There was six of 'em, all looking pretty sheepish; and one, as I discerned in the dim light, was a lady.
"Lord!" says I, "five of you, and the coachman to be frightened by four scurvy cut-throats!"
"Why, sir," says the man that had just spoke, who wore a heavy paunch, "an you had been here I warrant you could ha' done nothing. The ruffians wore black masks and swore abominably. For my part, all I can say is that there was the cracking of whips and a pistol through each window ere I was out of the lady's lap, where, being asleep, the jolt had thrown me."
"The exchange was effected, I assure you," put in the old man suavely, "with less noise than if it had been a Sabbath sermon, save for the protestations of my friends here."
"Protestations!" says the lady, breaking her silence, and in an voice rough with anger. "There were tears enough to have touched a heart of stone, and less resistance than a barndoor fowl's. A fine company for escort, forsooth!"
I shot another look at her—for a woman, specially if she be beautiful, tickles my fancy—and, sure enough, I could perceive even in that light she wore an air of quality. But I put her aside a moment, and says I to the man with the paunch: "What have you lost?" says I.
"Sir," says he, "I am a goldsmith, the which trade hath in these days sunk so low that—"
But here Belinda intervened on him very sharp. "For heaven's sake," says she impatiently, "spare us the repetition of your circumstances; and since," she added with a sneer, "this gentleman is so good as to promise you assistance, specify your guineas and be done."
"There were a hundred guineas in my bag," said the goldsmith humbly.
But at that, and it may be because of the hint in the lady's words about me, there came another voice from t'other side.