ffing a fellow about the old
guv'nor buying his title."

"He did not buy it, Sydney, my dear," said Lady Lisle, with a faint
colour coming into her cheeks.

"Didn't he, auntie? They say so."

"The truth of the matter is, my dear, that the party--"

"Good old party!" said the "dear boy" to himself.

"The party was pressed for money to carry on the Parliamentary warfare,
and, with your dear grandpapa's noble generosity, he placed his purse at
the party's disposal."

"Keeps it pretty close when I want a few dibs," said the "dear boy" to
himself.

"And the baronetcy was the very least return that the retiring Prime
Minister could make him."

"Oh, that's it, is it, auntie?"

"Yes, my dear," said the lady, laying down one of her secretarial
appeals she had that morning received from the enterprising dun of the
Society for the Propagation of Moral Maxims. "Yes," she said, with some
show of animation, "the title was honourably earned and bestowed, and
some day, Syd, my dear boy, you will be very proud of it. New? Yes, of
course it is new."

"And it'll grow old, won't it, auntie?"

"Of course, my dear. And the Lisles, your dear uncle's people, need not
be so proud of their old family title. The Lisle, your uncle's
ancestor, was only a wealthy country gentleman, who bought his baronetcy
of King James the First."

"For a thousand quid, auntie?"

"A thousand _pounds_, my dear," said the lady, looking at him
wonderingly.

"Yes, auntie; but he was a gentleman."

"And so is your grandfather, Sydney, my child," said the lady, rather
austerely.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said the "dear boy," rather sulkily.
"The fellows at Loamborough are always chucking the `Devil' in my face."

"Syd!"

"They do, auntie--it's the machine that tears up the old shreds at the
mills--and saying grandpa ought to have been made Baron Shoddy."

"My dear Syd!"

"And do you know what they call me?"

"No, no; and I don't want to know, sir."

"Young Devil's Dust," snarled the boy.

"Indeed!" said the lady, indignantly. "Loamborough was selected for
your education because the pupils were supposed to be young gentlemen--
aristocrats."

"So they are," grumbled the boy, "and that's the worst of them. Stink
with pride."

"From envious poverty, Sydney, my child."

"Oh, yes, they're poor enough, some of 'em, and glad enough to borrow my
tin."

"Of course," said the lady, bitterly. "The Lisles, too, have shown me a
go