before thy petticoats are dry, Lord! Lord! what a young man! When built
Heaven such another? And he a Duke's son!"

"A Marquess!" cried one of the bride's friends. "A Duke's son!" sobbed
the bride.

"Ay, a Duke's son!" the good woman cried, exulting further. "And were
he a King's, the nation might be proud of him. 'Tis his young lordship
the Marquess of Roxholm."




_CHAPTER VI_

"_No; She has not yet Come to Court_"


'Tis but a small adventure for a youth who is a strong swimmer to save
a party of cits from drowning in a river, but 'twas a story much
repeated, having a picturesqueness and colour because its chief figure
Nature had fitted out with all the appointments which might be expected
to adorn a hero.

"'Tis a pretty story, too," said a laughing great lady when 'twas
talked of in town. "My lord Marquess dashing in and out of the river,
bearing in his big white arms soused little citizen beauties and their
half-drowned sweethearts, and towering in their midst giving
orders--like a tall young god in marble come to life. The handsomest
Marquess in Great Britain, and in France likewise, they tell me."