The title and estates passed to his grandnephew, but half a million or so of money came to her.
Lady Meg – the world generally, and Sophy always, spoke of her by that style, and we may take the same liberty – was only child of the great Earl of Dunstanbury. Their patroness – they would hardly have gibed at the word – was a more notable person. But they were old family friends, and he endured with his usual graciousness. To Dunstanbury the two old waifs – for waifs of the sea of society they were, for all that each had a sufficient income to his name and a reputable life behind him – were sheerly tiresome – and there seems little ground to differ from his opinion. It was all an affectation – assumed for the purpose, but with the very doubtful result of amusing Lady Meg. They were pleased to consider themselves politicians – Pikes a Whig, twenty years behind date, Pindar a Tory, two hundred. So they used to go on – for hours at a time, as Dunstanbury has declared – both at Hazleby when they were there, and at Lady Meg's house in Berkeley Square, where they almost always were. "And since Lady Meg goes with us, it's already ours," added Mr. "It may well become your favorite road," smiled Mr. "It's a pretty drive – for this part of the country," observed Dunstanbury. But I won't guarantee you a sight of the kitchen-maid." "I wanted to pay a call on Elizabeth Brownlow anyhow. "If Percival had been going, I'd have had nothing to do with it, but I don't mind taking you two old sillies," said Lady Margaret. "But how account for ourselves? Old Brownlow is unknown to us." Pindar," said the young man, resolute in wisdom. "How could we better employ this last day of our visit? You'll drive us over, Percival?" "On some pretext, frivolous though it be, let us drive over and see this miracle," Pindar suggested. He was doing his best to reproduce the impression he had received at Morpingham Hall, but obviously with no great success. "A deuced pretty girl!" said Dunstanbury, in reflective tones. "To display Divine Omnipotence in that line," suggested Mr. "The will of Heaven, I suppose," sniffed Lady Margaret Duddington. "Why are Whigs worse than Tories?" inquired Mr. "Before you could turn round they'd have bought it up, enclosed it, and won an election by opening it to ships at a small fee on Sundays," said Mr. "There you go! There you go! Just like your father, and your grandfather, and all of them! If the English people had any spirit, they'd have swept the Dunstanburys and all the wicked Whig gang into the sea long ago." "I say, Cousin Meg, old Brownlow's got a deuced pretty kitchen-maid." His lordship is striking the top off his breakfast egg. The scene is at Hazleby, Lord Dunstanbury's Essex seat.
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