“Yes, madam—cousin on my mother’s side. My mother married for the second time into the Cookson family, and they thought a good deal of themselves, through Cookson having been butler to a vicar; but they really wasn’t so much after all——”
“You will accompany me to the rendezvous on the London road to-night, Williams. You will hire a fly, and when we get within sight of the coach, the fly shall turn down one of the lanes, so as to excite no suspicion. We shall get out and conceal ourselves among the bushes at the roadside until the chair with my lady is brought up. I think that we shall probably surprise them, Williams.”
The maid simpered.
“And I shall wear the travelling-cloak that is quilted with the pink satin. The chaise lamps will doubtless be lighted, and I have no desire to look like a guy.”
“I vow ’twill be quite an adventure, madam!” said the woman, simpering very agreeably.
“You will see that nothing miscarries, my good Williams,” said the actress. “The most romantic adventures have been known to break down before now through so foolish a thing as a lame horse.”
“You may trust to me, madam,” said the maid.
When she was alone, Mrs. Abington stood in the centre of the room, with a smile that was not a smile on her face.
“A compact—a compact!” she muttered. “He fancied that I should be blinded by his fidelity. Oh, his fidelity was touching—ay, up to that last cheery ‘good-bye’ that he said at that door before going home to complete the packing of his trunk. By the lud! if ’twere not for the humiliation, I could e’en bring myself to let the pair of them run away together and make fools of themselves. But I will show them that I am not one to be hoodwinked.”