"And I tell you what, young man," resumed Sir Horace, now turning to pace beside him, "whilst you were laying siege to the young lady's heart, I was compelled to listen to a history of her aunt's liver affection, and an alarming account of the condition of her internal organs. Some old women have only three topics: disease, domestics, and diet. Besides these, Madame de Godez has a famous appetite--for compliments." "Which I presume you were good enough to feed." "Yes; in my experience, the uglier the old beldame, the more she craves for admiration. I am deservedly well established in Madame's good graces--in fact, in her present frame of mind, I believe she would marry me to-morrow--if I asked her!" "She is enormously rich, and looks the soul of good nature," urged the young man, and his tone implied encouragement. "Quite true; but I have lived very comfortably without a wife for sixty-one years, and I'm not going to be such an old fool as to take one now, even if she _is_ worth her weight in gold. No, no, Malcolm, my boy, joking apart, if the dowager favours you, and the young lady accepts you, you can chuck the Service to-morrow, and forfeit your return ticket, for your fortune is made!" "Don't you think you are going ahead too fast, sir? For all you and I know, there may be twenty Richmonds in the field." "No," responded Sir Horace, with emphasis, "your only serious rival is young Prince Tossati, the chap she left to mind the dog and carry the parasol. He is one of the five sons of an impoverished Italian duke, who has a palace full of priceless pictures and statuary, which he may not sell--desperately as he is in need of ready money. His pedigree goes back to the Cæsars, but unfortunately that is also non-transferable. I don't believe the poor beggar can lay hands on more than six hundred a year, and the sole chances for the sons--are heiresses. One has married an American girl in Pork, and our friend Allessandro has figuratively marked the fair Verona for his own." "He is an insignificant little chap! as dark as an Arab," sneered Captain Haig. "Yes," assented his uncle, "I declare when I see him, I can't help looking for the monkey and the organ! but he has a title--a real one, mind you--and I believe Madame would give one of her eyes, or even go without her dinner for a whole week, to be in a position to say, 'my niece, the Princess!'" "Oh, but she is not really her niece," objected Malcolm, with a touch of impatience. "Why, Madame is exactly like an old Portuguese half-caste, such as one sees on the West coast!" "I can only tell you, that the girl has lived with her for twenty years," responded Sir Horace with solemn deliberation, "and no one has ever heard of, or seen, any other relations." "And how did Madame de Godez get into Society?"