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--_I_--esteemed you,
Richard."

"No! I had an idea you despised me!"

"How silly you are! Can't you see? When I thought you were not
perfection, which you are now, it vexed me to death; you never saw me
affront any one but you?"

"No, I never did! What does that prove?"

"That depends upon the wit of him that reasons thereon." (Coming to
herself.)

"I love you, Barbara! Will you honor me with your hand?"

"No! I am not so base, so selfish. You are worth a hundred of me, and
here have I been treating you _de haut en bas._ Dear Richard, poor
Richard. Oh! oh! oh!" (A perfect flood of tears.)

"Barbara! I regret nothing; this moment pays for all."

"Well, then, I will! since you keep pressing me. There, let me go; I
must be alone; I must tell the sea how unjust I was, and how happy I am,
and when you see me again you shall see the better side of your cousin
Barbara."

She was peremptory. "She had her folly and his merits to think over,"
she said; but she promised to pass through Newhaven, and he should put
her into her pony-phaeton, which would meet her there.

Lady Barbara was only a fool by the excess of her wit over her
experience; and Lord Ipsden's love was not misplaced, for she had a
great heart which she hid from little people. I forgive her!

The resolutions she formed in company with the sea, having dismissed
Ipsden, and ordered her flunky into the horizon, will probably give our
viscount just half a century of conjugal bliss.

As he was going she stopped him and said: "Your friend had browner hands
than I have hitherto conceived possible. _To tell the truth,_ I took
them for the claws of a mahogany table when he grappled you--is that the
term? _C'est e'gal_--I like him--"

She stopped him again. "Ipsden, in the midst of all this that poor man's
ship is broken. I feel it