“There is one thing, however, gentlemen, that I must say (‘before I conclude,’ murmured Letty, under her breath). You have all given me the most glorious reception (received me with an enthusiasm I can never forget), and I must thank you for it with all my heart. But at the same time I must remind all my friends that after all I am not the true Simon Pure. (‘Hear, hear,’ said Letty, he had remembered the word.) You congratulate me, and you cheer what I say to you, and you look all so friendly and so kind that I--I could almost cry if I were not ashamed,” said Duke, with an outburst which was certainly his own, and which brought a storm of applause, “but at the same time, gentlemen, I must remind you,” he resumed, “that all the honor you do me is mine at second hand (Letty clapped her hands noiselessly to encourage and reward her brother), and that the real person who is the principal among us is my cousin, Marmaduke, Lord Frogmore. He mustn’t think, and nobody must think, that I am thrusting myself into his place. He is a great deal younger than I am, and he doesn’t show so much as he ought. But I can tell you,” cried Duke, once more abandoning Letty, and bursting into original compositions, “that if ever there was a little brick in the world, it’s Mar--I mean Frogmore. And, gentlemen, now you’ve done me all the honors, I want you to drink his health and a happy coming of age to him. I give you Lord Frogmore.” The rest of his speech was almost lost in the roar of the cheers which so many robust pairs of lungs sent forth that the marquee trembled as in a gale of wind. The farmers got up on their feet, they held up their glasses. They shouted, “Bravo, Mr. Duke,” along with the unaccustomed name that he had put into their lips. Someone burst out into “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” which rung out like a storm, with renewed cries of “Master Duke.” Duke himself was still more near crying than he had represented himself as being--far more near crying than was at all becoming to a man of one and twenty. He laughed instead to save himself, and almost roughly turning to his cousin, forced Mar upon his feet to reply. The faces of the three ladies at the head of the table were at this moment the strangest study. Letitia was almost green with passion and vexation, affecting to smile, but producing only the most galvanized and affected contortion which ever moved human lips. Mary leant back in her chair, white as alabaster, her breath coming with difficulty. Agnes was crimson with excitement, happiness and unexpected pride, mingled with shame. She had grudged that boy his coming of age--_that_ boy, God bless him! so generous, so genuine, so true in his impulse of justice and right dealing. It has been whispered that she took up that foolish chorus, and sang with the men, “He’s a jolly good fellow,” she the primmest and gravest of old maids. She forgot even Mar and the position into which the boy was thus placed in her gratitude and enthusiasm for Duke.