"What skion of the British nobility is that?" asked Jonathan.
"That is Lord Blank's footman," replied Saint Catherine.
"My! Well, whose footman is that?" continued her interlocutor, pointing to a less gorgeous person holding the reins.
"That is Lord Blank," answered Saint Catherine loftily.
"Sakes alive! Does that goose of a lord think he will stand any chance with the girls when he takes such a howling swell as that around with him?" asked simple Jonathan.
To this question Saint Catherine deigned no reply, having, perhaps, remarked the wicked twinkle of Jonathan's eye.
One of our pensionnaires objected very much to the American language. "It is principally slang," she said. This lady, no longer young, had been three times upon the eve of marriage, had had three bridal dresses, had countermanded three wedding-feasts. She was heiress at that time to the fifty thousand pounds she has since inherited, and the persistent failure of her matrimonial endeavors surprised us all.
"It is because Monsieur mon Père is perfectly addled on the matter of settlements, and rowed with every one of my fiancés," she explained.
She said one day, "The gov'nor has done me out of a guinea of my allowance this week. He's a first-class Do!"
Another time, "The mater and I prefer to live in our own house, but the gov'nor won't hear to it. He prefers 'diggin's' where he can always have his whist."