The middle-aged man in the pew knows scarcely more of the affairs of the peerage than any crossing-sweeper in Holborn.
The peerage may have warmer worshippers and faithfuller believers than Mr. Tulkinghorn, after all, if everything were known.
He is found sometimes, speechless but quite at home, at corners of dinner-tables in great country houses and near doors of drawing-rooms, concerning which the fashionable intelligence is eloquent, where everybody knows him and where half the Peerage stops to say "How do you do, Mr. Tulkinghorn?"
The apt old scholar of the old school, with his dull black breeches tied with ribbons at the knees, his large black waistcoat, his longsleeved black coat, and his wisp of limp white neckerchief tied in the bow the peerage knows so well, stands in exactly the same place and attitude.
The peerage contributes more four-wheeled affliction than has ever been seen in that neighbourhood.
Now, as heretofore, he is to be found in doorways of rooms, with his limp white cravat loosely twisted into its old-fashioned tie, receiving patronage from the peerage and making no sign.
There are no more uses of "peerage" in the book.
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In the British peerage system, individuals are ennobled — not families.
I knew a little from our infrequent stays with Baron Greyfallow, and thought I was quite genteel enough without having to memorize forms of address, table manners, and the elaborate snarled rankings of the peerage.