"I tell you what it is, Lisle—I'm really serious this time; and the queer part of it is, that it's her cool airs and sharp little speeches that have carried the citadel."
"What citadel?" raising his eyes, and searching the other's face.
"My heart, to be sure!"
"Pooh! your heart! Why that has been taken as often as there are days in the year."
"Merely a temporary occupation, my dear sir, but this time it's a complete surrender. 'Pon my word, if she had any money, I'd marry her to-morrow!"
In answer to this remark, Mr. Lisle blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and calmly ejaculated the word,—
"Bosh!"
"I never knew such a fellow as you are," cried Apollo indignantly. "You have no appreciation of sentiment; you are as tough and matter-of-fact as an old boot! All you care for are rough field sports, such as a long day's shooting, hunting, or fishing, and then to come home to your dinner, and sleep like a dog."
"I only wish I could sleep like a dog," rejoined the other with a laugh. "What with the gun and bugles, and those confounded peacocks, there is no such thing as getting a wink of sleep after four o'clock."
"Now," continued Mr. Quentin querulously, "I hate your style of life. You don't care what clothes you wear, you tramp the bush and over hill and dale with a gun on your shoulder, on the off chance of a wild pig, or a paltry brace of snipe! Or you grill by the hour in a boat, fishing for sharks and sword-fish. Now give me instead——"