I underlet it.

It 's like trade--it 's as bad as poor old Harrington, by Jove! But that isn't the worst, Franko!' Jack dropped his voice: 'I believe I'm furiously loved by a poor country wench.' 'Morals!' was Franko's most encouraging reproof.
'Oh, I don't think I've even kissed her,' rejoined Raikes, who doubted because his imagination was vivid.

'It 's my intellect that dazzles her.
I 've got letters--she calls me clever.

By Jove! since I gave up driving I've had thoughts of rushing down to her and making her mine in spite of home, family, fortune, friends, name, position--everything! I have, indeed.' Franko looked naturally astonished at this amount of self-sacrifice.
'The Countess ?' he shrewdly suggested.
'I'd rather be my Polly's prince, Than yon great lady's errand-boy!' Raikes burst into song.
He stretched out his hand, as if to discard all the great ladies who were passing.

By the strangest misfortune ever known, the direction taken by his fingers was toward a carriage wherein, beautifully smiling opposite an elaborately reverend gentleman of middle age, the Countess de Saldar was sitting.