from what I was in it”:  that’s Mel speaking; everybody was listening; so he goes on:  “I was in the habit of going to Bath in the season, and consorting with the gentlemen I met there on terms of equality; and for some reason that I am quite guiltless of,” says Mel, “the hotel people gave out that I was a Marquis in disguise; and, upon my honour, ladies and gentlemen—­I was young then, and a fool—­I could not help imagining I looked the thing.  At all events, I took upon myself to act the part, and with some success, and considerable gratification; for, in my opinion,” says Mel, “no real Marquis ever enjoyed his title so much as I did.  One day I was in my shop—­No. 193, Main Street, Lymport—­and a gentleman came in to order his outfit.  I received his directions, when suddenly he started back, stared at me, and exclaimed: 

’My dear Marquis!  I trust you will pardon me for having addressed you with so much familiarity.’  I recognized in him one of my Bath acquaintances.  That circumstance, ladies and gentlemen, has been a lesson to me.  Since that time I have never allowed a false impression with regard to my position to exist.  “I desire,” says Mel, smiling, “to have my exact measure taken everywhere; and if the Michaelmas bird is to be associated with me, I am sure I have no objection; all I can say is, that I cannot justify it by letters patent of nobility.”  That’s how Mel put it.  Do you think they thought worse of him?  I warrant you he came out of it in flying colours.  Gentlefolks like straight-forwardness in their inferiors—­that’s what they do.  Ah!’ said Kilne, meditatively, ’I see him now, walking across the street in the moonlight, after he ’d told me that.  A fine figure of a man! and there ain’t many Marquises to match him.’

To this Barnes and Grossby, not insensible to the merits of the recital they had just given ear to, agreed.  And with a common voice of praise in the mouths of his creditors, the dead man’s requiem was sounded.

CHAPTER II

THE HERITAGE OF THE SON

Toward evening, a carriage drove up to the door of the muted house, and the card of Lady Racial, bearing a hurried line in pencil, was handed to the widow.

It was when you looked upon her that you began to comprehend how great was the personal splendour of the husband who could eclipse such a woman.  Mrs. Harrington was a tall and a stately dame.  Dressed in the high waists of the matrons of that period, with a light shawl drawn close over her shoulders and bosom, she carried her head well; and her pale firm features, with the cast of immediate affliction on them, had much dignity:  dignity of an unrelenting physical order, which need not express any remarkable pride of spirit.  The family gossips who, on both sides, were vain of this rare couple, and would always descant on their beauty, even when they had occasion to slander their characters, said, to distinguish