“O yes; I have lived upon the very idea this fortnight; for then, you know, they'll both be in a passion, and I shall see which of them looks frightfullest.” “When Lady Honoria whispers,” cried Mortimer, “I always suspect some mischief.” “No indeed,” answered her ladyship, “I was merely congratulating Mrs Mortimer about her marriage. Though really, upon second thoughts, I don't know whether I should not rather condole with her, for I have long been convinced she has a prodigious antipathy to you. I saw it the whole time I was at Delvile Castle, where she used to change colour at the very sound of your name; a symptom I never perceived when I talked to her of my Lord Derford, who would certainly have made her a thousand times a better husband.” “If you mean on account of his title, Lady Honoria,” said Mr Delvile; “your ladyship must be strangely forgetful of the connections of your family, not to remember that Mortimer, after the death of his uncle and myself, must inevitably inherit one far more honourable than a new-sprung-up family, like my Lord Ernolf's, could offer.” “Yes, Sir; but then, you know, she would have kept her estate, which would have been a vastly better thing than an old pedigree of new relations. Besides, I don't find that any body cares for the noble blood of the Delviles but themselves; and if she had kept her fortune, every body, I fancy, would have cared for _that_.” “Every body, then,” said Mr Delvile, “must be highly mercenary and ignoble, or the blood of an ancient and honourable house, would be thought contaminated by the most distant hint of so degrading a comparison.” “Dear Sir, what should we all do with birth if it was not for wealth? it would neither take us to Ranelagh nor the Opera; nor buy us caps nor wigs, nor supply us with dinners nor bouquets.” “Caps and wigs, dinners and bouquets!” interrupted Mr Delvile; “your ladyship's estimate of wealth is really extremely minute.” “Why, you know, Sir, as to caps and wigs, they are very serious things, for we should look mighty droll figures to go about bare-headed; and as to dinners, how would the Delviles have lasted all these thousand centuries if they had disdained eating them?” “Whatever may be your ladyship's satisfaction,” said Mr Delvile, angrily, “in depreciating a house that has the honour of being nearly allied with your own, you will not, I hope at least, instruct this lady,” turning to Cecilia, “to adopt a similar contempt of its antiquity and dignity.” “This lady,” cried Mortimer, “will at least, by condescending to become one of it, secure us from any danger that such contempt may spread further.” “Let me but,” said Cecilia, looking gratefully at him, “be as secure from exciting as I am from feeling contempt, and what can I have to wish?”