They spoke a peculiar tongue, the product of sham education and mock refinement grafted upon a stock of robust vulgarity. One and all would have been moved to indignant surprise if accused of ignorance or defective breeding. Ada had frequented an ‘establishment for young ladies’ up to the close of her seventeenth year; the other two had pursued culture at a still more pretentious institute until they were eighteen. All could ‘play the piano;’ all declared--and believed--that they ‘knew French.’ Beatrice had ‘done’ Political Economy; Fanny had ‘been through’ Inorganic Chemistry and Botany. The truth was, of course, that their minds, characters, propensities had remained absolutely proof against such educational influence as had been brought to bear upon them. That they used a finer accent than their servants, signified only that they had grown up amid falsities, and were enabled, by the help of money, to dwell above-stairs, instead of with their spiritual kindred below. Anticipating Fanny’s reply, Beatrice observed, with her air of sagacity: ‘If you think you’re going to get anything out of an old screw like Lord, you’ll jolly soon find your mistake.’ ‘Don’t you go and make a fool of yourself, Fanny,’ said Mrs. Peachey. ‘Why, he can’t be more than twenty-one, is he?’ ‘He’s turned twenty-two.’ The others laughed scornfully. ‘Can’t I have who I like for a masher?’ cried Fanny, reddening a little. ‘Who said I was going to marry him? I’m in no particular hurry to get married. You think everybody’s like yourselves.’ ‘If there was any chance of old Lord turning up his toes,’ said Beatrice thoughtfully. ‘I dare say he’ll leave a tidy handful behind him, but then he may live another ten years or more.’ ‘And there’s Nancy,’ exclaimed Ada. ‘Won’t she get half the plunder?’ ‘May be plenty, even then,’ said Beatrice, her head aside. ‘The piano business isn’t a bad line. I shouldn’t wonder if he leaves ten or fifteen thousand.’ ‘Haven’t you got anything out of Horace?’ asked Ada of Fanny. ‘What has he told you?’ ‘He doesn’t know much, that’s the fact.’ ‘Silly! There you are. His father treats him like a boy; if he talked about marrying, he’d get a cuff on the ear. Oh, I know all about old Lord,’ Ada proceeded. ‘He’s a regular old tyrant. Why, you’ve only to look at him. And he thinks no small beer of himself, either, for all he lives in that grubby little house; I shouldn’t wonder if he thinks us beneath him.’ She stared at her sisters, inviting their comment on this _ludicrous_ state of things. ‘I quite believe Nancy does,’ said Fanny, with a point of malice. ‘She’s a stuck-up thing,’ declared Mrs. Peachey. ‘And she gets worse as she gets older. I shall never invite her again; it’s three times she has made an excuse--all lies, of course. ‘Who will _she_ marry?’ asked Beatrice, in a tone of disinterested speculation. Mrs. Peachey answered with a sneer: ‘She’s going to the Jubilee to pick up a fancy Prince.’