“I say it was a noble action, that one nursed in effeminacy (as you all are) should teach the hardy seamen to mock at peril--noble fellow!” “He did a man's duty, Barbara.” “Ipsden, take care, you will make me hate you, if you detract from a deed you cannot emulate. This gentleman risked his own life to save others--he is a hero! I should know him by his face the moment I saw him. Oh, that I were such a man, or knew where to find such a creature!” The water came into Lord Ipsden's eyes; he did not know what to say or do; he turned away his head. Lady Barbara was surprised; her conscience smote her. “Oh, dear,” said she, “there now, I have given you pain--forgive me; we can't all be heroes; dear Ipsden, don't think I despise you now as I used. Oh, no! I have heard of your goodness to the poor, and I have more experience now. There is nobody I esteem more than you, Richard, so you need not look so.” “Thank you, dearest Barbara.” “Yes, and if you were to be such a goose as to write me another letter proposing absurdities to me--” “Would the answer be different?” “Very different.” “Oh, Barbara, would you accept?” “Why, of course not; but I would refuse civilly!” “Ah!” “There, don't sigh; I hate a sighing man. I'll tell you something that I know will make you laugh.” She then smiled saucily in his face, and said, “Do you remember Mr.----?” _L'effronte'e!_ this was the earnest man. But Ipsden was a match for her this time. “I think I do,” said he; “a gentleman who wants to make John Bull little again into John Calf; but it won't do.” Her ladyship laughed. “Why did you not tell us that on Inch Coombe?” “Because I had not read _The Catspaw_ then.” _“The Catspaw?_ Ah! I thought it could not be you. Whose is it?” “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 associations, 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 ladyship. “No! you cannot always have him. I venture to predict your ladyship on your return home gave this mediaeval personage his _conge'.”_ “No!” “No?”