[CHAPTER XVII.]
It was the afternoon of a bright summer day, and a grand tilting match had been held on a piece of ground adjoining the park at St. James's. All the world of the Capital had been admitted to the sight, and as two or three foreign princes, amongst whom was the King of Denmark, were present on the occasion, numbers of the grave citizens had left their shops and counting-houses in London, and travelled to Westminster to look on during the royal sports.
As soon as the games were over, the crowds dispersed; and, while some sauntered through those parts of the park which were open to the public, others hurried home to resume their more important affairs; and in every thoroughfare, leading from Westminster to different parts of the city, groups of men and women, in holiday attire, were seen hastening on, some laughing and talking over the events of the morning,--some with busy faces evidently considering the business they were about to resume.
Amongst the rest, appeared a man of a very showy exterior, richly clothed, and distinguished by a light and tripping step, though he was far past even the middle age. He had a boy behind him carrying his sword; his mustachio and hair, which, if one might judge by the shrivelled state of his skin, and the long wrinkles round his eyes, ought to have been grey some twenty years before, were now of a very peculiar cast of black; and though his legs were thin as well as long, his chest seemed full and powerful, owing, perhaps, the appearance of swelling muscle which it displayed to a process as foreign to that of nature, as the method he had employed to restore the swarthiness of his hair.
While he was hurrying down the Strand--then a wide open road, flanked on one side by the houses and gardens of the nobility--amidst a cloud of dust which the manifold feet were raising from the dry and unwatered ground, a young man, carrying in his hand a large fan and an essence bottle, singled him out from the other persons who were proceeding in the same direction, and pulled him gently by the cloak. The man started and turned round, asking what the stranger wanted, with a foreign accent, which by practised ears might have been detected as assumed rather than natural.
"My mistress wishes to speak to you, sir," said the servant, "and will thank you to step across the road to her."
"I am at her devotion," replied the person addressed, laying his hand upon his heart; "which is your mistress, my friend?"
"That lady, sir, in the black mantle and mask," answered the serving man; "she is waiting for you, you see, at the corner of the lane."
Now, the lady whom the man pointed out was of a very rotund make, and though her dress was rich enough, yet there was a sad lack of grace in the wearing of it. There were also several indescribable indications, which clearly informed the beholder that she had passed what is called the prime of life. Nevertheless, the smart gentleman, whom we have described, seemed to value her attention fully as much as if she had been the youngest and most graceful of the realm, and, with the same dancing-master-like step with which he had been walking homeward, he crossed the road at her invitation, and made her a profound bow.
"Come with me, come with me," said the masked lady; "I have a turn for your hand which may be worth your while."