She rose, advanced two steps, made a majestic curtsey, during which all the bugles in her awful head-dress began to twiddle and quiver--and then said, 'Mr.Snob, we are very happy to see you at the Evergreens,' and heaved a great sigh.
This, then, was Mrs.Major Ponto; to whom making my very best bow, I replied, that I was very proud to make her acquaintance, as also that of so charming a place as the Evergreens.
Another sigh.

'We are distantly related, Mr.Snob,' said she, shaking her melancholy head.

'Poor dear Lord Rubadub!' 'Oh!' said I; not knowing what the deuce Mrs.Major Ponto meant.
'Major Ponto told me that you were of the Leicestershire Snobs: a very old family, and related to Lord Snobbington, who married Laura Rubadub, who is a cousin of mine, as was her poor dear father, for whom we are mourning.

What a seizure! only sixty-three, and apoplexy quite unknown until now in our family! In life we are in death, Mr.Snob.Does Lady Snobbington bear the deprivation well ?' 'Why, really, ma'am, I--I don't know,' I replied, more and more confused.
As she was speaking I heard a sort of CLOOP, by which well-known sound I was aware that somebody was opening a bottle of wine, and Ponto entered, in a huge white neckcloth, and a rather shabby black suit.
'My love,' Mrs.Major Ponto said to her husband, 'we were talking of our cousin--poor dear Lord Rubadub.

His death has placed some of the first families in England in mourning.