In 1947, according to a recent Times obituary, a recently-married 22-year-old was taken by her new husband to the grand home of his aristocratic uncle.
‘Wishing to please, as well as being entranced by the view’ of a large stretch of water as large as the Serpentine, she exclaimed: “Oh, Cousin Charles, what a beautiful lake!”
The reply was frosty:
My dear young lady, one day your husband will inherit from me not only all this, but also among other things.. half Derwentwater, the whole of Bassenthwaite Lake and the whole of Wastwater.. That which you see there is not a lake. It is a pond.
Turning to his nephew, he then observed: “It appears you have married beneath you, my boy. Do you have a whip with you?”
“No, sir,” came the reply – as puzzled as it was deferential.
“As I thought. I shall have one sent to your rooms. Do make sure you teach her some manners before luncheon. I shall inspect her marks before we sit down to eat.”
Not all of the exchange was recorded in the Times, but I would like to think my improvisation on the latter half of the conversation had some ring of truth…!