"Yes, yes," once more interposed the mealy-mouthed Mr. Baggs. "I pray you, my Lords—your Ladyship—to come to my inner office——"
There was a general movement amongst the Company, during which I distinctly heard Lord Douglas Wychwoode whisper to my Lord Stour:
"Can you wonder that I always long to lay a stick across that Man's shoulders? His every word sounds like insolence ... And he has dared to make love to Barbara...."
Her Ladyship, however, seemed loth to linger. The hour, of a truth, was getting late.
"Father will be anxious," she said. "I have stayed out over long."
"Are the streets safe, I wonder?" my Lord Stour remarked.
"Perfectly," broke in Mr. Betterton. "And if her Ladyship will allow me, I will conduct her to her Chair."
Again my Lord Stour flashed out angrily, and once more the brooding Quarrel threatened to burst the bounds of conventional Intercourse. This time the Lady Barbara herself interposed.
"I pray you, my good Lord," she said, "do not interfere. Mr. Betterton and I are old Friends. By your leave, he shall conduct me to my chair. Do we not owe it to him," she added gaily, "that the streets are quiet enough to enable us all to get home in peace?"
Then she turned to Mr. Betterton and said gently: