“’Tis true, Captain,” says I, “that there is not a word of me within it. And last night at Cleeby without Bab Gossiter is like the tragedy of Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark. ’Tis utterly worthless, sir. As a truthful narrative it is inadequate, but is none the less a very pretty fairy-tale. But in this cold and unromantic age of Politics, pleasing fictions are popular. Therefore, dear Captain, I think it better that it were suppressed. And I do not doubt if it be any consolation to you, sir, for the futile pains you have spent upon this document, that one day all the Prime Ministers and Privy Councillors, and stout Whigs and arrant Tories, and every kind of politician that ever was or ever will be, will fizzle just as briskly and completely together in another hemisphere, as these five papers this instant do in this.”
And in the course of this decisive statement I tucked the five papers deeply in the grate, saw them turn black in a twinkling, and then turned round to enjoy the industrious writer’s countenance.
To prove how little this summary deed affected him he selected another sheet without granting me a word of any sort, took a new dip of ink, and calmly re-began his labour.
“Come, sir,” says I, tartly, “do you not see the nonsense of it? You know quite well, Captain, it was I who wrought the mischief of last night; and if it hath earned Old Bailey and the Tower, I am determined not to flinch from my deserts.”
“My Lady Barbara,” says he, with an elegance that disarmed my anger, “it is the desire of his lordship and my humble self to spare so much wit and beauty these indignities. Besides, one really must be considerate of the Justices. Assuming that the Court found you guilty of this crime, there is not a Judge upon the Bench with sufficient tenacity of mind to pass a sentence on you.”
“Why, of course there’s not,” says I, complacently. “I foresaw that all along.”
But there was indeed a conspiracy between these gentlemen, and I tried very hard to break up this cabal, that I might stand or fall upon the consequences of my act. Now when I was a very little girl I had only to stamp my foot, and dart a fiery glance or two, to obtain my way with any man, beginning with my papa, the Earl. And from that time, either in London or the country, whether the unresisting male was a marquis or a hosier, I had only to grow imperious to bend him to my will. But now old Politics, that square-toed Puritan, was here, and a pretty game he played. For the first time in my history I could not persuade, direct, or browbeat my papa, who was the best-brought-up parent of any girl’s in England. And then there was this foppish officer, who would have died for me in Kensington, as inflexible as steel before my downright anger.
“Captain,” says I, for the tenth time, “I never saw such monstrous fables as are put into these papers. And I give you warning, sir, that if these falsehoods are sent to London, and the soldiers come for my papa, the Earl, I will post to town myself, and tell the judges all about it privately.”
“I suppose you mean the Government?” says he, smiling for some reason.
“Judges, Government, and King, I’ll see ’em all!” cries I, fiercely, “for they’re all tainted with the same disease, and that disease is Politics. And I’ll accost every power in the kingdom rather than my lord shall go to prison in the room of me. And Captain, I would have you prepare yourself, as you are the person I shall call in evidence to prove ’twas I who let the prisoner out.”