“Hearts are very pretty things, my sweet young lady, but Three-per-Cents are better.”
“Nay, have we not an ample income of our own, without the aid of Lady Griffin?”
My lord shrugged his shoulders. “Be it so, my love,” says he. “I'm sure I can have no other reason to prevent a union which is founded upon such disinterested affection.”
And here the conversation dropt. Miss retired, clasping her hands, and making play with the whites of her i's. My lord began trotting up and down the room, with his fat hands stuck in his britchis pockits, his countnince lighted up with igstream joy, and singing, to my inordnit igstonishment:
“See the conquering hero comes!
Tiddy diddy doll—tiddy doll, doll, doll.”
He began singing this song, and tearing up and down the room like mad. I stood amazd—a new light broke in upon me. He wasn't going, then, to make love to Miss Griffin! Master might marry her! Had she not got the for—?
I say, I was just standing stock still, my eyes fixt, my hands puppindicklar, my mouf wide open and these igstrordinary thoughts passing in my mind, when my lord having got to the last “doll” of his song, just as I came to the sillible “for” of my ventriloquism, or inward speech—we had eatch jest reached the pint digscribed, when the meditations of both were sudnly stopt, by my lord, in the midst of his singin and trottin match, coming bolt up aginst poar me, sending me up aginst one end of the room, himself flying back to the other: and it was only after considrabble agitation that we were at length restored to anything like a liquilibrium.
“What, YOU here, you infernal rascal?” says my lord.
“Your lordship's very kind to notus me,” says I; “I am here.” And I gave him a look.
He saw I knew the whole game.