'I hope this is not a prize young man?
If he belongs, at his age, to the unco quid, I refuse to take him for a son-in-law, and I think Rose will, too.' Old Tom burst out vehemently: 'He's a damned good young fellow, though he isn't a lord.' 'Well,' said Lady Jocelyn, 'I 've no doubt you're in earnest, Tom.

It 's curious, for this morning Rose has come to me and given me the first chapter of a botheration, which she declares is to end in the common rash experiment.

What is your "young fellow's" name?
Who is he?
What is he ?' 'Won't take my guarantee, my lady ?' 'Rose--if she marries--must have a name, you know ?' Old Tom hit his knee.

'Then there's a pill for ye to swallow, for he ain't the son of a lord.' 'That's swallowed, Tom.

What is he ?' 'He's the son of a tradesman, then, my lady.' And Old Tom watched her to note the effect he had produced.
'More 's the pity,' was all she remarked.
'And he 'll have his thousand a year to start with; and he's a tailor, my lady.' Her ladyship opened her eyes.
'Harrington's his name, my lady.