eir infinite surprise, not
only interested, but in conversation with the captain of the smuggler,
and more than once they laughed outright. But the _soi-disant_ Lord
B--- had inspired them with confidence; they fully believed that what he
had told them was true, and that he had taken possession of the yacht to
smuggle his goods, to be revenged, and to have a laugh. Now none of
these three offences are capital in the eyes of the fair sex, and Jack
was a handsome, fine-looking fellow, of excellent manners and very
agreeable conversation; at the same time, neither he nor his friend were
in their general deportment and behaviour otherwise than most
respectful.

"Ladies, as you are not afraid of me, which is a greater happiness than
I had reason to expect, I think you may be amused to witness the fear of
those who accuse your sex of cowardice. With your permission, I will
send for the cook and steward, and inquire about the dinner."

"I should like to know what there is for dinner," observed Mrs
Lascelles demurely; "wouldn't you, Cecilia?"

Cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth.

"Tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately," cried
Pickersgill.

In a few seconds they both made their appearance. "Steward!" cried
Pickersgill, with a loud voice.

"Yes, my lord," replied Maddox, with his hat in his hand.

"What wines have you put out for dinner?"

"Champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and Madeira and sherry, my
lord."

"No Burgundy, sir?"

"No, my lord; there is no Burgundy on board."

"No Burgundy, sir! Do you dare to tell me that?"

"Upon my soul, my lord," cried Maddox, dropping on his knees, "there is
no Burgundy on board--ask the ladies."

"Very well, sir, you may go."

"Cook, what have you got for dinner?"

"Sir, a haunch of mut--of venison, my lord," replied the cook, with his
white night-cap in his hand.

"What else, sirrah?"

"A boiled calf's head, my lord."

"A boiled calf's head! Let it be roasted, or I'll roast you, sir!"
cried Pickersgill, in an angry tone.

"Yes, my lord; I'll roast it."

"And what else, sir?"

"Maintenon cutlets, my lord."

"Maintenon cutlets! I hate them--I won't have them, sir. Let them be
dressed _a l'ombre Chinoise_."

"I don't know what that is, my lord."

"I don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time,
you're food for fishes--that all; you may go."

The cook walked off wringing his hands and his night-cap