And while Diana gazed upon his sharp face with wonder and disfavour, Ratcliffe hailed Rockhurst once more: “Therefore, I say, good Master Harry, pray you bid them call up our horses.”
Young Rockhurst protested. But Diana, to Ratcliffe’s surprise and greatly to his satisfaction, instantly backed the request:—
“Indeed, Lionel is right; our presence is out of place at this meeting.”
“Nay,” implored Harry, and ran headlong down into the Peacock Walk again to catch her hand, “for pity’s sake … no and indeed no, madam.”
The lady disengaged herself, settled her roses, gathered her gloves and whip from the bench and looped her riding skirts. Then she turned, and, smiling, courtesied:—
“Indeed and indeed, yes, sir! And since farewell it must be, why, then, farewell!”
She wafted a kiss from her roses toward him.
“Ah, no!” he implored, still endeavouring to arrest her.
“’Slife!” cried Lionel, impatiently looking up. “There rises the flag … there flies the noble blazon! Let it be the signal for us. Come Di—go, hurry the horses, Ned!” he shouted to Hare, who, astride on the upper balustrade, sat gaping down at them. “Blessings upon the Rakehell,” he muttered to himself, as Diana motioned Harry on one side with decisive gesture.