"The Park is still gay with Ladies and Gallants. 'Tis strange at this late hour. But a Minstrel is discoursing sweet Music somewhere in the distance. Mayhap people have assembled in order to listen to him."
And, as if to confirm my Supposition, a merry peal of laughter came ringing right across the Park, and we heard as it were the hum and murmur of Pedestrians moving about. And through it all the echo of the amorous Ditty still lingering upon the evening air:
"For you are Love—and I am yours!"
"Close that window, John," Mr. Betterton said, with an impatient little sigh. "I am in no mood for sentimental Ballads."
I did as he desired, and whilst in the act of closing the Window, I said guardedly:
"I caught sight of my Lord Stour just now, pacing the open Ground just beneath this Window. He appeared moody and solitary, and was wrapped from head to foot in a big Mantle, as if he wished to avoid Recognition."
"I too am moody and solitary, good Honeywood," was Mr. Betterton's sole comment on my remark. Then he added, with a slight shiver of his whole body: "I prithee, see to the Fire. I am perished with the cold."
I went up to the Hearth and kicked the dying embers into a Blaze; then found some logs and threw them on the Fire.
"The evening is warm, Sir," I said; "and you complained of the Heat awhile ago."
"Yes," he rejoined wearily. "My head is on fire and my Spine feels like ice."