"You should have seen her dress for court, Emmy," Osborne cried,

laughing. "She came to my sisters to show it off, before she was

presented in state by my Lady Binkie, the Haggistoun's kinswoman. She's

related to every one, that Haggistoun. Her diamonds blazed out like

Vauxhall on the night we were there. (Do you remember Vauxhall, Emmy,

and Jos singing to his dearest diddle diddle darling?) Diamonds and

mahogany, my dear! think what an advantageous contrast--and the white

feathers in her hair--I mean in her wool. She had earrings like

chandeliers; you might have lighted 'em up, by Jove--and a yellow satin

train that streeled after her like the tail of a cornet."

"How old is she?" asked Emmy, to whom George was rattling away

regarding this dark paragon, on the morning of their reunion--rattling

away as no other man in the world surely could.

"Why the Black Princess, though she has only just left school, must be

two or three and twenty. And you should see the hand she writes! Mrs.

Colonel Haggistoun usually writes her letters, but in a moment of

confidence, she put pen to paper for my sisters; she spelt satin

satting, and Saint James's, Saint Jams."

"Why, surely it must be Miss Swartz, the parlour boarder," Emmy said,

remembering that good-natured young mulatto girl, who had been so

hysterically affected when Amelia left Miss Pinkerton's academy.

"The very name," George said. "Her father was a German Jew--a

slave-owner they say--connected with the Cannibal Islands in some way

or other. He died last year, and Miss Pinkerton has finished her

education. She can play two pieces on the piano; she knows three

songs; she can write when Mrs. Haggistoun is by to spell for her; and

Jane and Maria already have got to love her as a sister."

"I wish they would have loved me," said Emmy, wistfully. "They were

always very cold to me."

"My dear child, they would have loved you if you had had two hundred

thousand pounds," George replied. "That is the way in which they have

been brought up. Ours is a ready-money society. We live among bankers

and City big-wigs, and be hanged to them, and every man, as he talks to

you, is jingling his guineas in his pocket. There is that jackass Fred

Bullock is going to marry Maria--there's Goldmore, the East India

Director, there's Dipley, in the tallow trade--OUR trade," George said,

with an uneasy laugh and a blush. "Curse the whole pack of

money-grubbing vulgarians! I fall asleep at their great heavy dinners.

I feel ashamed in my father's great stupid parties. I've been

accustomed to live with gentlemen, and men of the world and fashion,

Emmy, not with a parcel of turtle-fed tradesmen. Dear little woman,

you are the only person of our set who ever looked, or thought, or

spoke like a lady: and you do it because you're an angel and can't help

it. Don't remonstrate. You are the only lady. Didn't Miss Crawley

remark it, who has lived in the best company in Europe? And as for

Crawley, of the Life Guards, hang it, he's a fine fellow: and I like

him for marrying the girl he had chosen."




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