She had plenty of time to reach the trysting place, but to walk slowly was impossible. Her nerves were in too much of a quiver. It hardly wanted a half hour of seven o'clock when she entered upon the path, leading from St. James's Palace to the pond.
Vane was not less desirous of being punctual than Lavinia, and he had indeed arrived at Rosamond's Pond some five minutes before her. While he was impatiently pacing by the side of the water and anxiously looking along the path by which he expected she would come, a lady whose dress was in the height of the mode and masked approached him. In those days a mask did not necessarily imply mystery. A mask was worn to serve as a veil and a woman with her features thus hidden did not excite more attention than that of mere curiosity. Vane had noticed her turning her face towards him as she passed, but thought nothing of it.
Suddenly she stopped, stepped back a pace and whispered softly:—
"Mr. Vane, is it not?"
"That is my name, madam."
"Ah, I hoped I was not mistaken. You don't remember me?"
"I beg your forgiveness if I say I do not."
"Nor a certain night not long ago when you were flying from a ruffianly mob and you sought the shelter of my house? But may be you've a short memory. Mine isn't so fleeting. Men's kisses are lightly bestowed. Women are different. I shall never forget the tender touch of your lips."
She sighed, lifted her mask for a moment and replaced it. To Vane's infinite confusion he recognised Sally Salisbury.
"Madam," he faltered, "I—I venture to suggest that you're under a misapprehension. It was not I who kissed."