It had not occurred to him ever before in his meditations to separate his
blood and race from the common English; and he was not of a character to
dwell on fantastical and purposeless distinctions, but the
mispronunciation of his name and his nephew's at an instant when he was
thinking of Nevil's laying down his life for such men as these gross
excessive breeders, of ill shape and wooden countenance, pushed him to
reflections on the madness of Nevil in endeavouring to lift them up and
brush them up; and a curious tenderness for Nevil's madness worked in his
breast as he contrasted this much-abused nephew of his with our general
English--the so-called nobles, who were sunk in the mud of the traders:
the traders, who were sinking in the mud of the workmen: the workmen, who
were like harbour-flats at ebb tide round a stuck-fast fleet of vessels
big and little.

Decidedly a fellow like Nevil would be missed by him!

These English, huddling more and more in flocks, turning to lumps,
getting to be cut in a pattern and marked by a label--how they bark and
snap to rend an obnoxious original! One may chafe at the botheration
everlastingly raised by the fellow; but if our England is to keep her
place she must have him, and many of him. Have him? He's gone!

Lord Romfrey reasoned himself into pathetic sentiment by degrees.

He purchased the note paper and envelopes in the town for Cecilia.
Late in the afternoon he deposited them on the parlour table at Dr.
Shrapnel's. Miss Denham received him. She was about to lie down for her
hour of rest on the sofa. Cecilia was upstairs. He inquired if there
was any change in his nephew's condition.