“What do you mean,—not afford what?” cried he, blushing deeply.
“Nor could I, either,” continued she, heedless of his interruption.
“Faith, then,” cried he, with energy, “it was just what I was thinking of.”
“But, after all,” said she, gravely, “it wouldn't do; privateers must never sail in company. I believe there's nothing truer than that.”
He continued to look at her, with a strange mixture of admiration and astonishment.
“And so,” said she, rising, “let us part good friends, who may hope each to serve the other one of these days. Is that a bargain?” And she held out her hand.
“I swear to it!” cried he, pressing his lips to her fingers. “And now that you know my sentiments—”
“Hush!” cried she, with a gesture of warning, for she heard the voices of servants in the corridor. “Trust me; and good-bye!”
“One ought always to have an Irishman amongst one's admirers,” said she, as, once more alone, she arranged her ringlets before the glass; “if there's any fighting to be done, he's sure not to fail you.”