"What! what!" said her father. "Another verse of that rubbish! Let me see it."
Sir John handed him the paper; he put on his spectacles, and Lilian, throwing a reproachful look at Sir John, fled to the garden, while Tom tilted back his chair and laughed a little awkwardly. Mr. Barkworth pursed up his mouth and frowned.
"Why, hang it!" he cried, "here's my daughter's name! What does the wretched little man mean by writing my daughter's name! What's the meaning of it, Burnaby? I can't read the stuff."
"I'll read it to you:
'Tu vas, comblê de gloire, illustrer ta patrie:
Tu vas briser des coeurs, et provoquer l'envie.
Quel ange te conduit par delà l'ocean?--
La mer répond tout bas, murmurant "Lilian"'.
Perhaps Tom will oblige by translating."
"Not I, sir; I think you'll do it best. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and----"
"Yes, go and find her, certainly, my boy."
"Well now, Burnaby, just translate, please. There appears to be some mystery here, and I mean to get to the bottom of it, h'm!"
"You must make allowances for a Frenchman's sentiment, you know, Barkworth. What he says is something to this effect: 'Covered with glory, you're going to shed lustre on your country, and there you'll break all the girls' hearts and make all the boys jealous. What angel is wafting you over the ocean?'--A little high-falutin, you see. It ends--'And the sea whispers the name----'"