'Then where did she get her manners and education? Do you know?'

'I do not, my lord. I suppose she picked 'em up by her wits.'

'Never mind what you suppose,' said the old man impatiently. 'Whenever I
ask a question of you tell me what you know, and no more.'

'Quite so, my lord. I beg your lordship's pardon for supposing.'

'H'm-h'm. Have the fashion-books and plates arrived yet?'

'Le Follet has, my lord; but not the others.'

'Let me have it at once. Always bring it to me at once. Are there any
handsome ones this time?'

'They are much the same class of female as usual, I think, my lord,' said
Tipman, fetching the paper and laying it before him.

'Yes, they are,' said the viscount, leaning back and scrutinizing the
faces of the women one by one, and talking softly to himself in a way
that had grown upon him as his age increased. 'Yet they are very well:
that one with her shoulder turned is pure and charming--the brown-haired
one will pass. All very harmless and innocent, but without character; no
soul, or inspiration, or eloquence of eye. What an eye was hers! There
is not a girl among them so beautiful. . . . Tipman! Come and take it
away. I don't think I will subscribe to these papers any longer--how
long have I subscribed? Never mind--I take no interest in these things,
and I suppose I must give them up. What white article is that I see on
the floor yonder?'