Lady Barbara blushed to the temples.
“Then why don't you?” said she. “All you want is a little enthusiasm.” Then recovering herself, she said:
“You kneel on wet sand, with black trousers on; that will never be!!!”
These two were so occupied that they did not observe the approach of a stranger until he broke in upon their dialogue.
An Ancient Mariner had been for some minutes standing off and on, reconnoitering Lord Ipsden; he now bore down, and with great rough, roaring cordiality, that made Lady Barbara start, cried out:
“Give me your hand, sir—give me your hand, if you were twice a lord.
“I couldn't speak to you till the brig was safe in port, and you slipped away, but I've brought you up at last; and—give me your hand again, sir. I say, isn't it a pity you are a lord instead of a sailor?”
Ipsden. “But I am a sailor.”
Ancient Mariner. “That ye are, and as smart a one as ever tied a true-lover's knot in the top; but tell the truth—you were never nearer losing the number of your mess than that day in the old Tisbe.”
Lady Barb. “The old Tisbe! Oh!”