“A sugaw plantaw?”
“Yes—he was so when we last heard from him.”
“Aw, then, p’waps he is wich—a pwopwietor? In that case he may find something faw yaw to daw, bettaw than niggaw-dwiving. Make yaw his ovawseeaw. May I know yaw name?”
“Quite welcome to it. Vaughan is my name.”
“Vawrn!” repeated the exquisite, in a tone that betrayed some newly-awakened interest; “Vawn, did I understand yaw to say?”
“Herbert Vaughan,” replied the young man, with firmer emphasis.
“And yaw uncle’s name?”
“He is also called Vaughan. He is my father’s brother—or rather was—my father is dead.”
“Not Woftus Vawn, Esquire, of Mount Welcome?”
“Yes, Loftus Vaughan; my uncle is so called, and Mount Welcome is, I believe, the name of his estate.”