"It is far stranger how such a bundle of vanity can contrive to live in this work-a-day world.

You are a foreigner, I perceive ?" "Yes, Sir Norman, I am happy to say I am." "You don't like England, then ?" "I'd be sorry to like it; a dirty, beggarly, sickly place as I ever saw!" Sir Norman eyed the slender specimen of foreign manhood, uttering this sentiment in the sincerest of tones, and let his hand fall heavily on his shoulder.
"My good youth, be careful! I happen to be a native, and not altogether used to this sort of talk.

How long have you been here?
Not long, I know myself--at least, not in the Earl of Rochester's service, or I would have seen you." "Right! I have not been here a month; but that month has seemed longer than a year elsewhere.

Do you know, I imagine when the world was created, this island of yours must have been made late on Saturday night, and then merely thrown in from the refuse to fill up a dent in the ocean." Sir Norman paused in his walk, and contemplated the speaker a moment in severest silence.

But Master Hubert only lifted up his saucy face and laughing black eyes, in dauntless sang froid.
"Master Hubert," began Master Hubert's companion, in his deepest and sternest bass, "I don't know your other name, and it would be of no consequence if I did--just listen to me a moment.