He drew the sharpest distinction between, such titled vulgarians and those who were born into the world with the blood running blue in their veins.

He regarded Robert Turold as belonging to this latter class.

It was nothing to him that he was a commoner in the eyes of the world, with no more claim to distinction than a golf-playing city merchant.

He had believed in his story from the first, and had helped him in that belief.

Turrald of Missenden! It was a great old name.