"There you are again! You always make me laugh; I cannot help that;
but I wish you would do yourself justice, nevertheless. You may not
know it, but if you would only put on a ruff and satin doublet and
hose and wig, and all the rest of it, you would look exactly like one
of the courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth. You are a perfect
type of the English aristocrat."

"My dear Lady Jane Grey, if you had been an American girl, you would
have said a perfect gentleman, and I should never have spoken to you
again. As a matter of fact, I always feel it a sort of sacrilege that
I do not address you in blank verse; only my attempts thereat are
so very bad. But it is never too late to mend. We will read Pope
together, Shakespeare, and all the rest of the old boys. We will
saturate our minds with their rhythm, and we will thereafter
communicate in stately phrase and rolling periods."

"It would be a great deal better than slang and 'facetiousness,' as
you call it. That is all very well for Lord Bective Hollington; it
suits him; but you should aim at a higher standard."

Dartmouth, who was standing by the chimney-piece near the chair on
which she was sitting, put his hand under her chin and raised her
face, smiling quizzically as he did so.

"My dear child," he said, "you are too clever to fall into the common
error of women, and idealize your lover. The tendency is a constituent
part of the feminine nature, it is true. The average woman will
idealize the old tweed coat on her lover's back. But your eyes are too
clear for that sort of thing. I am a very ordinary young man, my dear.
Becky is twice as clever--"