Zephaniah spoke rather slowly and with a drawling affectation, and that did not exactly suit the agitated feelings of Mr Glossop. Therefore the father interrupted the critic and begged to be told, in as few words as possible, what was the nature of the conversation which he had heard passing between Lord Spoonbill and Mr Erpingham, concerning the design of the former in bringing a young lady up to town. Mr Pringle then related all that he had heard as far as he could recollect it, and as he was generally very fond of talking about what he had heard lords say, his recollection was tolerably correct from practice. What wonderful creatures lords are! It is a pity that Pidcock does not add a few to his collection; for they are not too cunning to be caught, and now and then it is said that they may be purchased for a trifle. But to proceed. When Mr Glossop heard the account of the talk that passed between Lord Spoonbill and Mr Erpingham, it appeared to the father of Arabella that his daughter was in most imminent danger, and though he had generally a good opinion of the young lady’s understanding, he could not help distrusting it when she was placed in a difficult situation. Asking and receiving from Zephaniah Pringle a direction to Mr Erpingham’s cottage, he hastened there with all due expedition, and arrived at the very moment when the gallant colonel and his right honorable employer were discussing the difficult question of the disposal of this ill-caught bird. Mr Glossop was soon introduced into the presence of Lord Spoonbill and the colonel. And the attorney, who was skilled in discerning great men by sight of their majestic physiognomy and commanding air, immediately addressed himself to Lord Spoonbill. “I believe I have the honor of addressing Lord Spoonbill?” “My name is Spoonbill,” replied his lordship; “and may I ask who is the gentleman addressing me?” “My name, my lord, is Glossop,” said the father of Arabella, with violent wrath. “What of that! Mr Glossop,” replied his lordship, with most insulting coolness. “What of that!” echoed Mr Glossop--and the echo was louder than the words echoed--“What of that! You have my poor misguided child in this house. Restore her to me this moment, or by all that’s sacred you shall feel the weight of my arm.”