“You all know Mrs. Fenton!”
“Why yes, your Worship. God bless her pretty face. We see her come and go daily.”
“Do you also know Mrs. Bishop?”
“Why yes, your Worship. . . . Why not? We see her as often.”
“Where is her lodging?”
“Turn up the corner, your Honour. Trenton Street, forty-five.”
The Duke walked briskly off—Lord Baltimore hesitating an instant, then followed him. The lady in a wrapper and cap that had seen more coquettish days herself opened the door and received the salutations of the gentlemen with the utmost astonishment.
“You see me very unprepared for company, my Lords,” says she curtseying and holding the door so as to bar entrance. “What’s your pleasure?”
“A word with you, Madam,” replies the Duke sternly. “We will follow you to your room if you will be so obliging as lead the way.”
She hung on her foot a moment as if demurring, and glanced doubtfully at Baltimore. His face was a shut door, and seeing no help, she turned and preceded them.