“You are browner and charitabler; and I should have been very kind to you—mawkishly kind, I fear, my sweet cousin, if this wretched money had not gone down in the Tisbe.”
“Hallo!” cried the viscount.
“Ah!” squeaked Lady Barbara, unused to such interjections.
“Gone down in what?” said Ipsden, in a loud voice.
“Don't bellow in people's ears. The Tisbe, stupid,” cried she, screaming at the top of her voice.
“Ri tum, ti turn, ti tum, tum, tum, tiddy, iddy,” went Lord Ipsden—he whistled a polka.
Lady Barbara (inspecting him gravely). “I have heard it at a distance, but I never saw how it was done before. It is very, very pretty!!!!”
Ipsden. “Polkez-vous, madame?”
Lady Barb. “Si, je polke, Monsieur le Vicomte.”
They polked for a second or two.