One of them was the other day telling me of the
excessive admiration people had always shown, and laughingly insisted
that when papa was a young man, and appeared in public, in London or
Paris, it was between two police officers to keep off the admiring
crowd; and," laughing a gay little laugh herself, "of course I believed
him! why shouldn't I?"
He was looking at the picture again. "What an air of command he has!"
"Yes. I remember hearing that when Daniel Webster was in London, and
walked unattended through the streets, the coal-heavers and workmen took
off their hats and stood bareheaded till he had gone by, thinking it was
royalty that passed. I think they would do the same for papa."
"If he looks like a king, I know somebody who looks like a princess,"
thought the happy young fellow, gazing down upon the proud, dainty
figure by his side; but he smiled as he said, "What a little aristocrat
you are, Miss Ercildoune! what a pity you were born a Yankee!"
"I am not a Yankee, Mr. Surrey," replied the little aristocrat, "if to
be a Yankee is to be a native of America. I was born on the sea."
"And your mother, I know, was English."
"Yes, she was English."
"Is it rude to ask if your father was the same?
"No!" she answered emphatically, "my papa is a Virginian,--a Virginia
gentleman,"--the last word spoken with an untransferable accent,--"there
are few enough of them.
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