when he left England.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that!" he said. "Those old family places
ought to be kept up. The greatness of England, sir, strikes its roots in
the old families of England. They may be rich, or they may be poor--that
don't matter. An old family _is_ an old family; it's sad to see their
hearths and homes sold to wealthy manufacturers who don't know who their
own grandfathers were. Would you allow me to ask what is the family
motto of the Goldenhearts?"

Shall I own the truth? The bottles circulated freely at Mr. Farnaby's
table--I began to wonder whether he was quite sober. I said I was sorry
to disappoint him, but I really did not know what my family motto was.

He was unaffectedly shocked. "I think I saw a ring on your finger," he
said, as soon as he recovered himself. He lifted my left hand in his own
cold-fishy paw. The one ring I wear is of plain gold; it belonged to my
father and it has his initials inscribed on the signet.

"Good gracious, you haven't got your coat-of-arms on your seal!" cried
Mr. Farnaby. "My dear sir, I am old enough to be your father, and I must
take the freedom of remonstrating with you. Your coat-of-arms and your
motto are no doubt at the Heralds' Office--why don't you apply for them?
Shall I go there for you? I will do it with pleasure. You shouldn't be
careless about these things--you shouldn't indeed."

I listened in speechless astonishment. Was he ironically expressing his
contempt for old families? We got into the smoking-room at last; and my
friend the doctor enlightened me privately in a corner. Every word Mr.
Farnaby had said had been spoken in earnest. This man, who owes his rise
from the lowest social position entirely to himself--who, judging by
his own experience, has every reason to despise the poor pride of
ancestry--actually feels a sincerely servile admiration for the accident
of birth! "Oh, poor human nature!" as Somebody says. How cordially I
agree with Somebody!

We went up to the drawing-room; and I was introduced to "the brown girl"
at last. What impression did she produce on me?

Do you know, Rufus, there is some perverse reluctance in me to go on
with this inordinately long letter just when I have arrived at the most
interesting part of it. I can't account for my own state of mind; I only
know that it is so. The difficulty of describing the young lady doesn't
perplex me like the difficulty of describing Mrs. Farnaby. I can see her
now, as viv