"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. You'll find the benefit of it by and by. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. Are we to see him here?" "Yes, my love. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars.
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