Her Ladyship, taking this for a question, answers thus, with emphasis: “Yes, she’s here—indeed.”
“I have seen her,” sighs the little Baronet, leaning his head, just exactly the height of Her Ladyship’s own, down on Peggy’s shoulder in an excess of sensibility.
“Have you?” exclaims she, not daring to stir in the embarrassment of believing it possible that the scoundrel has discovered her identity.
“Oh, yes,” sighs Sir Robin, “I have received a pressure, nay two of ’em, from her hand. I’ve kissed her fingers; I await her return to meet me at the wooden lion yonder.”
“Do you?” says Lady Peggy, mystified beyond everything. “Did she look as you expected her to?”
“Ah!” gasps Sir Robin, “she has not yet lifted her mask for me to behold her countenance, but when she returns, I shall beseech her for one glimpse!”
“Ah!” returns Peggy, now fully persuaded that some one has been making a jest of her companion, but none the less disquieted on her own score.
“Hark ye, Sir Robin,” says she, “you have ever found my counsels wise. Be advised by me now; leave Vauxhall at once. Lady Peggy Burgoyne is not safe, so long as you tarry here.”
The little Baronet, doughtily, although trembling, puts his hand to his hilt.
“Nay, Sir!” continues Peg, “your weapon would not avail for her preservation. She leaves town this very night for Kennaston. Do you the same, nor risk detection longer here.” Her Ladyship uses the word advisedly, and has the satisfaction of seeing Sir Robin shiver with terror, then steady again as he reflects that Her Ladyship’s fears can but be in connection with her own escapade; since, ’tis plain from all he can spy and eavesdrop, not a soul as yet has missed Sir Percy de Bohun from his accustomed haunts.