"Sir John Spottiswoode," answered Lord Farnborough.
"No, I hate a flirting Telemachus—he is saying sugared sentences to Fanny."
"Mortimer Grey," rejoined his lordship.
"Nonsense, Telemachus with a hare-lip?—now, out upon you! Miss Wetheral, you are mine, and you are Eucharis. I steal you from my lord."
"I cannot resign my fair assignment—racks and tortures shall not extort my consent," replied Lord Farnborough.
Captain Ponsonby came up.
"What are we waiting for? Your boat is filling, Mary—we must not delay. Miss Wetheral, are you of our party? allow me to lead you to the boat."
"Miss Wetheral is mine," cried Lord Farnborough, "and I give her to no mortal."
"It is a freight worth contending for, Farnborough: state your claims."