anguage.

"_Noblesse oblige_," says Mr. Esmond, making her a low bow. "There are
those alive to whom, in return for their love to me, I often fondly said I
would give my life away. Shall I be their enemy now, and quarrel about a
title? What matters who has it? 'Tis with the family still."

"What can there be in that little prude of a woman, that makes men so
_raffoler_ about her?" cries out my lady dowager. "She was here for a
month petitioning the king. She is pretty, and well conserved; but she has
not the _bel air_. In his late Majesty's Court all the men pretended to
admire her; and she was no better than a little wax doll. She is better
now, and looks the sister of her daughter: but what mean you all by
bepraising her? Mr. Steele, who was in waiting on Prince George, seeing
her with her two children going to Kensington, writ a poem about her; and
says he shall wear her colours, and dress in black for the future. Mr.
Congreve says he will write a _Mourning Widow_, that shall be better than
his _Mourning Bride_. Though their husbands quarrelled and fought when
that wretch Churchill deserted the king (for which he deserved to be
hung), Lady Marlborough has again gone wild about the little widow;
insulted me in my own drawing-room, by saying that 'twas not the _old_
widow, but the young viscountess, she had come to see. Little Castlewood
and little Lord Churchill are to be sworn friends, and have boxed each
other twice or thrice like brothers already. 'Twas that wicked young Mohun
who, coming back from the provinces last year, where he had disinterred
her, raved about her all the winter; said she was a pearl set before
swine; and killed poor stupid Frank. The quarrel was all about his wife. I
know 'twas all about her. Was there anything between her and Mohun,
nephew? Tell me now; was there anything? About yourself, I do not ask you
to answer questions." Mr. Esmond blushed up. "My lady's virtue is like
that of a saint in heaven, madam," he cried out.

"Eh!--_mon neveu_. Many saints get to Heaven after having a deal to repent
of. I believe you are like all the rest of the fools, and madly in love
with her."

"Indeed, I loved and honoured her before all the world," Esmond answered.
"I take no shame in that."

"And she has shut her door on you--given the living to that horrid young
cub, son of that horrid old bear, Tusher, and says she will never see you
more. _Monsieur mon neveu_--we are all like that. When I was a yo