I barely heard her, tho’ I had seen the man-o’-war in the harbour as I sailed in that afternoon.

The assembly hall was filled when we arrived, aglow with candles and a-tremble with music, the powder already flying, and the tables in the recesses at either end surrounded by those at the cards.  A lively scene, those dances at the old Stadt House, but one I love best to recall with a presence that endeared it to me.  The ladies in flowered aprons and caps and brocades and trains, and the gentlemen in brilliant coats, trimmed with lace and stiffened with buckram.  That night, as Patty had predicted, there was a smart sprinkling of uniforms from the Thunderer.  One of those officers held my eye.  He was as well-formed a lad, or man (for he was both), as it had ever been my lot to see.  He was neither tall nor short, but of a good breadth.  His fair skin was tanned by the weather, and he wore his own wavy hair powdered, as was just become the fashion, and tied with a ribbon behind.

“Mercy, Richard, that must be his Lordship.  Why, his good looks are all Betty claimed for them!” exclaimed Patty.  Mr. Lloyd, who was standing by, overheard her, and was vastly amused at her downright way.

“I will fetch him directly, Miss Swain,” said he, “as I have done for a dozen ladies before you.”  And fetch him he did.

“Miss Swain, this is my Lord Comyn,” said he.  “Your Lordship, one of the boasts of our province.”

Patty grew red as the scarlet with which his Lordship’s coat was lined.  She curtseyed, while he made a profound bow.

“What!  Another boast, Mr. Lloyd!” he cried.  “Miss Swain is the tenth I have met.  But I vow they excel as they proceed.”

“Then you must meet no more, my Lord,” said Patty, laughing at Mr. Lloyd’s predicament.

“Egad, then, I will not,” declared Comyn.  “I protest I am satisfied.”

Then I was presented.  He had won me on the instant with his open smile and frank, boyish manner.

“And this is young Mr. Carvel, whom I hear wins every hunt in the colony?” said he.

“I fear you have been misinformed, my Lord,” I replied, flashing with pleasure nevertheless.

“Nay, my Lord,” Mr. Lloyd struck in; “Richard could ride down the devil himself, and he were a fox.  You will see for yourself to-morrow.”

“I pray we may not start the devil,” said his Lordship; “or I shall be content to let Mr. Carvel run him down.”

This Comyn was a man after my own fancy, as, indeed, he took the fancy of every one at the ball.  Though a viscount in his own right, he gave himself not half the airs over us provincials as did many of his messmates.  Even Mr. Jacques, who was sour as last year’s cider over the doings of Parliament, lost his heart, and asked why we were not favoured in America with more of his sort.

By a great mischance Lord Comyn had fallen into the tender clutches of my Aunt Caroline.  It seemed she had known his uncle, the Honourable Arthur Comyn, in New York; and now she undertook to be responsible for his Lordship’s pleasure at Annapolis, that he might meet only those of the first fashion.  Seeing him talking to Patty, my aunt rose abruptly from her loo and made toward us, all paint and powder and patches, her chin in the air, which barely enabled her to look over Miss Swain’s head.