Part 38 (1/2)
”Mr. Jerrold's.”
”Then Mr. Jerrold is cleverer than you.”
”It is possible.”
”It is certain! Well, Mr. Jerrold and Lord Ipsden, you will both be glad to hear that it was, in point of fact, a bull that confuted the advocate of the Middle Ages; we were walking; he was telling me manhood was extinct except in a few earnest men who lived upon the past, its a.s.sociations, its truth; when a horrid bull gave--oh--such a bellow! and came trotting up. I screamed and ran--I remember nothing but arriving at the stile, and lo, on the other side, offering me his arm with _empressment_ across the wooden barrier was--”
”Well?”
”Well! don't you see?”
”No--oh--yes, I see!--fancy--ah! Shall I tell you how he came to get first over? He ran more earnestly than you.”
”It is not Mr. Jerrold this time, I presume,” said her satirical ladys.h.i.+p.
”No! you cannot always have him. I venture to predict your ladys.h.i.+p on your return home gave this mediaeval personage his _conge'.”_
”No!”
”No?”
”I gave it him at the stile! Let us be serious, if you please; I have a confidence to make you, Ipsden. Frankly, I owe you some apology for my conduct of late; I meant to be reserved--I have been rude--but you shall judge me. A year ago you made me some proposals; I rejected them because, though I like you--”
”You like me?”
”I detest your character. Since then, my West India estate has been turned into specie; that specie, the bulk of my fortune, placed on board a vessel; that vessel lost, at least we think so--she has not been heard of.”
”My dear cousin.”
”Do you comprehend that now I am cooler than ever to all young gentlemen who have large incomes, and” (holding out her hand like an angel) ”I must trouble you to forgive me.”
He kissed her lovely hand.
”I esteem you more and more,” said he. ”You ought, for it has been a hard struggle to me not to adore you, because you are so improved, _mon cousin.”_
”Is it possible? In what respect?”
”You are browner and charitabler; and I should have been very kind to you--mawkishly kind, I fear, my sweet cousin, if this wretched money had not gone down in the _Tisbe.”_
”Hallo!” cried the viscount.
”Ah!” squeaked Lady Barbara, unused to such interjections.
”Gone down in what?” said Ipsden, in a loud voice.
”Don't bellow in people's ears. The _Tisbe,_ stupid,” cried she, screaming at the top of her voice.
”Ri tum, ti turn, ti tum, tum, tum, tiddy, iddy,” went Lord Ipsden--he whistled a polka.
_Lady Barbara (inspecting him gravely)._ ”I have heard it at a distance, but I never saw how it was done before. _It is very, very pretty!!!!”_