The Buccaneer - A Tale

"Then she has not attained their holiness in your estimation? She is too

earthly still?"

"She is my dear and noble lady, and to know her is to love her," replied

Barbara, her brown, affectionate eyes swimming in tears at the wilful

perversion of her words. "May I beg, Lady Frances, that you will

condescend not to question so poor and simple a girl as myself on what I

know so little of?"

"There you are again in error, Barbara," retorted her tormentor, who,

like most wits, cherished a jest more than the feelings of those she

jested with; "I condescend when questioning, not when silent."

Barbara made no reply, and Lady Frances, who was, at the same time,

pulling to pieces a superb fan of ostrich feathers, proceeded to open

her light battery against Constantia.

"How is Sir Robert this morning? I wish he were rid of the rheumatism,

and with us again. I have hardly seen him since the valiant De Guerre

made his appearance among us, except at dinner; and, indeed, he looks

ill, though--heigh ho!--I wish all papas were as accommodating, and let

their daughters flirt with whom they like."

"Flirt, Lady Frances?"

"Yes, flirt, Mistress Cecil! Is there any thing appalling in the word?

though I believe it somewhat of the newest. Now, poor I have no skill in

these matters! If I see a pretty fellow, I care not who knows it; I

like a jest, a laugh, tempered with all rightful modesty. I do not prim

my mouth, tutor my eyes into sobriety, nor say Amen, like old Will's

Macbeth, to those who say 'God bless us!' I laugh my laugh, and look my

look, and say my say, though I am youngest, and, by God's grace, wildest

of his Highness the Protector's children."

"Where got you your gay spirit, Lady Frances?" said Constantia, rising

and stepping towards her.

"My mother is a discreet matron as need be, but my father was not always

one of the gloomy rulers of this gloomy land: he had his wild days,

though it is treason to speak of them now; and, in sooth, he sometimes

forgets that young blood runs swifter than old--How he lectures poor

Richard!"

"The Lord Richard is not cast in his great father's mould; he is a

gentler and a feebler spirit; one who loves to hear of, or to read of,

great deeds, rather than to act them. Lady Fauconberg is more like your

father."

"My sister Mary would certainly have made a fine man. It was one of

nature's blunders to convert such coarse clay into a woman."