This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his
course fluently. "The golden Venus!--sure, Miss Nugent, you that are
so quick, can't but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that
is--but that won't be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen
much yet of that young lady?"

"No, sir."

"Then I hope you won't be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus
of Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus,
and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that's washing of her hair,
and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it
will, my lord, trust a fool--ye may, when he tells you truth--the
golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will
stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court,
gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above."

"Heaven above!--Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?"
interrupted Lord Clonbrony.

"Do I?--Don't I?" replied Terry. "Deny, if you please, my lord, that
it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses _fit_--and that
the _Hippomenes_ was about golden apples--and did not Hercules rob a
garden for golden apples?--and did not the pious AEneas himself take a
golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his father in hell?"
said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.

"Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,"
said Lord Clonbrony.