did, for it appeared that the possession of relatives of his own had been the one thing lacking to round out Mr. Bonstone’s beautiful life.
His devotion to his uncle was superb. He was down at Mrs. Waverlee’s constantly, and when he was not there Sir Edward was at Green Hill.
There was a great excitement all over this place, and in New York too, when it was announced that Mr. Bonstone was related to the distinguished English army officer and present clergyman—Sir Edward Medlington, and was a cousin of the aristocratic Mrs. Waverlee. Nobody seemed jealous. Everybody was glad.
Mrs. Resterton basked in reflected light. She dragged in the title whenever she could with propriety, and the way she mouthed the “Sir Edward” was lovely to hear.
Gringo grinned whenever he heard her. “Never before heard of two words giving a woman such satisfaction,” he said.
The nice old lady’s only regret was that the title passed to Egbert as the son of the eldest son, rather than to Mr. Bonstone as the son of the younger.
I heard Mrs. Bonstone one day enlightening her. “Grandmamma,” she said, “don’t you understand Norman well enough to know that if he had inherited a whole bushel of titles, he would reject them all? As it is, he often shocks his uncle by his democratic ways. No—Norman is a plain American. He has thrown off his English traditions.”