Lady Jarvis had, indeed, rather magnified the personal qualifications of her son; but the disposition they had manifested, to devote some of their surplus wealth to purchasing a title, had great weight, for Miss Harris would cheerfully, at any time, have sacrificed one half her own fortune to be called my lady.  Jarvis would make but a shabby-looking lord, ’tis true; but then what a lord’s wife would she not make herself!  His father was a merchant, to be sure, but then merchants were always immensely rich, and a few thousand pounds, properly applied, might make the merchant’s son a baron.  She therefore resolved to inquire, the first opportunity, into the condition of the sinking fund of his plebeianism, and had serious thoughts of contributing her mite towards the advancement of the desired object, did she find it within the bounds of probable success.

An occasion soon offered, by the invitation of the Captain to accompany him in an excursion in the tilbury of his brother-in-law.

In this ride they passed the equipages of Lady Harriet and Mrs. Wilson, with their respective mistresses, taking an airing.  In passing the latter, Jarvis bowed (for he had renewed his acquaintance at the rooms, without daring to visit at the lodgings of Sir Edward), and Miss Harris saw both parties as they dashed by them.

“You know the Moseleys, Caroline?” said Jarvis, with the freedom her manners had established between them.

“Yes,” replied the lady, drawing her head back from a view of the carriages; “what fine arms those of the Duke’s are—­and the coronet, it is so noble—­so rich—­I am sure if I were a man,” laying great emphasis on the word—­“I would be a Lord.”

“If you could, you mean,” cried the captain.

“Could—­why money will buy a title, you know—­only most people are fonder of their cash than of honor.”

“That’s right,” said the unreflecting captain; “money is the thing, after all.  Now what do you suppose our last mess-bill came to?”

“Oh, don’t talk of eating and drinking,” cried Miss Harris, in affected aversion; “is it beneath the consideration of nobility.”

“Then any one may be a lord for me,” said Jarvis, drily “if they are not to eat and drink; why, what do they live for, but such sort of things!”

“A soldier lives to fight and gain honor and distinction”—­for his wife—­Miss Harris would have added, had she spoken all she thought.

“A poor way that of spending a man’s time,” said the Captain.  “Now there is Captain Jones in our regiment; they say he loves fighting as much as eating:  if he do, he is a bloodthirsty fellow.”

“You know how intimate I am with your dear mother,” continued the lady, bent on the principal object; “she has made me acquainted with her greatest wish.”

“Her greatest wish!” cried the Captain, in astonishment; “why, what can that be?—­a new coach and horses?”

“No, I mean one much dearer to us—­I should say, to her, than any such trifles:  she has told me of the plan.”