due to your sex but respect, and that, you know, is incompatible
with banter.

"The wit that could wantonly sport with the modesty of woman degenerates
into impudence and insult;" and he accompanied the words with a low and
graceful bow.

This young fellow, thought Miss Riddle, is a gentleman.

"Yes, but, Mr. Woodward, we sometimes require a bantering; and, what is
more, a remonstrance. We are not perfect, and surely it is not the part
of a friend to overlook our foibles or our errors."

"True, Miss Riddle, but it is not by bantering they will be reclaimed.
A friendly remonstrance, delicately conveyed, is one thing, but the
buffoonery of a banter is another."

"What's that?" said the peer, "buffoonery! I deny it, sir, there is no
buffoonery in banter."

"Not, my lord, when it occurs between gentlemen," replied Woodward, "but
you know, with the ladies it is a different thing."

"Ay, well, that's not bad; a proper distinction. I tell you what,
Woodward, you are a clever fellow; and I'm not sure but I'll advocate
your cause with Tom there. Tom, he tells me he is coming to court you,
and he says he doesn't care a fig about either of us, provided he could
secure your fortune. Ay, and, what's more, he says that if you and he
are married, he hopes it will be in the dark. What do you think of that
now?"

Miss Riddle did not blush, nor affect a burst of indignation, but she
said what pleased both Woodward and his mother far better.

"Well, uncle," she replied, calmly, "even if he did say so, I believe
he only expressed in words what most, if not all, of my former lovers
actually felt, but were too cautious to acknowledge."

"I trust, Miss Eiddle," said Harry, smiling graciously, "that I am
neither so silly nor so stupid as to defend a jest by anything like
a serious apology. You will also be pleased to recollect that, as an
argument for my success, I admitted two murders, half a dozen intrigues,
and the lively prospect of being hanged. The deuce is in it, if these
are not strong qualifications in a lover, especially in a lover of
yours, Miss Riddle."

The reader sees that the peer was anything but a match for Woodward, who
contrived, and with perfect success, to turn all his jocular attacks to
his own account.

Miss Riddle smiled, for the truth was that Harry began to rise rapidly
in her good opinion. His sprightliness was gentlemanly and agreeable,
and he contrived, besides, to assume the look and air of a man w