But soon, her mood now rushing into sprightliness, she stamped, and with an active alacrity of eye, sang:
“Will you come to the wedding?
Will you come?
Bring your own bread-and-butter,
And your own tea-and-sugar,
And we'll all pay a penny for the Rum,
Rum, Rum,
We'll all pay a penny for the Rum”.
The Regent had risen, while Frankl, calm now in reaction, gazed sweetly upon his face: the vengeance of a Jew—nor was he half done with vengeance. Certainly, Hogarth was pale: he had sought her long, and found her so. “Why it is my own heart”, he thought, “and they have made her mad”.
One moment a stab of shame pierced him at the reflection: “Here!” but in the next his heart yearned upon her, and he rose nimbly and naturally far beyond Lord Mayor and Prince, and the rut of the world. After a perfectly deliberate bow, he left his place, and walked down the length of the hall to her, amid the gaping gods, Loveday, too, and three others, when he was half-way, following.
He had her hand, touched her temple lightly, yet compellingly, healingly....
“Dear, don't you know me?—Richard?—Dick?”
No, but at sight of Loveday some kind of recognition seemed to light, and die, in her eyes.
“Will you come, dear, and sit up yonder with me?” Hogarth asked, his face a mask of emotion.
Wearily she shook her head; and “John”, said Hogarth, “take her home”; whereupon Loveday led her out, the Regent returning to the canopy.
Half an hour later he found it à propos of something to say to the Prince: “That lady who sang is my sister, Your Royal Highness—seems to have been subjected to gross cruelties, and has gone crazy”.