fond of hearing himself talk. Why, does not he say a number of smart
things?" "It is exessively strange," said Delia. (She was thinking of the
stranger.) But Miss Fletcher went on--"Not at all, my life. Upon my word I
think he is always very entertaining. He cuts out paper so prettily, and he
has drawn me the sweetest pattern for an apron. I vow, I think, I never
showed you it." "What can be his name?" said Delia; "His name, my dear;
law, child, you do not hear a word one says to you. But of all things,
give me the green coat and pink breeches of Mr. Savage. But did you ever
hear the like? There will be a terrible to do--Lord Martin is in such a
quandary--He has sent people far and near." "I wish they may find him,"
exclaimed Delia. "Nay, if they do, I would not be in his shoes for the
world. My lord vows revenge. He says he is his rival. Why, child, the
stranger did not make love to you, did he?" "Mercy on us," cried Delia,
"then my dream is out." "Oh, bless us," said Miss Fletcher, "what dream,
my dear?" Her curiosity then prevailed upon her to be silent for a few
moments, while Delia related that with which the reader is already
acquainted.

In return, Delia requested of her friend to explain to her more
intelligibly what she hinted of the anger of lord Martin. "Why, my dear,
his lordship has been employed all this morning in writing challenges.
They say he has not writ less than a dozen, and has sent them by as many
messengers, like a hue and cry, all over the county--my lord is a little
man--but what of that--he is as stout as Hercules, and as brave as
what-d'ye call'um, that you and I read of in Pope's Homer. He is in such a
vengeance of a passion, that he cannot contain himself. He tells it to
every body he sees; and his mother and sister run about the house
screaming and fainting like so many mad things."

Delia, as we have already said, was endowed with a competent share of