"Oh, what's this I hear," exclaimed Miss Smith, rushing into the room, "are you a real marquis, Mr Bullion?"
"Yes, madam, I have that honour."
"And does the marriage with my sister stand good?"
"To be sure, madam."
"Then, I'm very glad of it. Oh how delightful!—to be my Lord this, my Lady that. I am always devoted to the aristockicy; and now, only to think I am one of them myself."
"How can you be so foolish, aunt?—I'm ashamed of you," said Louise; "what terrible things you were telling me, an hour ago, of the wickedness of the nobility?"
"Miss Smith, though she does not express herself in very correct language, has more sensible ideas on this subject than you," said the marquis, looking severely at his daughter, who was looking, from time to time, with a malicious smile at the woe-begone countenance of Cecil Hope. "Remember, madam, who it is you are," continued the senior.
"La, papa! don't talk such nonsense," replied the irreverent daughter. "Do you think I am eighteen years of age, and don't know perfectly well who and what I am?"
"Three of your ancestors, madam, were Constables of France."
"That's nothing to boast of," returned Louise; "no, not if they had been inspectors of police."