“Ladies and gentleman—­ha—­hum—­we pride ourselves on the fact that—­ha—­our Aristocracy is recruited from the choice representatives of the middle class—­hum.  The successful in every—­that is to say in all the respectable branches of activity—­ha—­see before them the possibility, I would say the glorious possibility, of taking a seat in that illustrious Upper Chamber, which is the balance of our free Constitution.  May the day never come, ladies and gentlemen, when—­ha—­the ranks of our nobility suffer an intrusion of the unworthy—­hum.  And I would extend this remark to the order below that of peers, to the hereditary dignity which often rewards—­ha—­distinguished merit.  May those simple titles, so pleasant—­hum—­to our ears, whether applied, I say, to man or woman—­ha—­hum—­ha—­never be degraded by ignoble bearers, by the low born—­ha—­by the tainted in repute—­ha—­ in short by any of those unfit, whether man or woman—­ha—­hum—­ who, like vile weeds, are thrown up to the surface by the, shall I say, deluge of democracy.”

Every hearer saw the application of this, and Lady Ogram had not long to wait before she read it in print.  Her temper that day was not mild.  She had occasion to controvert a friend, a Conservative lady, on some little point of fact in an innocent gossip, and that lady never again turned her steps to Rivenoak.

But worse was to come.  Rarely had Lady Ogram any trouble with her domestics; she chose them very carefully, and kept them for a long time; they feared her, but respected her power of ruling, the rarest gift in women of whatever rank.  Now it befell that the maid in personal attendance upon her left to be married, and in her engagement of a successor Lady Ogram (perhaps because of her turbid state of mind just now) was less circumspect than usual; she did not ascertain, for instance, that the handmaid had a sister attached in like capacity to the person of Mrs. Robb, nor did she note certain indications of a temper far too closely resembling her own.  Before many days had passed, mistress and attendant found themselves on cool terms, and from this to the extremity of warmth was a step as fatally easy as that from the sublime to the ridiculous.  Lady Ogram gave an order; it was imperfectly obeyed.  Lady Ogram, her eyes blazing with wrath, demanded an explanation of this neglect; met with inadequate excuses, she thundered and lightened.  Any ordinary domestic would have been terror-stricken, but this handmaid echoed storm with storm; she fronted the lady of Rivenoak as no one had ever dared to do.  The baronet’s widow, losing all command of herself, caught up the nearest missile—­a little ivory-framed hand-mirror and hurled it at her antagonist, who was struck full on the forehead and staggered.

“You shall pay for this, you old hag,” shrieked the injured woman.  “I’ll pull you up before the Hollingford magistrates, and I’ll tell them where you got your manners.  I know now that it’s true, what Mrs. Robb told my sister, that you began life as a “Saxon monosyllable—­” on London streets!”