It was true that her father had stuck pigs in the stockyards; but he was of an old Albanian family, quite as good a family as Jaff Chayne's.

It had numbered princes and great chieftains, the majority of whom had been most gloriously slain in warfare.

She would like to know which of Jaff Chayne's ancestors had died out of their feather beds.
"His grandfather," said Barbara, "was killed in the Indian Mutiny, and his father in the Zulu War." Liosha didn't care.

That only proved an equality.

Jaff Chayne had no right to treat her like dirt.