Ipsden. “Do you remember that nice little lurch she gave to leeward as we brought her round?”
Lady Barb. “Oh, Richard!”
Ancient Mariner. “And that reel the old wench gave under our feet, north the pier-head. I wouldn't have given a washing-tub for her at that moment.”
Ipsden. “Past danger becomes pleasure, sir. Olim et hoec meminisse—I beg your pardon, sir.”
Ancient Mariner (taking off his hat with feeling). “God bless ye, sir, and send ye many happy days, and well spent, with the pretty lady I see alongside; asking your pardon, miss, for parting pleasanter company—so I'll sheer off.”
And away went the skipper of the Tisbe, rolling fearfully. In the heat of this reminiscence, the skipper of the yacht (they are all alike, blue water once fairly tasted) had lost sight of Lady Barbara; he now looked round. Imagine his surprise!
Her ladyship was in tears.
“Dear Barbara,” said Lord Ipsden, “do not distress yourself on my account.”
“It is not your fe-feelings I care about; at least, I h-h-hope not; but I have been so unjust, and I prided myself so on my j-ju-justice.”
“Never mind!”