"And see,
Sophronia, what a duck of a man! And you say he was only a
linen-draper?" She turned to Sir Felix.
"But all the Cornish are gentlemen--didn't Queen Elizabeth or
somebody say something of the sort?" chimed in the first.
"And the place kept as neat as a pin, I protest!"
"Gentlemen in their own conceit, I fear," Sir Felix answered.
"But this fellow was, on the whole, a very decent fellow. Success,
or what passes for it in a small country town, never turned his head.
He had a foible, I'm told, on the strength of a likeness (you'll be
amused) to the Prince Regent. But, so far as I observed, he knew how
to conduct himself towards his--er--superiors. I had quite a respect
for him. Yes, begad, quite a respect."
"I think, sir," said the Major, controlling his voice, "since you ask
me to select a passage, this may interest the ladies:
"'But perhaps the most remarkable trait in the subject of our
memoir was his invariable magnanimity, which alone persuaded
all who met him that they had to deal with no ordinary man.
It is related of him that once in childhood, having been pecked
in the leg by a gander, he was found weeping rather at the
aggressive insolence of the fowl (with which he had
good-naturedly endeavoured to make friends) than at the trivial
hurt received by his own boyish calves.'"
The ladies laughed, and Sir Felix joined in uproariously.
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