The Journal of a Disappointed Man

But to continue: the receipt of so unexpected an invitation from so glorious a young gentleman at first gave me palpitation of the heart. I was so surprised that I scarcely had enough presence of mind to listen to the rest of his remarks and later, it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could recall the place where we arranged to meet. His remarks, too, are not easy to follow, as he talks in a stenographic, Alfred-Jingle-like manner, jerking out disjected members of sentences, and leaving you to make the best of them or else to Hell with you--by the Lord, I speak English, don't I? If I said, "I beg your pardon," he jerked again, and left me often equally unenlightened. On arriving at his home, the first thing he did was to shout down the stairs to the basement: "Elsie, Elsie," while I gazed with awe at a parcel on the hall table addressed to "Lord ----." Before lunch we sat in his little room and talked about ----, but I was still quite unable to regain my self-composure. I couldn't for the life of me forget that here was I lunching with Lord ----'s son, on equal terms, with mutual interests, that his sisters perhaps would come in directly or even the noble Lord himself. I felt like a scared hare. How should I address a peer of the realm? I kept trying to remember and every now and then for some unaccountable reason my mind travelled into ----shire and I saw Auntie C---- serving out tea and sugar over the counter of the baker's shop in the little village. I luxuriated in the contrast, tho' I am not at all inclined to be a snob.