“Lud!” cries Her Ladyship, “his new horse’s hoofs! I’ve learned the ring of ’em as well as I once knew that of the poor long roan.” Peggy sighs; she has heard much during her convalescence by way of Mr. Grigson and the Abigail.
“Go you down, Chock, and, after a suitable period of waiting,—I mean such decent few minutes,” cries she after the girl, “as may be occupied in dutiful greetings to Dad and Her Ladyship, you may send Sir Percy up to see me.”
She hears his voice in the hall greeting her father and mother; she glances over at the mirror, and, snatching her pocket-napkin from her bag, Peggy tips it to the top of the essence-bottle and rubs the red from her cheeks; she flings the fan down, draws in her splendid train to a crumpled heap about her, gives the hoop as smart a thrust as her feeble strength will permit, hears a footstep, and promptly buries her shamed face in the cushions of the divan.
She does not answer the light rap on the half-open door, nor does her lover wait; he enters, and in a second, kneeling at her feet, his two arms about her, he raises her sweet face and lays his yearning lips on Her Ladyship’s own beautiful mouth.
“Ah, Peggy, my adored one,” says he, devouring her pale face with his happy eyes, stroking her cropped head with caressing fingers.
“Oh, Percy!” says she, with real roses blooming in her cheeks.
“I know a deal,” whispers he, “but one thing I must ask. You’ll tell me at once, will you?”
“What is’t?” says she, smiling, as she leaves her two hands in the hold of one of his.
“Why did you adventure so much? for what, for whom, whose sake? Wherefore?” The young man’s voice is feverish with anxiety.