“Humphrey, that is all sophistry, and you know it,” said his wife. “Everything is all one⁠—that is the beginning and end with you. As if you had not been a Cadwallader! Does anyone suppose that I would have taken such a monster as you by any other name?”

“And a clergyman too,” observed Lady Chettam with approbation. “Elinor cannot be said to have descended below her rank. It is difficult to say what Mr. Ladislaw is, eh, James?”

Sir James gave a small grunt, which was less respectful than his usual mode of answering his mother. Celia looked up at him like a thoughtful kitten.

“It must be admitted that his blood is a frightful mixture!” said Mrs. Cadwallader. “The Casaubon cuttlefish fluid to begin with, and then a rebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was it?⁠—and then an old clo⁠—”