"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!!!!"_
_Ipsden. "Polkez-vous, madame?"_
_Lady Barb. "Si, je polke, Monsieur le Vicomte."_
They polked for a second or two.
"Well, I dare say I am wrong," cried Lady Barbara, "but I like you better now you are a downright--ahem!--than when you were only an insipid non-intellectual--you are greatly improved."
_Ips._ "In what respects?'
_Lady Barb._ "Did I not tell you? browner and more impudent; but tell me," said she, resuming her sly, satirical tone, "how is it that you, who used to be the pink of courtesy, dance and sing over the wreck of my fortunes?"
"Because they are not wrecked."
"I thought I told you my specie is gone down in the _Tisbe."_
_Ipsden._ "But the _Tisbe_ has not gone down."
_Lady Barb._ "I tell you it is."
_Ipsden._ "I assure you it is not."
_Lady Barb._ "It is not?"
_Ipsden._ "Barbara! I am too happy, I begin to nourish such sweet hopes once more. Oh, I could fall on my knees and bless you for something you said just now."
Lady Barbara blushed to the temples.
"Then why don't you?" said she. "All you want is a little enthusiasm."
Then recovering herself, she said:
"You kneel on wet sand, with black trousers on; that will never be!!!"
These two were so occupied that they did not observe the approach of a stranger until he broke in upon their dialogue.
An Ancient Mariner had been for some minutes standing off and on, reconnoitering Lord Ipsden; he now bore down, and with great rough, roaring cordiality, that made Lady Barbara start, cried out:
"Give me your hand, sir--give me your hand, if you were twice a lord.
"I couldn't speak to you till the brig was safe in port, and you slipped away, but I've brought you up at last; and--give me your hand again, sir.
I say, isn't it a pity you are a lord instead of a sailor?"
_Ipsden._ "But I am a sailor."
_Ancient Mariner._ "That ye are, and as smart a one as ever tied a true-lover's knot in the top; but tell the truth--you were never nearer losing the number of your mess than that day in the old _Tisbe."_
_Lady Barb._ "The old _Tisbe!_ Oh!"
_Ipsden._ "Do you remember that nice little lurch she gave to leeward as we brought her round?"
_Lady Barb._ "Oh, Richard!"
_Ancient Mariner._ "And that reel the old wench gave under our feet, north the pier-head. I wouldn't have given a washing-tub for her at that moment."
_Ipsden._ "Past danger becomes pleasure, sir. _Olim et hoec meminisse_--I beg your pardon, sir."
_Ancient Mariner (taking off his hat with feeling)._ "God bless ye, sir, and send ye many happy days, and well spent, with the pretty lady I see alongside; asking your pardon, miss, for parting pleasanter company--so I'll sheer off."
And away went the skipper of the _Tisbe,_ rolling fearfully. In the heat of this reminiscence, the skipper of the yacht (they are all alike, blue water once fairly tasted) had lost sight of Lady Barbara; he now looked round. Imagine his surprise!
Her ladyship was in tears.
"Dear Barbara," said Lord Ipsden, "do not distress yourself on my account."
"It is not your fe-feelings I care about; at least, I h-h-hope not; but I have been so unjust, and I prided myself so on my j-ju-justice."
"Never mind!"
"Oh! if you don't, I don't. I hate myself, so it is no wonder you h-hate me."
"I love you more than ever."
"Then you are a good soul! Of course you know I always _l_-esteemed you, Richard."
"No! I had an idea you despised me!"
