Sir William flew to support the discomfited hero, who had
received a grievous contusion in his shoulder. Miss Griskin giggled, the
other ladies screamed, and Miss Languish, as usual, fainted away. "Bless
me," cried Miss Fletcher, "it is the queerest affair"--"By my troth," said
Miss Gawky, "it is vastly fine." "But not half so fine," cried Miss
Griskin, "as the buttocks of beef."
By this time lord Martin had raised himself in a sitting posture and
uttered a deep groan. "Best of friends," said he, pressing the hand of sir
William, "tell me truly, am I victorious, or am I defeated?" "Oh
_victoria_!" cried sir William; "never heed a slight skin wound that
you received in the combat." His lordship stood up. "Damnation, pox
confound it!" said he, a little recovering himself, "what is become of the
rascal? I have not given him half what he deserved. But, ladies," added he
flourishing his cane, "it is my maxim, as I am strong to be merciful."
Saying this, he advanced towards Delia, and, with a flourish of importance
and conceit, laid the weapon, which he had so roundly employed, at her
feet. "Loveliest of women," said he, "to your shrine I devote myself. Upon
your altar, I lay the insignia of my prowess. Deign, gentlest of thy sex,
to accept thus publicly of those sighs which I have long poured forth upon
thy account."
Delia, though the native modesty of her character caused her whole face to
be suffused with blushes at having the eyes of the whole company thus
turned upon her, regarded the peer with a look of ineffable disdain, and
turned from him in silence.
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