Hark! Yes, her footstep on the stair, the swish of female garments, a halt at the door. Sir Robin minced the length of the room and, reaching the entrance, found himself face to face with Chockey!
“Your mistress, bud, your mistress! Here!” thriftily pressing a shilling into Chock’s palm. “Go tell her I am consumed with impatience, and eaten up with desire for a glimpse of Her Ladyship’s form, and figure, and face. Go! Go!”
But Chockey does not budge.
“What ails the wench? Deaf?” cries Sir Robin, pinching her arm, for which he gets back a smart slap on his cheek.
“Tut! tut! What manners is that, and you handsome enough to kiss,” adds the little Baronet diplomatically. “Come now, off and implore Lady Peggy to hasten.”
“Her Ladyship’s from home,” finally Chockey says.
“What! Not at Kennaston?” Sir Robin’s sharp eye can not help peering regretfully at the shilling Chockey twirls in her fingers.
“In Kent, doubtless, a-visiting her godmother, and a-hoping to see me there! eh, in Kent?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” replies the girl with a hint of tears in her voice.
“Don’t know! What do you mean?” exclaims Sir Robin suspiciously.