CHAPTER XIII

“Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn to me,For thou art the only one, love, that art ador’d by me”;

“Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn to me,For thou art the only one, love, that art ador’d by me”;

“Oh, turn, love, I prythee, love, turn to me,

For thou art the only one, love, that art ador’d by me”;

so sweet and unexpected, they all whisked about in surprise to mark the singer. She loitered, in seeming unconsciousness of their neighbourhood, among the beds, a slender girl figure, on whose face, as she stooped and rose, the sunlight went and came as if it fought her for a kiss. She looked a very stillroom fairy of the gardens, herself expressed from all their daintiest scents and colours.

And so, no doubt, the men thought; but, for my lady Chesterfield, the apparition wrought in her a revulsion of feeling which was as instant as it was startling. Her wrongs, the empty vanity of her scruples, all rushed upon her in a moment, and she stood stock still. And then she gave a chill little laugh, a woman of ice in a moment, and said she, small and quiet—

“But it were ill manners for a hostess to desert her guest; and after all, Dick, thou art the musician to feel a musician’s needs.”

My lord looked suddenly gratified.

“Ath you will, thithter Kit,” said he; “unless your friend outthide would prefer your company.”

“Friend!” cried her ladyship; “she is no friend of mine.”

“Of whoth, then?”

“You may ask her if you will. Nay, I see that you are all excitement to put his Highness’s pleasant fancy to the test. Go, then—leave your sister, and gather flowers.”

He answered with a little foolish shamefaced snigger; then turned and stole away a-tiptoe, as if he feared to be detected, while she watched his departure with a twitch of scorn upon her lips. The Duke, with an amused smile on his, regarded her furtively, her rigid attitude, the flushed curve of her cheek, which alone of her face was visible as she stood with her back to him. But much expression can be conveyed in a curve.

“No friend of yours, my lady?” he asked softly.

“No,” she said, and, lowering her head, began plucking at her handkerchief without turning to him.

“Of your husband’s, perhaps?” he asked, in the same tone.

“Of any man’s,” she answered.

“O!” He rose and, just glancing through the window at the pretty figure, now joined in company with that of the young nobleman, took a step or two which brought him within close range of the averted face. “Is that so?” he said. “And she lies in this house?”

She did not answer; and, venturing quite gently to capture her reluctant fingers, he led her by them to the window. The couple outside were already, it appeared, on friendly terms. They laughed and chatted together, making a sport of the flower-choosing, in which, with all pretty coquetries, the lady would defer to her companion, plucking this bloom and that, and holding it to his button nose, and throwing the thing away in a pretended pet if he shook his head to it. The Duke stood some moments regarding the scene.

“Why, young, but practised,” he said presently. “He has met her before?”

“Never, to my knowledge.”

She spoke low, trembling a little now—perhaps from that sudden chill.

“Not?” he said, and drew in a quick breath, as if scandalized. “I see, I see. And how is she known?”

“Her name is Mary Davis.”

“Ah! Some wanton fancy of your——”

“Your Highness, I beg you to let me go.”

She broke from his too sympathetic hold, and went back from him, until a space separated them.

“Believe me,” said he gravely: “I had no wish to surprise this unhappy secret out of you.”

“I know,” she said hurriedly—“I know. But, learning it, you will be considerate—considerate and compassionate.”

“On my royal faith,” he answered. “It shall be an inviolable confidence between us. Have I not myself too good reason to sympathize with the ill-mated?”

He did not say whether on his own account or on his wife’s. Perhaps, if on hers, that ill-starred woman would have preferred his fidelity to all the sympathy in the world. But, as in such matters the feminine prejudice is always in favour of the man, so Kate, in no ways an exception to her sex, was quite prepared to accept the sentiment at its obvious significance. A faint sigh lifted her innocent bosom.

“I may not speak of that,” she said. “Is—is marriage always so unhappy?”

He sighed too.

“Always? I know not. Itmaychance to include that natural correlation of sympathies, that perfect soul affinity, which was no doubt in the original scheme of things before the Fall. Blest, immeasurably blest the nuptials in that case; yet how rare a coincidence! A man and woman, both virgin, both unspoiled, may here and there find, as predestined, their rapturous conjunction, and so achieve themselves in flawless unity. But, for the most part, we must be resigned to forgo that heavenly encounter until, caught fast in alien bonds, we meet and recognize for the first time our elective affinities. Too late, then? I cannot say. Only is it possible that Heaven could blame us for consummating its own ideal at the expense of the social conventions made by man? Ah! if we could only, in the first instance, be safe to meet with her, the heartfelt, the unmistakable, the lovely ordained perfecter of our imperfect beings! What happiness would be added to the world and what sin avoided!” His very voice was like a wooing confidence. He bent to gaze into her face. “Ill-mated! Alike in that, at least,” he said, and sought her hand again. “Come, sweet soul, be seated, and let me play to you once more.”

Kate started, as if to an electric shock.

“No, your Highness.”

“You will not?”

“I must not. Let me call my brother.”

He intercepted her. “Say at least I may visit you again—see you—speak to you.” He spoke low and vehemently.

“No, no,” she said, almost weeping—“not now. O, let me go, Sir! I was wrong to complain—wrong to encourage you.”

She made past him, and hurried to the open window. “Richard!” she cried. “Richard! How long you are! His Highness waits the flowers with impatience.”

Arran had no choice but to obey. She saw his companion, with a pert laugh and toss of the head, thrust the nosegay into his hand, and watch him, with a mocking lip, as he retreated from her. And the next moment he was in the room.

But, for the Duke, he was quite content with his progress. She had put her confidence in his keeping, and, for a sound beginning, that meant much.

TheEarl of Chesterfield entered his drawing-room in a very morose frame of mind, which was scarcely improved by his discovery of a young lady already seated there before him. She was yawning over an illuminated missal; but, at sight of the intruder, she clapped the volume down with a bang, stretched, put her arms behind her head, and smiled with an air of relieved welcome. Any male to Moll was better than none.

“Come along,” she said. “Don’t be shy of me.”

He was pacing forward, his hands behind his back, and stopped to regard her sourly, his head askew.

“Yes? You remarked——?” he said.

Mrs. Davis went into a noiseless shake of laughter.

“Don’t do that,” she cried, “or you’ll give yourself a stiff neck. What a face, sure! Has my lady been putting bitter aloes on your nails, naughty boy, to stop your biting ’em?”

“Mrs. Davis,” said my lord, not moving, and with an air of acid civility, “I am really constrained to impress upon you that it is possible to presume on one’s privileges as Lady Chesterfield’s friend and guest.”

“Is it?” was the serene answer. “And I’m really constrained to impress upon you that it’s possible to presume upon one’s position as the husband of that guest’s hostess.”

“Presume, madam, presume—in my own house!”

She jumped up, and came at him with such a whisk of skirts that involuntarily he retreated a step before her.

“You dare!” she said: “when the very first time we met you had the brazen impudence to kiss me. Presume, indeed—and in your own house! A nice house, this, to pretend to any airs of propriety.”

“There are distinctions to be made, madam, which perhaps you can hardly be expected to appreciate.”

“Between me and another? Why, deuce take you!” cried the lady. “Are you telling me I’m not respectable?”

She quivered on the verge of an explosion. He was a little alarmed. It had been foolish of him to lay aside, just because his wife was not by, the part he was affecting to play. He had forgotten, in his peevishness, that it was as necessary to mislead the visitor as to his sentiments as it was her ladyship. Yet he could not command his temper all in a moment.

“Are you telling me,” he said, “that my house is not?”

Her eyes sparkled at him.

“I can’t appreciate distinctions, you know,” she said, “or I might understand why my lady may do just what I do, and be respected for it, while I for my part have to suffer all manner of sauce and impudence. One of these days I shall be taking two of those precious grooms of yours and knocking their heads together.”

He frowned, setting his lips.

“I am sorry if you have reason to complain of the conduct of my household. I was not aware of this, and will take immediate measures for the punishment of any servant you may point out as having shown you discourtesy.”

“O, all’s one for that!” cried Moll, with a toss. “I can look after myself. Only don’t talk about my presumption in treating you with the familiarity that you treat me, or be so sure of the holy propriety of your house in everything where I’m not concerned.”

He looked at her with a gloomy perplexity, but did not answer.

“Liberties!” cried Mrs. Moll, snapping her fingers. “But where the master sets the example, the mistress can’t be blamed for following him, I suppose.”

“Do you allude to her ladyship?” he demanded.

“Yes, I do,” she answered, with a saucy laugh.

“To what ‘liberties’ do you refer—as applied to yourself, perhaps?”

“Myself be damned!” cried the lady. “I talk ofherbeing closeted alone, in her private apartments, with gentlemen visitors.”

His lordship started and stiffened, as suddenly rigid as a frog popped into boiling water.

“What visitors?” he said, in a suffocated voice.

Moll laughed again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, crosspatch?”

He took a furious step forward, and checked himself.

“Her brothers, belike. And so much for your mischief-making, Mrs. Davis.”

He said it with a sneer; but his eyes glowed.

“Then that’s all right and settled,” replied the girl. “And so now you can be at peace.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“You say so.”

“What doyousay?”

“O! I mustn’t mention Kit, I suppose.”

“Kit!” He uttered a blazing oath under his breath. “So my suspicions are confirmed about that reptile! By God, if you and my lady are a pair and in collusion, after all!”

“Fiddle-de-dee!” she said, putting out the tip of her tongue at him. “What do you mean by collusion? That I’m abetting her in carrying on with my own particular friend? Not likely!”

He stamped in impotent exasperation.

“Why do you tell me, then? But I see what it is. She has robbed you of this creature, and you want to be revenged on her for it. And by God you shall! Tell me, when was this?”

“This very afternoon.”

“And how long was he with her?”

“Who?”

“O, you know!”

“I thought you might mean the other.”

“The other? There was another, then?” He positively squeaked in his fury. “Who was it? Curse it, Iwillknow!”

“Sure, you’re so hot, I’m afraid to tell you,” she said.

He broke away, positively dancing, took a rageful turn or two, and came back relatively reasonable.

“Now, Mrs. Davis,” he said; “will you be so good as to acquaint me all—all about this visit? Come, let us kiss and be friends.”

He advanced towards her, with hands extended and a twisted smile, meant to be ingratiatory, on his lips; but she backed before him.

“No, sure,” she said. “That would be friendship at too high a price. What does it matter to you who visited her? Aren’t you ready to throw her over, stock and block, for me?”

“Yes, yes. Only—h’m!—’tis a question of justification, don’t you see—of proof—damn it!—of her guilt.”

“You won’t want to kiss me, now?”

“No; on my word.”

“And you won’t call the gentlemen out to answer for their misbehaviour?”

“Curse me, no!”

“Then, I’ll tell you. It was—— You are sure you won’t kiss me?”

“Not for a thousand pound.”

“What, not for a thousand? Was ever woman so insulted!”

“Then I’ll kiss you for nothing.”

“You will? So, then, my mouth’s shut.”

“O!” He threw up his hands and eyes, giving vent to the remarkable utterance, “The foul fiend grant me virtue!” Then he waxed dangerous. “Mrs. Moll, if it’s to be kissing after all, I’ll pay you, and with interest, here and now.”

She gave a little scream.

“O, mussey! I’ll tell you. It was the Duke.”

He stood looking at her, grinning like a dog.

“The Duke? What Duke?”

“How should I know?”

“You saw him?”

“Sure.”

“How?”

“O, I just looked through the keyhole.”

Still he stared, the grin, or snarl, fixed on his face.

“And what did you see?”

“Only the two gentlemen and my lady.”

“What! They were there together?”

“Why not?”

“Why not, why not! Now, what does it all mean? And which was the favoured one with her?”

“It was his Highness stayed longest.”

“His Highness!”

“So they called him. He looked a very nice tall gentleman, though over grave for my taste.”

“Yes.” Chesterfield’s manner had suddenly fallen ominously quiet. “I think I know whom you mean. And so he, the Duke, stayed longest, did he? And what became of the other?”

“O! he came out to me in the garden, whither I’d run after peeping.”

She saw it rising in him, and likened it in her own mind to a saucepan of milk coming to the boil. There was a flickering under the surface, and then a heave and rise, and the next moment it was overflowing with a tumultuous ebullition there was no stopping. Yet his voice maintained its intense suppression, only doubly envenomed.

“He came out to you, did he? I understand. Your particular friend, your particular pander to dishonourable royalty, came out to you, having effected his purpose of infamous procuration—to congratulate you and himself, I suppose, on the success of your joint villainy. So this is the solution of the mystery, and this your return for the hospitality you have received? Indeed my lady chooses her intimates cleverly.”

Now, Moll was a mischief-making naughtiness, and knew it; but no woman, however self-consciously guilty, can take abuse without recrimination.

“You suppose so? Do you, indeed?” she said. “And I say if you apply those names to me and Kit you’re a liar and a beast. A nice character you, upon my word, to call shame upon your lady for doing in all innocence what you are doing out of the wickedness of your soul every day of your life. She mustn’t entertain a great gentleman, mustn’t she; butyoumay practise your dissembling arts on her own friend, and think none the worse of yourself for it. Pander, forsooth! I throw the word back in your ugly teeth, as I throw your dirty attentions. I don’t want them, and I don’t want you!”

“My teeth may be ugly,” says my lord, with a savage grin; “but they can bite, as this friend of yours will find to his cost when once I track him down—as I shall do.”

“Poor Kit!” cried Mrs. Moll, with a mocking laugh.

“And as to my attentions to you,” said the other, “you may count them for what you like, only don’t include any inclination of mine in the bill. I paid them because it suited me, and not because you did—for anything but a catspaw. And now that I know your true character, why, you may take yourself off for any attraction I find in you, and the sooner the better for all parties concerned. I do not consider you a fit companion for my lady.”

“That’s plain,” said Moll, a little cowed in spite of herself.

“I wish to make it so,” answered his lordship frigidly. “For what purpose my lady invited you here I know not, nor in what degree that purpose tallied with your command of a confederate, the hired instrument, as I take it, of a more exalted infamy. It is enough that you have used your position here to consolidate the discord and misunderstanding you found already unhappily existing——”

“And what have you done, I should like to know?” cried Mrs. Moll.

“And with an object,” went on the gentleman, not deigning to answer her, “which is only perfectly apparent to me at a late hour. But that recognition, now it has come, imposes a duty on me, and on you the perhaps unwelcome realization that I am the master of this house. I neither ask nor expect you to betray to me this creature of yours and of my lord Duke: I shall identify him in good time, and then he will not have reason to congratulate himself on his amiable participation in your designs. But, as to yourself, I have merely to intimate that I shall esteem it a favour, and to avoid unpleasantness, if you will put an early period to your visit here.”

He bowed with such an immense and killing stateliness, that the young lady was quite overawed, and for the moment had not a word to answer; and so, walking deliberately, with his head high, he left the room.

Mrs. Davis sat for some minutes after he was gone, her face a lively play of emotions.

“Why, deuce take it!” she thought, her lids wide, “if he doesn’t believe as I’ve used Kit for go-between with Madam and the Duke creature. Mussey-me!”

Her eyes half closed, her little nose wrinkled, stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth, she went into a scream of laughter. But her mood soon changed. Panting, she rose to her feet and struck one little fist into the palm of the other.

“So I’m to go, am I!” she said. “Not before I’ve paid you for that insult, my lad. I don’t quite know how, yet, but somehow, the last word’s got to be with me.”

Thetormented nobleman, craving for advice and sympathy, lost little time before he sought out his friend and kinsman, Mr. George Hamilton. He found that gentleman, who had just returned from a game of pell-mell with his Majesty, refreshing himself with a pot and sop in his own chambers, before committing himself and his mid-day toilet to the hands of his valet. Chesterfield drove out the man incontinent, and closed the door on him.

“I want a word with you, George,” said he, breathless and agitated—too disturbed and full of his subject to apologize or finesse. “It’s all out; I’ve discovered the truth; and, curse me, if ’twere the King himself, I’d bury my sword in his treacherous heart. As it is——”

Hamilton, his face half hidden by the quart pot, put up an expostulatory hand, and bubbled amphorically.

“As it is, let me finish my ale.”

“O, you can jest,” cried the other; “but I tell you ’tis no jesting matter. So he hath wronged me, I’ll have his life, were he twenty James Stuarts rolled into one.”

George set down the tankard, drained. His eyes gaped a little.

“The Duke of York?”

“Damn him!” cried the Earl. “I always said it was he, but you would never believe me. And now he hath been to visit her, on what false pretext I know not, and they have been closeted alone, together—alone, in her private apartments.”

“When was this?” asked Hamilton, astonished and disturbed enough, for his part.

“Yesterday afternoon,” replied the other; and he hissed between his clenched teeth. “And I’ll not forgive the dishonour done to my house, or spare him though he wore the crown.”

“Nay, coz,” said Hamilton. “Command yourself. How got you this information?”

“How? Why, from that little cursed, prying, eavesdropping skit, her friend. And that is not all. ’Twas through ‘Kit’ the meeting came about—a common pitcher-bawd, who shall pay for it with every bone in his body broke.”

“Through Kit?”

“Aye; she confessed to him at last. He brought the Duke—was the tool arranged between them, no doubt. O, what measure can gauge the perfidy of woman!”

“Who do you say confessed to him?”

“O, a curse on your dullness! Who but Mrs. Davis.”

“What, and to Kate’s collusion in the plot?”

“Of course.”

“Then she lied; and if she lied in one thing, the truth of all is to question.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, unless you can conceive my cousin as the most double-faced, artful little villain in the world, Mrs. Davis was lying to you in pretending that Kate could be a party to this employment of the creature Kit.”

“Why?”

“Because she knows so little about Kit, that ’twas only the other day she was charging Kit to you as some probable light of your fancy before you married her.Shethought Kit a woman.”

“Well, she knows better now.”

“But, don’t you see——?”

“I see nothing and know nothing but that my lady has granted the Duke a secret interview, and that I’ll call them both to account for it.”

“Now, Phil, be reasonable. Even if that’s the case—and I question it—there can be harmless interviews.”

“Between a Stuart and a beautiful woman? P’sha! And what grounds have you for questioning it?”

“I’ve told you one. Take it from me—and I had the confession from Kate’s own lips—she’s as jealous of you and Kit as ever you can be of Kit and her.”

The shaft went somewhat home. Chesterfield stood glowering and gnawing his finger.

“Then who the devilisKit?” he said suddenly.

“Ah!” replied Hamilton. “Who? We are all the gulls, I sometimes think, of that little scheming hussy, your wife’s friend. But do you mean to say she actually went so far as to assert that the Duke’s visit was due to Kit?”

Chesterfield reflected, still devouring his finger.

“Well, now I come to think on’t, she didn’t explicitly, in so many words, say as much.”

“Perhaps she didn’t mention Kit at all?”

“O, yes, she did! But——”

“But what?”

“Curse it, George!” he burst out in helpless distraction, “she has a non-committal way, I admit it, of forcing upon one conclusions which she might say she never meant to suggest. She may have been mocking me, to lead me astray. I wish she had never come; I wish I had never consented to the part you laid on me. What hath it all ended in, but disaster? Whatever the truth of the other charge, there is no blinking the fact of the Duke’s visit.”

“How do you know? The whole thing may have been a fable to torment you. From all accounts, you haven’t played a very wooing part with her.”

“No, I can’t believe it. But anyhow ’tis easy proved. And, though Kit may prove a legend, I’ll never doubt but that she herself was somehow instrumental in bringing about this meeting.”

“And yet, you say, she reported on it to you.”

“Aye, a keyhole report.”

“Why, look there. In that case she must be a very arch-traitor—false to both sides.”

“’Tis like enough. But I’ll have no more of her. I told her in so many words she must go.”

“You did?”

“Why not? Why not? What have you to say against it?”

“I’m not sure I’ve anything. I think perhaps you did right.”

“O! I’m vastly obliged to you for your condescension.”

“You deserve no consideration, Phil, upon my soul. If you choose to adopt that tone with me, I’ve done with the matter.”

He was vexed and bothered enough for himself, truth to tell. The visit of the Duke—if, as he hardly doubted, it had actually taken place—was a subject for confounding thought. He cared nothing for Kit’s part in the business, real or pretended; his little cousin’s attitude towards it was what concerned him. Did that point to artlessness or design? He had believed, or chosen to believe, that, in a certain eventuality, he himself had a prescriptive title to “the most favoured treatment.” He had always, in full confidence, proceeded upon that supposition; and now, if he had been deceiving himself throughout? All his elaborate hoax would prove itself waste trouble, and he might just as well have spared himself the complication. He had been already, as it was, beginning to question the practical wisdom of the imposture to which he had subscribed, and to wonder if more direct means might not have served his purpose better. The reflection, occurring to him now with aggravated force, inclined him to regard this difficult and exasperating husband as the source of all his worry. He was moved to throw prudence to the winds, and take his unswerving course for the object he had in view. And Chesterfield’s own temper lent itself immediately to that provocation.

“Consideration! Matter!” said the nobleman, with the loftiest acidity. “I’ll ask you to bear in mind, George, that the part I requested of you was sympathy, and not dictation.”

Hamilton had remained seated all this time; he rose now, in a white fume of anger.

“O, was that it?” he said in answer. “Well, I’ll tellyouthat I have never yet felt sympathy with a cuckold, or counted the man who couldn’t command his wife’s fidelity as deserving less than he got. ’Tis just a question of resourcefulness, in more ways than one; and the woman who has reason to like her bonds doesn’t strain at them. Now you may go hang for me; and, as to your damned Duke——”

“Temper, temper!” interrupted the other, quite pale and furious. “Upon my soul, your manner might almost proclaim you his disappointed rival.”

The two stood glaring at one another.

“Do you say that deliberately?” asked Hamilton at length.

“What if I do?” retorted the other.

“Then, by God, you’ll provoke me to disprove it.”

“On your kinswoman?”

“I’ll not be insulted for nothing.”

“You shall not be. I’ll see to it. Forewarned is to have my answer ready to the occasion.”

He smacked his hand to his sword-hilt, and, turning very haughtily, stalked out of the room. Hamilton, breathing hard, watched his departure, and presently dropped back into his chair, with a sneering laugh.

“The sword is the only resource of a fool,” thought he. “The Duke, and now me—’tis his one solution for everything. But he’ll think better of it—never give away his cuckoldom so openly. His——” He frowned heavily, as he pondered. “Has it come to that, andwasMrs. Moll instrumental in arranging this meeting? And is she making us all her dupes—me included? I’d give something to look into her mind. But she’s to receive hercongé; and ’tis as well, I think—especially as it saves me the necessity of settling with her. Yet, as to her reputed traffic with the Duke—and this Kit’s part in it? O, mercy on us all! I must see her somehow, and set my wits to hers—fin contre fin, or, if need be,fort contre fin. O, what a plaguey difficult and fascinating world this is! If a man can’t hate without wrong and can’t love without wrong, where is the ethical mean to justify his creation? I’ll go be an oyster.”

He didn’t do that; but, hearing of the Earl being on duty that evening with her Majesty, and assuming the Countess’s coincident attendance at Court, he slipped over to the Chesterfields’ quarters, in the hope and expectation of finding Mrs. Davis yawning away the hours there with only herself for company.

But, to his surprise, and irresistible gratification, he found, not Moll, but her little ladyship herself in solitary possession of the great chamber; at which discovery his eyes glowed and his pulses thrilled.

“What, Kate!” says he, glibly lying. “I never hoped to find you alone.”

She had received him with no sign of fervour corresponding to his own, and now looked up from her work a little chill and unresponsive.

“Why should you have hoped it, cousin?” she said. “Why should you show pleasure now that it is so?”

“Why, are we not near and dear kinsfolk?” said he.

“Not near enough for the forbidden degrees,” she answered, “and therefore not near enough to be alone together.”

His brows went up.

“You were not wont to speak to me like this. What have I done to change you?”

“O! nothing.”

“That is quite true. Well,myfeelings have not changed.”

“I was sure they had not.”

“Were you?” He looked at her curiously, but her impassive face gave him no clue to her thoughts.

“Did you expect to find my lord?” she said, again quietly busy at her work. “Or was it, perhaps, Mrs. Davis you sought?”

“If I sought one I sought the other,” he answered. “They are not long to be caught apart.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” she answered, and he bit his lip with vexation. “Well, he hath taken her to attend on her Majesty, I presume, since that is where his duties detain him. You had better seek them there.”

A thrill shot through his veins in the sudden thought that she was jealous.

“Not I,” he said. “I know where I am well off, if Phil does not.”

A faintest increase of colour flushed her cheek, but she worked on steadily.

“Still,” she said, “in spite of their inseparability, as you consider it, I do not doubt but that she is in the house at this moment. Shall I send her a message that you are here?”

“What are you implying, if you please, cousin?” he said.

“Why,” she answered quietly, “you knew very well that my lord was elsewhere, and concluded my absence from his. Who other than Mrs. Davis, then, could have been the object of this clandestine visit?”

He heard; he smiled to himself; he drew his chair a little closer.

“Kate,” he said, “are you in very truth jealous?”

She cast one startled glance at him, but, though her bosom betrayed its own disquiet, maintained her self-possession.

“Jealous?” she said. “Of Mrs. Davis and my husband?”

“No,” he answered, “but of Mrs. Davis?” He sought to convey a world of meaning into his look, his tone. “Shall I confess the truth?” he said. “ItwasMrs. Davis I expected to find alone here.”

“I will send her to you.” She rose.

“No, no!” He begged her, with a gesture, to be seated again; but she refused to respond. “Be your kind and reasonable self. You misconceive me—indeed you do. I had come to a resolution—it was to see this young woman, and urge upon her, by every motive of decency and consideration, to leave this house, and cease to take advantage of a grotesque situation to persecute and humiliate you.”

She stood looking down at him, still impassive, still inscrutable.

“I should be grateful to you, cousin,” she said; “but I am humiliated in nothing but your thinking me so.”

“At least you are unhappy.”

“O no, indeed!”

“Not? Well, it is true that freedom has its compensations, sweeter by contrast than any rich possession. And morally you are free, cousin.”

“I know I am.”

“Free to choose.”

“I choose freedom.”

“Ah! but with love!”

He caught lightly at her skirt; but she withdrew it sharply from him.

“There is no need to act,” she said, “when there is no audience.”

“Indeed, I am not acting,” he answered.

“I am glad of it,” she said, “because it is a bad play. I prefer you in your part, cousin, of the disinterested friend.”

Then he was stung to a foolish retort.

“Like the Duke of York.”

She started, ever so slightly.

“What about him?”

“Was that the character he came to play when he visited you yesterday in your private apartments?”

To his surprise she answered him with perfect apparent serenity.

“Of course. He merely came to borrow my guitar of me.”

Was she really innocent or dissembling? He believed the latter, and looked at her with some genuine admiration for her subtlety.

“O!” he said, “was that all? And, being in Julia’s chamber, to melt ‘melodious words to lutes of amber,’ I suppose?”

“He played,” she answered. “Indeed, they both played.”

“Both?” He laughed. “So his Highness came accompanied?”

“O yes!” she said. “He would never have come alone.”

“And who was his friend?”

“One of mine.”

“Ah! You will not tell me.”

“Are you not interesting yourself a little too much in my personal affairs?” she said. She held out her hand coldly. “Good-night.”

“Am I to go, then?”

“No, I am. I am really dropping with sleep. Good-night, cousin.”

He got up in a pet.

“I am sorry my company has proved so fatiguing. There was a time when you could endure it with a better grace. But that was before your days of freedom and happiness.” And he strode out of the room, resisting a violent temptation to bang the door.

But her ladyship stood looking after him rather piteously, and with tears sprung suddenly to her eyes.

“I was so sorry, cousin,” she murmured, with a grievous sigh; “but I am afraid you are a bad man.”

And outside, on the gravel under the moonlight, Master George, hurrying away, stopped to grind his vicious teeth.

“Hashe stolen a march on me? Andwhowas the other?”

For, you see, that problem of Kit was again disturbing his mind.

Hamilton, making moodily for his quarters, took a somewhat deserted by-way, which led him shortly under a long covered passage connected with the stables. He had but entered this unlighted tunnel, when, aware of a couple of figures approaching its further end, he backed instinctively into the shadows, prepared, with the amiable humour of his kind, to detect an intrigue or surprise a secret. Therefrom peering, himself unseen, he saw the two, man and woman, stop in the moonlight at the mouth of the archway, where he could very clearly distinguish the identity of one of them, and almost as certainly guess that of the other. His ears pricked to catch their whispered confidences, but he was too far off to distinguish more than an inarticulate giggling murmur.

And then there appeared to occur a little scuffle between the pair, and to the sound of a distinct smack the lady broke away and entered the passage alone. Obviously an attention of her cavalier’s having been promptly acknowledged by her, any further escort on his part had been peremptorily declined. He did not attempt, indeed, to follow, but standing alone in the moonlight a moment, holding his hand to his cheek, suddenly turned tail and vanished.

The hooded lady came on, all unconscious of the watcher, and was nearing the point of emergence when Hamilton stepped across her path and barred her way. She gave a small, irrepressible squeak, and stood stock still.

“Come,” he said; “let us see what little Tib is after her Tom this amorous night.”

She recognized his voice, and let him lead her impassively to near the mouth of the passage, just so as the entering light might fall upon her face. And then he turned back the shrouding wimple, and saw a very rosebud.

“The blush must be hot,” said he, “that shows by moonlight. And now, Mrs. Moll, what have you got to say for yourself?”

She laughed, quite recovered, and backed a step from him.

“Gentlemen first,” said she. “How did you find my lady? Alone, for a guess.”

“I came to find you.”

“Sure?”

“And by God I’ve found you—out!”

“Yes, I’m found out. You wouldn’t have me spend all my time stifling within?”

“You favour moonlit walks, it seems?”

“Why, for precaution’s sake, and to oblige you.”

“I’m doubtful about my obligation to you of late, Mrs. Moll. Who were you walking with?”

“I never asked him his name. I didn’t suppose it would becamel fo.”

“It was my lord Arran, was it not?”

“Was it, now? What an eye you’ve got!”

“And you had met him, I suppose, by appointment?”

“No, it was by the yew-tree.”

“Come, my lady, you’re playing some game of your own in all this, and I want to know what it is. I brought you here for a specific purpose, and I’ve more than an idea that you’re converting the opportunity to a purpose of your own. What is it?”

“What’s what? I was only taking a stroll.”

“How did you make the acquaintance of my lord Arran?”

“O! Is that his name?”

“You know it is.”

“Well, to be sure, many more people know Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows.”

“Doesn’t he know you?”

“He does now, I’m thinking. His cheek will keep him in mind of me for the next hour.”

Had the limb been no more than the victim of a chance gallantry? Hamilton looked at her perplexed. A saintly innocence spoke from her eyes. But, with a vexed laugh, he dismissed the absurdity. And then his brows lifted to a sudden inspiration. He had recalled on the instant some seeming casual words of the Duke of York addressed to himself. They had related to a saraband, and to a certain superlative guitar possessed by Arran’s sister. Now he actually blinked in the dazzling illumination of an idea. Kate, and the guitar, and the royal strummer, and Arran—lured by Moll at the Duke’s instigation—the unconscious procurer of that meeting! There, however ordered, was the connection, the explanation of the visit. He felt as sure of it as if he had himself planned out the process. Why, in the name of intrigue, had he never hit on the trail before? But, now it was found, it led to certain conclusions. With a dog’s smile showing his teeth, he clapped his two hands on the girl’s shoulders, and held her grippingly before him.

“I’ve been thinking,” said he. “You told Lord Chesterfield, and he told me, that you’d been witness of the Duke of York’s visit to his wife. Isn’t that so?”

“Sure,” said Moll, her heart going a little in spite of herself. “I looked and listened through the keyhole.” She confessed it, quite unabashed; nor did Hamilton regard the act as anything but “cricket,” in the modern meaning. Honour, with gentlemen of his kidney, was just a phrase to toss on swordpoints.

“How,” he said, “did you know it was the Duke of York?”

“I heard them say so.”

“You are lying. You pretended to Lord Chesterfield that you did not know who the visitor was, and so you give yourself away.”

“Do I? And a very pretty gift, too, though I say it.”

“Ah! You are quite shameless, I see.”

“Now, what cause have I for shame? Tell me that.”

“What cause? You can ask that!”

“O, I can ask anything.”

“Enough of this equivocating. What did you mean by stating you heardthemsay it was the Duke?”

“Why, I meant it.”

“Who werethey?”

“Just my lady and the other.”

“O, the other! Whowasthe other?”

“Why, the one that wasn’t my lady, of course.”

“Was it Kit?”

“I never said so, you know.”

“What do you say now?”

“I say what I said before.”

“Come; was it man or woman?”

“How should I know? I’m ashamed of you, George.”

His strong fingers quivered with an almost irresistible desire to shake the life out of her. Possibly—for she had a liking for him—he might have won the truth from her even now by a show of tenderness; but his temper, exacerbated by a recent disappointment, had got the better of him, and any further finessing was at the moment beyond his power.

“Very well, my lady,” said he, drawing a deep breath. “I shall know how to deal with a traitor whom I had thought a confederate. I have done my part fairly by you——”

“Wait there,” said the girl, stopping him. She had abundance of spirit, and carried the sharpest little set of claws at the ends of her velvet fingers. “You promised to let the King see me.”

“I promised to let you see the King.”

“O, well! isn’t that the same thing—if he’s got eyes? Anyhow, you haven’t done it.”

“It was to have been the reward of your service to me; and in that, by God! you’ve failed, and I believe failed of purpose. I don’t reward traitors.”

“How have I been a traitor?”

“Don’t you know very well? But perhaps you’ve come to the conclusion that, saving the King, the Duke of York might suit you for second best.”

“George!”

“Don’t ‘George’ me, madam!”

“You’ll make me dangerous.”

“O, I know what you mean! But who’ll believe such a little rogue and liar! And who do you think will get the best of a contest of wits between us? But tell his lordship if you will. I’m at that reckless stage I should welcome a sharp decision with him. For you, you’ve proved yourself a worse than useless partner in the business—earning the man’s aversion instead of his love, and by your hints and antics bringing the pair nearer, through a mutual jealousy, than you found them. But I understood now why it was, and just the value of the scruples you were so nice in expressing. They waited on the highest bidder, didn’t they? and I wish you luck of him now you’ve got him. Upon my soul, Mrs. Davis, you have my sincere respect as one of the artfullest little timeservers that ever knew how to take a profit of circumstance.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“O! of course not. Innocence in a wimple, like a very pansy of the fields.”

“You want me to go, I suppose?”

“Why, your talents, I confess, seem wasted in this dull corner of the palace. There are livelier quarters for their exercise—the Duke of York’s, for instance.”

He took his hands from her shoulders; but their grip might still have imprisoned her, so rigid remained her attitude.

“You won’t let me see the King?” she said.

“Hey-day!” jeered he. “Not short of the very highest will content this country chip. But nothing for nothing, say I.”

She stood quite motionless, conning him—stood for a full minute, without a word. And then she shook her shoulders, and laughed, and held out her hand to him.

“Well, then, good-bye, George,” she said. “I think you’re hard on me; but I bear no malice, and we’ll part friends, won’t we?”

“Advice isn’t dismissal,” said Hamilton; “and you’re not my guest.”

“No, I know,” she answered. “But, truth is, his lordship was equally emphatic about my wanting a change—or perhaps it was himself wanted it; I’m not sure. Well, I’ll take a day to consider of it. You wouldn’t think better of me, I suppose, if in the meantime I were able to put you right about a certain question you’ve been puzzling yourself over?”

“What question, fubbs?” He felt quite kindly to her again, since she had yielded so submissively to his suggestion. The little rogue’s face of her, drawn in silver-point and just touched with pink, looked a sweet spiritual flower in the moonlight.

“O, I mustn’t tell,” she said, “or it would spoil everything.”

“Then how can I answer for my better thoughts?” he protested.

“No, you can’t, of course,” she said. “Only I don’t want us to part enemies.”

“Come,” he said; “kisses are more proof than words.”

But, at that, with a light laugh, she sprang past him, and ran. At twenty yards she turned, blew him a mocking salute, and again turning, disappeared round a corner.

“In truth, a fascinating little devil,” thought Hamilton, with a grim smile, as he continued his way. “It goes to my heart to lose her. But, if anything were needed to prove the justice of my surmises regarding her double-dealing, the equanimity with which she accepted her dismissal should supply it. And yet she loves me well enough to wish to coax my good opinion at the end. How? What is this mystery of mysteries? Poor Moll!”

“Poor Moll” herself had got home meanwhile, and, crouching catlike by an unlatched window, with her eyes peering above the sill to see if the coast were clear, had presently re-entered the house by the way she had emerged from it. Once in, she stood up, shaking her cloak from her shoulders, touched her hair into order with rapid fingers, and exhaled a tragic sigh.

“So,” she whispered, with the tiniest of giggles; “one and one makes two, and two and one makes three. Ifsheasks me to go, I shall begin to think I’m not wanted here any more. Will it come, I wonder?”

It came, in fact, quite punctually, and entirely to her surprise. As, stealing noiselessly across the room, she pushed open the unclosed door, it made her jump to find the Countess herself standing awaiting her spectrally on the threshold. She stopped, fairly staggered, and for the moment had not a word to say.

Her ladyship advancing, Moll fell back before her, and the two stood facing one another in the empty chamber. It was remote and unused, and bare of everything save the entering moonbeams, which gave it an aspect as of its windows being shored up by ghostly buttresses.

“I congratulate you, Mrs. Davis,” said Kate, in the most curiously inward of little voices. “It is apart, and well chosen, and only the merest accident led to my discovery of your use of it. But, having seen you slip out, I could not but watch and wait to welcome you home again.”

Moll rallied her wits for the inevitable combat.

“Sure,” she said, “hasn’t your ladyship ever felt the delight of climbing in by the window when you might enter by the open door?”

“I prefer direct ways to underhand,” was the chilling response.

“Try a stolen kiss before you answer for that,” said Moll.

“Thank you. I leave that sort of thing to you.”

“What do you mean, now, by ‘that sort of thing’? Does a Royal Duke count in it? because ’tis not every time he’s to be found coming in by the open door.”

“Your knowledge of the customs of princes,” said Kate icily, but with a curious little tremble in her voice, “is, of course, very profound; so you will be aware that they can claim privileges denied to others.”

“Is that so, now? Then what call had my lord your husband to get into such a tantrum about it, when I told him that the Duke of York had been paying you a visit?”

Seismographically, as it were, she was conscious of the shock her words produced. Kate shivered, and seemed to stiffen.

“I am not answerable for his lordship’s tantrums, as you call them,” she said in a stifled way, “any more than for his tastes and predilections. If any malicious wretch has chosen to carry slanderous tales to him, and he to listen to them——”

“That was me,” said Moll, “and I’m not going to be abused for just peeping through a keyhole and telling him what I saw behind it. How should I know, in my innocence, that it wasn’t all quite right and proper, and the last thing to make him explode over?”

Her little ladyship seemed to catch her breath over the mere audacity of this self-vindication; and then she answered in volume, though always careful to subdue her voice to the occasion—

“Innocent—you—without heart or conscience! monster of guile and ingratitude! viper on the hearth that has warmed you! Spy and informer that you are, to dare that brazen confession, and in the same breath to pretend to an artless innocence of the fire your vile calumny was intended to blow into a blaze!Youinnocent! You anything but the shameless wanton your every act proclaims you!”

She paused, panting. “Go on,” said Moll, unruffled. “Get it all out and over.”

“It does not move you,” said Kate. “Why should it?—deaf to every appeal of honour and decency. Shame on your woman’s nature, that can so wrong and vilify one of your own sex, whose only fault has been too great a tolerance of the insult and humiliation imposed upon her by your presence.”

Again she stopped, and Mrs. Moll took up the tale, very pink and cool.

“Gingumbobs!” she said. “If I’m so wicked, aren’t you a little giving away your own innocency? If all was so in order in the great gentleman’s visit, why are you so warm about my peeping and telling of it?”

“Because, by making a secret of it you designedly make it appear the very scandal it was not.”

“I made no secret of it, bless you! Why, I’ll go tell everybody about it this very moment, if you like. There now; ain’t I forgiving?”

“Forgiving!” Poor Kate put back a stray curl from her damp forehead. “You dare to throw the burden of compunction upon me! What have I not to forgive, since the day of your arrival—in this room—now?” Desperately she grasped to recover the moral lead, and to elude the charge to which the other wickedly sought to pin her. “Why are you here, I say?” she went on hurriedly. “What is the meaning of these secret exits and entrances? But no need to ask; your insolence betrays you. Did you meet your lover? Did he slip out from the Queen’s presence just to kiss and dally a wanton moment with the fond, inseparable object of his fancy? Could neither of you wait the hour of reunion in the house you insult and pollute by your presence? Poor, severed, unhappy couple, rent apart by the only brief interval which my lord is forced against his will to devote to duty and decency!”

She stopped of her very passion.

“I wouldn’t be sarcastic, if I were you,” said Moll. “It fits you about as well as the Lancashire giant’s breeches would. And ’tis all thrown away; because, if you mean his lordship, I wouldn’t trouble to walk out of one room into another to meet him, much less climb through a window.”

Kate, her bosom still stormy, looked her scornful incredulity. She pointed to the casement.

“Why that way, then?” she said.

“For no reason,” answered the visitor, “except that when a body’s watched and pounced on for her every movement she has to take her own measures to steal a little freedom. The air isn’t so fresh or the company so lively here that one isn’t driven once in a while to play truant. Aye, you may sneer and doubt, madam”—she was waxing a little warm—“but ’tis true, nevertheless, that if I were to spy your precious husband in my walks, I’d go a mile out of my way to avoid him. Lovehim, indeed! I tell you that he fair sickens me. I tell you that if I drew him in a lottery, I’d tear the ticket up under his very nose.”

Indeed, she snapped her fingers viciously, as if rehearsing the act, and then stood with her arms akimbo, breathing defiance.

“Then why,” said her ladyship, with an extremely wrathful hauteur, yet with an instinctive wincing from the pugnacious little claws, “do you persist in this daily offence of imposing your company where it is least admired or desired?”

The naughty girl broke into a laugh, and clapped her hands.

“It’s come,” she cried, “it’s come, as I knew it would!” and her face fell twinklingly grave “So you want me to go?” she said.

“I should have thought,” responded Kate, “it could have been small gratification to you to stay on to contemplate the failure of your designs on a virtue on which you would meanly seek to revenge yourself by pretending to scorn what you have been powerless to corrupt.”

Moll fairly whistled.

“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. “Virtue! Do you mean his? And is that your way of putting it? So it’s sour grapes on my part, is it? But I never said, you know, that I had that effect on him that he has on me.”

“Who would expect you to say it, vain and heartless creature? But, whatever the truth—and I look to only distortion of it from your lips—these clandestine flittings, be their object what or whom they may, can no longer be suffered to impair the reputation of this house. They must either cease or you must go.”

Moll, her lip lifted, brought up her right hand with a slow flourish, and once, twice, thrice, snapped thumb and second finger together with great deliberation.

“Very well, my lady,” said she. “I will go, and leave the reputation of this house inyourkeeping. I have done my little best to purify it during my brief time here; but I am afraid the disease is too deep-seated for anything but a chirurgical operation. Whenyouhave been removed, perhaps, by his royal physicianship of York, the place may have a chance of recovery.”

And she dropped a little insolent curtsy, and without a tremor, her nose exalted, brushed by my lady and stalked out of the room.

At which Kate, having no word to say, nor courage to say it, fell against the wall, with a white face, and had a hard to-do to fight away an inclination to tears.

Mrs. Davis, conscious that her position was no longer a tenable one, and driven to naughty extremities by the three-sided investment which left her no alternative but to retreat—fighting—retired to her chamber to consider the course by which she could best inflict a Parthian stroke on the three enemies who, each from a different motive, were responsible for her coming ejectment. She contemplated nothing very terrible, it is true—only some exaggerated form of mischief in keeping with her little lawless, whimsical nature. She was not a tragic vengeance, and she nursed no very grievous resentment over a treatment which, she was perfectly aware, she had done much to deserve and little to be entitled to deprecate. Shehadtaken advantage of a temptation to play, especially of late, a game of her own rather than that of Hamilton, her employer and confederate; and shehadwasted her opportunities rather on personal enjoyment than in pursuance of any consistent effort to serve that gentleman’s designs. She knew all this, admitted her own shortcomings; and yet, though she had a physical liking for the rascal, she was not going to let him escape scot-free, without any endeavour to retaliate on him for his cool repudiation of her at the eleventh hour. She wished and intended him no great harm; only she felt it a moral obligation on herself to speak the last word in this comedy of misunderstandings. It was worth while to show him that his supposed easy command of women was subject to some little accidents of discomfiture and humiliation where he chose to presume too much in his dealings with the sharp-witted among them. After which she would be quite willing to call quits with him.

Now, Hamilton, for his part, in leaping to a certain conclusion as regarded Moll’s connection with the guitar incident, had shrewdly approximated, but only approximated, the truth. Mrs. Davis, as we know, had had nothing to do with the Duke’s visit; nevertheless the Duke’s visit came to have something to do with Mrs. Davis. His Highness—a singularly close observer, though with a congenital incapacity for profitable reflection—had not failed to take stock of the attractive little figure in the garden, nor to consider to what possible uses he might convert the fact of its offence in the eyes of the lady of whom he was enamoured. He might, for instance, by privately threatening that offence with punishment for its wrong-doing, terrify it into lending itself as an instrument to his own designs. It should be worth trying; only it was necessary first to secure an interview with the person of the offence. There was no difficulty to be foreseen in that, save the one difficulty of eluding scandal in the process; and, indeed, from the lady’s point of view, there was no difficulty at all. For in very truth, from the moment when, listening and peeping at the keyhole, Moll had realized the rank of the Countess’s visitor, that amazing young person had been actually busying her brain with speculations as to her own possible eligibility as a royal favourite, though in the regard of the “second best” only. It had been under the spur of that inspiration, indeed, that, deterred by no false modesty as to her personal qualifications in the way of looks and witcheries, she had appeared, singing, at the window, with the view that questions might be asked about her—a piece of effrontery which, seeing that it was ventured in the very face of the high-born rival to be supplanted, might fairly be considered unsurpassable. But diffidence was never one of Moll’s weaknesses.

So far, then, Master George’s native acumen had led him to within sight of the facts; he had been wrong only in assuming the meeting to be already afait accompli. It was not, so far, and the reason was this. The Duke could not afford to bid directly for the services of a great nobleman’s presumedchère amie: but he could employ an agent; and for this purpose he had selected Arran—as much through his imbecility as through his relationship with the family a convenient instrument—for the task of enticing the quarry into his preserves.

It was easily done, and after all at a minimum expense in tactics. Arran, acting as his Highness’s decoy, and with no thought but to accommodate his master in the sort of jest approved and applauded by the gallants of his day, found no difficulty in getting into communication with Mrs. Davis, or in arranging an accidental meeting with her. Of course, at that, Moll refused utterly to be beguiled offhand into committing herself to the mysterious interview entreated of her; she was pettish, wilful, distracting; she showed a complete obtuseness in realizing the nature of the rank which stood behind the summons; she was wholly childish and adorable, and she ended by chastising the impertinence which her innocent flirtations had seemed meant to provoke.

And all the while she was calculating how best she could invite those second approaches to which she was resolved in her mind to succumb. The issue of that night decided her. The next day she sent a little private note of penitence to Arran, and that same evening saw her closeted with the Duke of York.

There was none other present but the young Earl, retained, possibly, by his Royal Highness for the part of chaperon—a precaution not ill-advised, the Prince may have been disposed to think, when he came to re-view the visible attractions of his visitor. They were such, indeed, that he felt he would have to keep a definite guard on his susceptibilities if he were to come out of the interview unscathed. He would have had no objection in the world to take this sugared bonbon by the way, as a man might crunch a salted almond to add a zest to his wine; only the stake at issue was too instant. The bottle might pass while he was enjoying the appetizer. Wherefore he assumed from the first an air of coldness and restraint. He bowed to the lady, and assigned her a seat with a gesture.

“My lord has informed you,” he said, “of my reason for desiring this meeting?”

Mrs. Davis shook her pretty head. “Not he!”

“O!” said the Duke. “It is explained in a few words. During a recent visit of ceremony I was paying to—how shall I name her—your unofficial hostess, I chanced to hear you singing outside the window of the room in which I was seated.”

“La!” said Moll, with a shrug of her white shoulders; “to think of it! And I never guessed but I was alone.”

She was not in the least overawed by the sacrosanctity of her company; she would have “answered back” to the Pope himself in his own coin of excommunication, or anything else, and certainly not less to a lay son of his, however illustrious. She had no bump of reverence whatever on her little noddle.

“You have a rare voice, Mrs. Davis,” said the Prince. “It is a pity—is it not?—that it should be wasted on discord, when it might be so much more profitably employed in winning you a way to legitimate and decent fame.”

Moll opened her eyes. This, for a beginning, was not at all the sort of thing she had expected.

“What discord, if you please?” said she.

“Tut-tut!” answered his Highness, hardly smiling. “Is not that a very unnecessary question? We have not got eyes for nothing, ears for nothing, intelligence for nothing. If the form of discord need not be specified, it need none the less be understood. I will speak plainly, however, and to this effect. Your position in a certain quarter of Whitehall Palace is not, by whomsoever franked, a desirable one. It constitutes, in short, a scandal to the place, and an insult to one who is forced, against her will, to condone it.”

Moll rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling.

“Why?” she said.

“There is no need, nor desire on my part,” said the Duke coldly, “to go into particulars. It is enough that the situation I have hinted at must terminate.”

And this was all—this the sole reason for which she had been trapped and beguiled into this interview with the great person? It appeared so, and Mrs. Davis had nothing for it but to bear her disappointment and chagrin with what philosophy she could.

And on the whole she bore them amiably. After all, Moll’s philosophy fished in large waters, and if she failed in a catch, she was always ready without complaint to rebait her hook and try again. There is a sort of self-complacency in certain beauties which is too serenely un-selfconscious to be called vanity. It is largely founded, I think, on the flawless digestion which generally goes with physical perfection.

“I suppose she has been putting you up to this,” she said, quite coolly. “I call it mean of her, when she knows perfectly well that she is the scandal, and not me. But, I see what it is; she wants to rid herself of a witness she’s done nothing to make a friendly one; and so, being afraid to tell me downright I must go, she hands over the business to the one——”

His Highness put up his hand with such a grim, authoritative expression that the young lady stopped, though with a rebellious gulp.

“My lord,” said the Duke, very smoothly addressing the Earl, “I think perhaps this interview will not suffer by being confined to the two most interested in it.”

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