ried him thus far, when to his
great satisfaction the Lady Flora looked round. It was very nice of her,
because it was as if she wished to know if Mr. Bumpkin and his friend
felt the same rapturous delight as she and her sister. What a nice face
Lady Flora's was! It wasn't unlike the Squire's eldest daughter's.
Between that, perhaps, and the Vicar's youngest daughter's.

Then the Countess slightly turned round, her face wearing a smile of
great complaisance, and Mr. Bumpkin could have seen at once that she was
a person of great distinction even if he had not been informed of her
rank. Well, taken for all in all, it was a night he would never forget,
and his only feeling of regret was that Mrs. Bumpkin was not present to
share his pleasure--the roar of that bull would have just pleased her; it
was so like Sampson.

And now the scene shifters were preparing for another performance, and
were adjusting ropes and fixing poles, and what not, when, as Mr. Bumpkin
was lost in profound meditation, up rose from her seat the beautiful Lady
Flora, and turning round with a bewitching face, and assuming an air of
inexpressible simplicity, she exclaimed to Mr. Bumpkin in the sweetest of
voices: "O you duck!"

Mr. Bumpkin started as if a cannon had exploded in his face instead of a
beautiful young lady. He blushed to the deepest crimson, and then the
lady Flora poured into him a volley of her sweetiest prettiest laughter.
Attacked thus so suddenly and so effectively, what could he do? He felt
there must be some mistake, and that he ought to apologize. But the Lady
Flora gave him no time; leaning forward, she held out her hand--

"Beg pardon, m'lady--thic--I--I."

Then the Countess rose and smiled upon Mr. Bumpkin, and said she hoped he
wouldn't mind; her sister was of such a playful disposition.

The playful one here just touched Mr. Bumpkin under the chin with her
forefinger, and again said he was a "_perfect duck_!"

"What be the manin' o' this?" said he. "I be off; come on, sir. This be
quite enough for I."

"Don't go like that," said Lady Flora. "Oh, dear, dear, what a cruel
man!"

"Not a glass of wine," said the Countess.

"Not one, Mr. Bumpkin!" urged Lady Flora.

Mr. Bumpkin had risen, and was angry: he was startled at his name being
known: he looked to Horatio, hoping some explanation might come; but the
pale youth had his back to him, and was preparing to leave the Hall.
There were many curious eyes look