_Olim et hoec meminisse_--I beg your pardon, sir." _Ancient Mariner (taking off his hat with feeling)._ "God bless ye, sir, and send ye many happy days, and well spent, with the pretty lady I see alongside; asking your pardon, miss, for parting pleasanter company--so I'll sheer off." And away went the skipper of the _Tisbe,_ rolling fearfully.

In the heat of this reminiscence, the skipper of the yacht (they are all alike, blue water once fairly tasted) had lost sight of Lady Barbara; he now looked round.

Imagine his surprise! Her ladyship was in tears.
"Dear Barbara," said Lord Ipsden, "do not distress yourself on my account." "It is not your fe-feelings I care about; at least, I h-h-hope not; but I have been so unjust, and I prided myself so on my j-ju-justice." "Never mind!" "Oh! if you don't, I don't.

I hate myself, so it is no wonder you h-hate me." "I love you more than ever." "Then you are a good soul! Of course you know I always--_I_--esteemed you, Richard." "No! I had an idea you despised me!" "How silly you are! Can't you see?
When I thought you were not perfection, which you are now, it vexed me to death; you never saw me affront any one but you ?" "No, I never did! What does that prove ?" "That depends upon the wit of him that reasons thereon." (Coming to herself.) "I love you, Barbara! Will you honor me with your hand ?" "No! I am not so base, so selfish.

You are worth a hundred of me, and here have I been treating you _de haut en bas._ Dear Richard, poor Richard.