“No, a woman.”
“A man, I say. He’s here.”
“And so is she here.”
“She? I tell you, no! What cursed coil is this? And you thought him me, you say? Why—answer that.”
“He wore the scarf in his hat the secret letter spoke of.”
“The secret letter? What! you have received one too?”
“I have received one.” In a sudden thought she whipped round on Hamilton. “And you, also, cousin, judging by your token.”
“Cousin!” roared Chesterfield. “What, you too, George!” For, seeing further disguise useless, that gentleman had also discovered himself. “Damme! am I to fight you all?” He stamped with fury. “Who and what is at the bottom of this juggling?”
“Why, Kit,” said Hamilton coolly—he guessed pretty well the truth, and was only mad with himself for having walked so tamely into the trap—“whoever Kit may be. I had the letter, sure enough, and acted on it. ’Twas the green bow, nothing else, for which I went. How could I know your wife behind it?”
“Why, not at all,” quoth my lady, “by what you said to her. I think, cousin, you were the most mistaken of us all.”