twelve o'clock his kinsman would bear in mind that very important fact.
Months ago his Grace had begun to despair of the rôle of the modern Chesterfield. Even since the young ass had first reported himself at Bridport House, very sound advice, based on intimate knowledge and first-hand experience, had been lavished upon him. The best had been done to correct the republican ideas he had gathered in the western hemisphere. He lacked nothing in the way of counsel and precept. But the seed had fallen on unreceptive soil, nay, on ground singularly barren. From the first the novice had shown precious little inclination to heed the fount of wisdom.
The Duke asked the young man to look at the matter in a common sense way. He would have an extraordinarily difficult place to fill; therefore, it was his clear duty to trust those who knew the ropes. The lady of his choice was a case for experts. Special qualities, inherited aptitudes were needed in the wife he married! Surely he must realize that?
The Tenderfoot said bluntly that he did and that Mary Lawrence had them.
His Grace managed to hold a growing impatience in check. But the answer of the novice had revealed such a confusion of ideas that it was hard to treat it seriously.
"Unless a woman has been born to the thing and bred up in it, how can she hope to be equal to the task?"
"Plenty of 'em are," said the Tenderfoot. "Anyhow they seem to make a pretty good bluff at it."
His Grace shook a somber head.
"You can't deny that the Upper Crust is always being recruited from the people underneath."
