Mr. Vernon seemed embarrassed; but recovering himself with his usual
ease, he replied archly: "Perhaps, sir, it will be of little use to know
what I think of your plan; my fair cousin may have upset it already."

"Ha, sir! let me look at you. So, so! you are not jesting. What the
deuce do you mean? 'Gad, man, speak out!"

"Do you not think that Mr. Monderling--Mandolin--what's his name, eh?--do
you not think that he is a very handsome young fellow?" said Mr. Vernon,
drawing out his snuffbox and offering it to his kinsman.

"Damn your snuff," quoth Sir Miles, in great choler, as he rejected the
proffered courtesy with a vehemence that sent half the contents of the
box upon the joint eyes and noses of the two canine favourites dozing at
his feet. The setter started up in an agony; the spaniel wheezed and
sniffled and ran off, stopping every moment to take his head between his
paws. The old gentleman continued without heeding the sufferings of his
dumb friends,--a symptom of rare discomposure on his part.

"Do you mean to insinuate, Mr. Vernon, that my niece--my elder niece,
Lucretia Clavering--condescends to notice the looks, good or bad, of Mr.
Mainwaring? 'Sdeath, sir, he is the son of a land-agent! Sir, he is
intended for trade! Sir, his highest ambition is to be partner in some
fifth-rate mercantile house!"

"My dear Sir Miles," replied Mr. Vernon, as he continued to brush away,
with his scented handkerchief, such portions of the prince's mixture as
his nankeen inexpressibles had diverted from the sensual organs of Dash
and Ponto--"my dear Sir Miles, ca n'empeche pas le sentiment!"