‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. ” “Not now. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. John, I have something to say to you. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder.
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