And here, by the way, I may mention what pleasure it gave me (hand in
hand with Mary, of course, as usual) to renew and improve my
acquaintance with our British aristocracy, begun so agreeably many years
ago at Lady Cray's concert.
Our British aristocracy does not waltz well by any means, and lacks
lightness generally; but it may gratify and encourage some of its
members to hear that Peter Ibbetson (ex-private soldier, architect and
surveyor, convict and criminal lunatic), who has had unrivalled
opportunities for mixing with the cream of European society, considers
our British aristocracy quite the best-looking, best-dressed, and
best-behaved aristocracy of them all, and the most sensible and the
least exclusive--perhaps the most sensible _because_ the least
exclusive.
It often snubs, but does not altogether repulse, those gifted and
privileged outsiders who (just for the honor and glory of the thing) are
ever so ready to flatter and instruct and amuse it, and run its
errands, and fetch and carry, and tumble for its pleasure, and even to
marry such of its "ugly ducklings" (or shall we say such of its
"unprepossessing cygnets?") as cannot hope to mate with birds of their
own feather.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304