that Susan can keep up such a delusion, and especially
as she insists on talking English. She says her _French_ is so vulgar.
But there! I don't care how she talks or what she talks, bless her.
Everything sounds well from those charming lips. She's a kind-hearted,
good girl, and worth eight hundred dozen (as I should say if I hadn't
left the wine-trade) of the other one. There was something wrong about
that Montmorenci vintage, for all her sparkle; corked or something. Now,
my Susan's _all_ good,--good the second day, good the third day, good
every day. She's like port--all the better for keeping; and she's not
like port--because there's no crustiness about her. She's a deuced
clever woman. To hear her talk broken English when the squire's wife
called here the other day was as good as a play. Everybody hereabouts
believes she's a Frenchwoman; but then they're all country-people, and
they'll believe anything. Sponge and Rasper and Robinson are all London
born,--especially Rasper,--and London people believe nothing. They
only give credit.

_Enter SUSAN, in an in-door morning dress, but gloved._

_Nokes._ Well, my darling, have you screwed your courage up to meet
these three gentlemen? Upon my life, I think it would be better if I
told them at once that I had been jilted, and instead of the Montmorenci
had found The Substitute infinitely preferable to the original; for I'm
sure I _have_, Susan [_fondly_].

_Susan [holding up her finger]._ Constance, if you please, my dear. I'm
continually correcting that little mistake of yours. How can I possibly
keep up my dignity as a Montmorenci while you are always calling me
Susan?

_Nokes._ Then why keep it up at all, my dear? Why not stand at once upon
your merits, which I am sure are quite sufficient? Of course it would be
a little come-down for _me_ just at first; but that's no matter.

_Susan._ My good, kind husband! [_Kisses his forehead._] No, dear; let
me first show your friends that you have no cause to be ashamed of me.
It will be much easier to do that if they think I am a born lady.
Appearances do such a deal in the world.

_Nokes._ Yes, my dear, I've noticed that in the wine-trade. If you were
to sell cider at eighty shillings a dozen, it would be considered
uncommon good tipple by the customer who bought it. Tell them Madeira
has been twice to China--twice to China [_chuckles to himself_]--and how
they smack their lips! That reminds me, by the bye [_seriously