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A ROMANCE
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seen you act with so much spirit, I will cheerfully risk myself on your protection. Who knows? You may be yet the better man.’
‘Do you indeed believe so?’ cried the Prince. ‘You put life into my heart!’
‘I will give up sketching portraits,’ said the Baronet. ‘I am a blind owl; I had misread you strangely. And yet remember this; a sprint is one thing, and to run all day another. For I still mistrust your constitution; the short nose, the hair and eyes of several complexions; no, they are diagnostic; and I must end, I see, as I began.’
‘I am still a singing chambermaid?’ said Otto.
‘Nay, your Highness, I pray you to forget what I had written,’ said Sir John; ‘I am not like Pilate; and the chapter is no more. Bury it, if you love me.’
