“Asking your pardon,” murmurs Her Ladyship to her companions as she quits the table. When, as she opens, a new-caught street urchin speaks sharp, with saucer eyes in-peering at the quality.
“An it please yer Lordships, there’s a fine gentlemen below as his name is Sir Robin McTart.”
Peggy draws in, bangs the door in the boy’s face, squares about, and says:
“By your leave, gentlemen, a most particular messenger awaits me below; for a few moments only, I crave your indulgence for my absence. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”
“No! no! no!” cry they all, save De Bohun, who is counting his cards, and Sir Wyatt who exclaims:
“Yes, an it be a messenger on business for a fair lady; no, an it be otherwise. Gadzooks! Sir Robin, make a half-clean breast of it. Comes Mercury from Phyllis or from a mere man?”
Peg answers: “I swear to you, Sirs, I go down on business of the gravest import to a lady,” and makes for the door.
“Pledge her! Pledge her! a bumper! a bumper!” cry they all in one voice with much pleasant laughter.
“Here’s to Sir Robin’s nameless fair! Zounds! but for so little yeared a personage to have two strings to his bow!”