"'Pon my soul and honour!" coughed his lordship, "this is really"
"My lord," says I, "must I repeat that I command you? I love young Anthony, and therefore am I going to marry him."
"He has a birth, of course?" says this wriggling aristocrat.
"Not he," says I, "left one night on the doorstep of a priory. Doubtless a bastard of the gutter scum. Even his name is not his own. Hath no more than threepence-halfpenny and a pair of ragged breeches to his fortune. Hath stood in prison several times and adorned the pillory and the whipping post on various occasions. In short, my lord, he is the sauciest rogue that ever kissed a maid against her inclination. And, faith, I believe the very raggedest."
"And you say you are going to marry him?"
"My lord, I have sworn to marry him."
"But, my dear lady, this is really too preposterous. I think you had better talk it over with your aunt."
The unexpected mention of that dame was perilously like cold water to my courage. But a little fortitude overcame my qualms.
"No need to appeal to the family, my lord," I said, with arrogance; "I don't care fourpence for 'em, and never did. As for the dowager, my aunt, I hate her; and I am indulging in great hopes that this miserable match will make her very ill."
