No matter; she kept herself in reserve for some earnest man, who was not
to come flattering and fooling to her, but look another way and do
exploits.

She liked Lord Ipsden, her cousin once removed, but despised him for
being agreeable, handsome, clever, and nobody.

She was also a little bitten with what she and others called the Middle
Ages, in fact with that picture of them which Grub Street, imposing on
the simplicity of youth, had got up for sale by arraying painted glass,
gilt rags, and fancy, against fact.

With these vague and sketchy notices we are compelled to part, for the
present, with Lady Barbara. But it serves her right; she has gone to
establish her court in Perthshire, and left her rejected lover on our
hands.

Journeys of a few hundred miles are no longer described.

You exchange a dead chair for a living chair, Saunders puts in your hand
a new tale like this; you mourn the superstition of booksellers, which
still inflicts uncut leaves upon humanity, though tailors do not send
home coats with the sleeves stitched up, nor chambermaids put travelers
into apple-pie beds as well as damp sheets. You rend and read, and are at
Edinburgh, fatigued more or less, but not by the journey.

Lord Ipsden was, therefore, soon installed by the Firth side, full of the
Aberford.

The young nobleman not only venerated the doctor's sagacity, but half