so disturbed?

"Here's a pretty business, my Lady Warrington!" cries Sir Miles. "Here's
a wonderful wonder of wonders, girls!"

"For goodness' sake, gentlemen, what is your intelligence?" asks the
virtuous matron.

"The whole town's talking about it, my lady!" says Tom Claypool puffing
for breath.

"Tom has seen him," continued Sir Miles.

"Seen both of them, my Lady Warrington. They were at Ranelagh last
night, with a regular mob after 'em. And so like, that but for their
different ribbons you would hardly have told one from the other. One was
in blue, the other in brown; but I'm certain he has worn both the suits
here."

"What suits?"

"What one,--what other?" call the girls.

"Why, your fortunate youth, to be sure."

"Our precious Virginian, and heir to the principality!" says Sir Miles.

"Is my nephew, then, released from his incarceration?" asks her
ladyship. "And is he again plunged in the vortex of dissip----"

"Confound him!" roars out the Baronet, with an expression which I fear
was even stronger. "What should you think, my Lady Warrington, if this
precious nephew of mine should turn out to be an impostor; by George! no
better than an adventurer?"

"An inward monitor whispered me as much!" cried the lady; "but I
dashed from me the unworthy suspicion. Speak, Sir Miles, we burn with
impatience to listen to your intelligence."

"I'll--speak, my love, when you've done," says Sir Miles. "Well, what do
you think of my gentleman, who comes into my house, dines at my table,
is treated as one of this family, kisses my--"

"What?" asks Tom Claypool, firing as red as his waistcoat.

"--Hem! Kisses my wife's hand, and is treated in the fondest manner, by
George! What do you think of this fellow, who talks of his property and
his principality, by Jupiter!--turning out to be a beggarly SECOND SON!
A beggar, my Lady Warrington, by----"

"Sir Miles Warrington, no violence of language before these dear ones!
I sink to the earth, confounded by this unutterable hypocrisy. And did
I entrust thee to a pretender, my blessed boy? Did I leave thee with an
impostor, my innocent one?" the matron cries, fondling her son.

"Who's an impostor, my lady?" asks the child.

"That confounded young scamp of a Harry Warrington!" bawls out papa; on
which the little Miles, after wearing a puzzled look for a moment, and
yielding to I know not what hidden emotion, bursts out crying.

His admirable mother proposes to clutch him