LUCIAN. Do not interrupt him: Mine ears are thirsting. Finish, man. What next? BASHVILLE. "Forty to one, the Dutchman's friends exclaimed. Done, said Lord Worthington, who shewed himself A sportsman every inch. Barely the bet Was booked, when, at the reeling champion's jaw The sailor, bent on winning out of hand, Sent in his right. The issue seemed a cert, When Cashel, ducking smartly to his left, Cross-countered like a hundredweight of brick----" LUCIAN. Death and damnation! LYDIA. Oh, what does it mean? BASHVILLE. "The Dutchman went to grass, a beaten man." LYDIA. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Oh, well done, Cashel! BASHVILLE. "A scene of indescribable excitement Ensued; for it was now quite evident That Byron's grogginess had all along Been feigned to make the market for his backers. We trust this sample of colonial smartness Will not find imitators on this side. The losers settled up like gentlemen; But many felt that Byron shewed bad taste In taking old Ned Skene upon his back, And, with Bob Mellish tucked beneath his oxter, Sprinting a hundred yards to show the crowd The perfect pink of his condition"--[_a knock_]. LYDIA [_turning pale_]. Bashville Didst hear? A knock. BASHVILLE. Madam: 'tis Byron's knock. Shall I admit him? LUCIAN. Reeking from the ring! Oh, monstrous! Say you're out. LYDIA. Send him away. I will not see the wretch. How dare he keep Secrets from ME? I'll punish him. Pray say I'm not at home. [BASHVILLE _turns to go_.] Yet stay. I am afraid He will not come again. LUCIAN. A consummation Devoutly to be wished by any lady. Pray, do you _wish_ this man to come again? LYDIA. No, Lucian. He hath used me very ill. He should have told me. I will ne'er forgive him. Say, Not at home. BASHVILLE. Yes, madam. [_Exit._ LYDIA. Stay-- LUCIAN [_stopping her_]. No, Lydia: You shall not countermand that proper order. Oh, would you cast the treasure of your mind, The thousands at your bank, and, above all, Your unassailable social position Before this soulless mass of beef and brawn? LYDIA. Nay, coz: you're prejudiced. CASHEL [_without_]. Liar and slave! LYDIA. What words were those? LUCIAN. The man is drunk with slaughter. _Enter_ BASHVILLE _running: he shuts the door and locks it_. BASHVILLE. Save yourselves: at the staircase foot the champion Sprawls on the mat, by trick of wrestler tripped; But when he rises, woe betide us all! LYDIA. Who bade you treat my visitor with violence?