“I decline to discuss the matter, Sir, and would remind you that report hath your attentions engaged in quite another direction.”
“You know where Lady Peggy Burgoyne is at this moment?” says Sir Percy hotly, determined to push his matter to its ending this very night, and almost crazed by his passion and its balking.
“That I do, Sir,” returns Her Ladyship with a covert smile.
“Tell me, or I’ll brain you where you stand.” Percy makes an ugly lunge at his opponent with his fist, but merely as a threat.
“That will I not,” says she firmly.
What might have further ensued is, at this crisis, put out of the question by the entrance of Kennaston, who, espying Percy the first, cries out joyfully:
“Percy, Percy, Lady Diana hath given me leave to tell you she consents—”
“Tush, Sir!” interrupts Percy, jerking his head toward the other occupant of the room. “Sir Robin McTart and I have come near to blows, and must fight of a surety, on the subject of your sister, Sir; and ’tis for you to know without more delay that Lady Peggy is up in London, unknown to her parents; that Sir Robin hath her whereabouts and absolutely refuses to reveal the same.” Percy crosses the room, strikes a tinder and lights the candles on the mantel-shelf.
“You are cursedly badly mistook, gentlemen, both of you,” says Kennaston, quietly enough. “I’ve got a letter which I found upon my table this very night, just come from my sister at Kennaston,” with which her twin pulls My Lady’s most ill-spelled and crumpled missive from his pocket and holds it up before the four astonished eyes that are staring at it.
Peggy in amaze recognizes the letter she had written to her brother the day long since in the buttery, and which she had taken up to town in her reticule and must have dropped when she had paid her ill-starred visit to Kennaston’s chambers in Lark Lane.