“Two of our squadrons have sailed already; the others will, of course, follow to-morrow.”
“And young Conyers,” broke in Miss Dinah,—“he will, I suppose, accompany this—what shall I call it?—this raid?”
“Yes, madam. Am I to convey to him your compliments upon the first opportunity to flesh his maiden sword?”
“You are to do nothing of the kind, sir; but tell him from me not to forget that the angry passions of a starving multitude are not to be confounded with the vindictive hate of our natural enemies.”
“Natural enemies, my dear Miss Barrington! I hope you cannot mean that there exists anything so monstrous in humanity as a natural enemy?”
“I do, sir; and I mean all those whose jealousy of us ripens into hatred, and who would spill their heart's blood to see us humbled. When there exists a people like this, and who at every fresh outbreak of a war with us have carried into the new contest all the bitter animosities of long past struggles as debts to be liquidated, I call these natural enemies; and, if you prefer a shorter word for it, I call them Frenchmen.”
“Dinah, Dinah!”
“Peter, Peter! don't interrupt me. Major Stapylton has thought to tax me with a blunder, but I accept it as a boast!”
“Madam, I am proud to be vanquished by you,” said Stapylton, bowing low.
“And I trust, sir,” said she, continuing her speech, and as if heedless of his interruption, “that no similarity of name will make you behave at Peterloo—if that be the name—as though you were at Waterloo.”