He had a rival.

All the young men, and Miss Alice besides, were grouped round Captain Desborough.

Frequently we elders, deep in some Old World history of the Doctor's, would be disturbed by a ringing peal of laughter from the other party, and then the Doctor would laugh, and we would all join; not that we had heard the joke, but from sheer sympathy with the hilarity of the young folks.

Desborough was making himself agreeable, and who could do it better?
He was telling the most outrageous of Irish stories, and making, on purpose, the most outrageous of Irish bulls.

After a shout of laughter louder than the rest, the Doctor remarked,-- "That's better for them than geology,--eh, Mrs.Buckley ?" "And so my grandmother," we heard Desborough say, "waxed mighty wrath, and she up with her goldheaded walking stick in the middle of Sackville Street, and says she, 'Ye villain, do ye think I don't know my own Blenheim spannel when I see him ?' 'Indeed, my lady,' says Mike, ''twas himself tould me he belanged to Barney.' 'Who tould you ?' says she.
'The dog himself tould me, my lady.' 'Ye thief of the world,' says my aunt, 'and ye'd believe a dog before a dowager countess?
Give him up, ye villain, this minute, or I'll hit ye!'" These were the sort of stories Desborough delighted in, making them up, he often confessed, as he went on.