They rejoined the others; but Vane turned his back on Pomander, and would not look at him.
“Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Woffington gayly; for she scorned to admit the fine gentleman to the rank of a permanent enemy, “you will be of our party, I trust, at dinner?”
“Why, no, madam; I fear I cannot give myself that pleasure to-day.” Sir Charles did not choose to swell the triumph. “Mr. Vane, good day!” said he, rather dryly. “Mr. Triplet—madam—your most obedient!” and, self-possessed at top, but at bottom crestfallen, he bowed himself away.
Sir Charles, however, on descending the stair and gaining the street, caught sight of a horseman, riding uncertainly about, and making his horse curvet, to attract attention.
He soon recognized one of his own horses, and upon it the servant he had left behind to dog that poor innocent country lady. The servant sprang off his horse and touched his hat. He informed his master that he had kept with the carriage until ten o'clock this morning, when he had ridden away from it at Barnet, having duly pumped the servants as opportunity offered.
“Who is she?” cried Sir Charles.
“Wife of a Cheshire squire, Sir Charles,” was the reply.
“His name? Whither goes she in town?”
“Her name is Mrs. Vane, Sir Charles. She is going to her husband.”
“Curious!” cried Sir Charles. “I wish she had no husband. No! I wish she came from Shropshire,” and he chuckled at the notion.