“‘Despatches,’ I said warningly.
“‘Let me write them for you, Lord Left-hand,’ she cried, leaning on my shoulder caressingly to capture my pen and read what I had written. This was all flat disobedience of orders, and she was trying to coax me into forgetting it. ‘My dear Ball * * * With every kind wish to Foley, Gould and Waller, believe me ever your affectionate Nelson.’ ‘Capital,’ she cried: ‘is this Captain Gould of the Audacious?’
“‘The same.’
“‘Well, then you have to be the Ambassador—or the Ambassador’s wife—and I am only going to be the Admiral giving orders. You know our good Miss Knight?’
“‘Her that wrote the new verse about me on to “God save the King” at my birthday ball?’
“‘The same.’
“‘What of her?’
“‘The very drollest thing has happened. It seems that her father, who, as you know, was a most respectable man—he died a Rear-Admiral and a Knight of the Bath, I think—had a cousin living at Taunton, who was a chimney-sweep or something of the kind. Well, he is dead too.’
“‘A good thing, I should think.’
“‘Uncommon better than you think.’