“Why, I was thinking ’twouldn’t be a bad token for me to keep about me, lest I should be meeting some sorrowful young creature that wanted comforting on a parade——”
“Oh, my Lord, don’t mock me.”
She twitched it from his hand and began to tear it into a hundred shreds. Then, between laughing and crying, she gathered in her turn a little note from her bosom.
“’Tis you that are generous, ’tis you that are forgiving, my Lord. How could I keep up petty malice, Mr. Stafford when my Denis had treated me so gallant? This letter,” cried Kitty, kissing it, “shall be my treasure till I die.”
CHAPTER XV
In which the Mad Brat takes the Bit between
Her Teeth, but Miss Pamela Pounce Keeps Hold
of the Reins
The first stage between Weymouth and London brought Miss Pamela Pounce to Blandford where she intended to pass the night. She had spent an agreeable and lucrative week at Weymouth, whither the presence of Royalty had brought a host of fashionables, and where it had been easy for her to dispose of all the modish hats and heads, caps and toques which she had selected to tempt holiday appetites.
With a light conscience and heavy pockets, therefore, Pamela was setting off for London in finest spirits. She had brought more than her usual zest to this journey who always enjoyed travelling to the full; the movement, the change of scene, the bustle at arrival and departure, the choice of the night’s lodging, the chance adventure, the shifting company, all stimulated, interested, delighted her. She could take care of herself, and had no fear, either of the rare highwayman, or of the intrusive gallant.
The “Rover” deposited its burden with a fine flourish of horn and whip and clatter of hoofs, tick on time, in the cobbled courtyard of the Crown Inn at Blandford.
Six of the clock had just been huskily beaten out behind the great white dial that surmounted the celebrated stables. The jolly coachman turned half round in his seat, and winked at the gentleman in the many-caped roquelaure who had entertained him with such racy gossip for five hours that day, and who had not failed moreover, to season their conversation with a brimmer at every halting place.