'
To be commended, thanked, God-blessed, and bade good night by one who
carried 'Sir' before his name, and wrote himself M.P. to boot, was
something for a porter. He withdrew with much humility and reverence.
Sir John followed his late visitor into the dressing-room, and sitting
in his easy-chair before the fire, and moving it so that he could see
him as he stood, hat in hand, beside the door, looked at him from head
to foot.
The old face, calm and pleasant as ever; the complexion, quite juvenile
in its bloom and clearness; the same smile; the wonted precision and
elegance of dress; the white, well-ordered teeth; the delicate hands;
the composed and quiet manner; everything as it used to be: no mark of
age or passion, envy, hate, or discontent: all unruffled and serene, and
quite delightful to behold.
He wrote himself M.P.--but how? Why, thus. It was a proud family--more
proud, indeed, than wealthy. He had stood in danger of arrest; of
bailiffs, and a jail--a vulgar jail, to which the common people with
small incomes went. Gentlemen of ancient houses have no privilege of
exemption from such cruel laws--unless they are of one great house, and
then they have.
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