Whose is it ?" "Mr.Jerrold's." "Then Mr.Jerrold is cleverer than you." "It is possible." "It is certain! Well, Mr.Jerrold and Lord Ipsden, you will both be glad to hear that it was, in point of fact, a bull that confuted the advocate of the Middle Ages; we were walking; he was telling me manhood was extinct except in a few earnest men who lived upon the past, its associations, its truth; when a horrid bull gave--oh--such a bellow! and came trotting up.

I screamed and ran--I remember nothing but arriving at the stile, and lo, on the other side, offering me his arm with _empressment_ across the wooden barrier was--" "Well ?" "Well! don't you see ?" "No--oh--yes, I see!--fancy--ah! Shall I tell you how he came to get first over?
He ran more earnestly than you." "It is not Mr.Jerrold this time, I presume," said her satirical ladyship.
"No! you cannot always have him.

I venture to predict your ladyship on your return home gave this mediaeval personage his _conge'."_ "No!" "No ?" "I gave it him at the stile! Let us be serious, if you please; I have a confidence to make you, Ipsden.

Frankly, I owe you some apology for my conduct of late; I meant to be reserved--I have been rude--but you shall judge me.

A year ago you made me some proposals; I rejected them because, though I like you--" "You like me ?" "I detest your character.