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“For you, my dear madam, I know quite well that you care for no such bauble as a coronet, except in so far as it may confer honour upon those most dear to you–excellent wife and noble mother as you are. Heigho! what a happy man is Sir George!”

Here there was another pause, and if Mr. Perkins could have seen what was taking place behind the screen, he would have beheld little Mr. Crampton looking into Lady Gorgon’s face, with as love-sick a Romeo-gaze as he could possibly counterfeit; while her Ladyship, blushing somewhat and turning her own grey gogglers up to heaven, received all his words for gospel, and sat fancying herself to be the best, most meritorious, and most beautiful creature in the three kingdoms.

“You men are terrible flatterers,” continued she; “but you say right: for myself I value not these empty distinctions. I am growing old, Mr. Crampton,–yes, indeed, I am, although you smile so incredulously,–and let me add, that MY thoughts are fixed upon HIGHER things than earthly crowns. But tell me, you who are all in all with Lord Bagwig, are we never to have our peerage? His Majesty, I know, is not averse; the services of dear Sir George to a member of His Majesty’s august family, I know, have been appreciated in the highest quarter. Ever since the peace we have had a promise. Four hundred pounds has Sir George spent at the Heralds’ Office (I myself am of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom, Mr. Crampton), and the poor dear man’s health is really ruined by the anxious sickening feeling of hope so long delayed.”

Mr. Crampton now assumed an air of much solemnity.

“My dear Lady Gorgon,” said he, “will you let me be frank with you, and will you promise solemnly that what I am going to tell you shall never be repeated to a single soul?”

Lady Gorgon promised.

“Well, then, since the truth you must know, you yourselves have been in part the cause of the delay of which you complain. You gave us two votes five years ago; you now only give us one. If Sir George were to go up to the Peers, we should lose even that one vote; and would it be common sense in us to incur such a loss? Mr. Scully, the Liberal, would return another Member of his own way of thinking; and as for the Lords, we have, you know, a majority there.”

“Oh, that horrid man!” said Lady Gorgon, cursing Mr. Scully in her heart, and beginning to play a rapid tattoo with her feet, “that miscreant, that traitor, that–that attorney has been our ruin.”

“Horrid man, if you please, but give me leave to tell you that the horrid man is not the sole cause of your ruin–if ruin you will call it. I am sorry to say that I do candidly think Ministers believe that Sir George Gorgon has lost his influence in Oldborough as much through his own fault as through Mr. Scully’s cleverness.”

“Our own fault! Good heavens! Have we not done everything–everything that persons of our station in the county could do, to keep those misguided men? Have we not remonstrated, threatened, taken away our custom from the Mayor, established a Conservative apothecary–in fact, done all that gentlemen could do? But these are such times, Mr. Crampton: the spirit of revolution is abroad, and the great families of England are menaced by democratic insolence.”

This was Sir George Gorgon’s speech always after dinner, and was delivered by his lady with a great deal of stateliness. Somewhat, perhaps, to her annoyance, Mr. Crampton only smiled, shook his head, and said–

“Nonsense, my dear Lady Gorgon–pardon the phrase, but I am a plain old man, and call things by their names. Now, will you let me whisper in your ear one word of truth? You have tried all sorts of remonstrances, and exerted yourself to maintain your influence in every way, except the right one, and that is–“