"I was nettled," said Mr. B., "at this warm retort, and drew aside my mask: 'Nor would any man, who wore not a mask, tell me so!'
"He took not the challenge, and slid from me, and I saw him no more that night."
"So!" thought I, "another instance this might have been of the glorious consequences of masquerading." O my lady, these masquerades are abominable things!
The King, they said, met with a free speaker that night: in truth, I was not very sorry for it; for if monarchs will lay aside their sovereign distinctions, and mingle thus in masquerade with the worst as well as the highest (I cannot say best) of their subjects, let 'em take the consequence. Perhaps they might have a chance to hear more truth here than in their palaces—the only good that possibly can accrue from them—that is to say, if they made a good use of it when they heard it. For you see, my monarch, though he told the truth, as it happened, received the hint with more resentment than thankfulness!—So, 'tis too likely did the monarch of us both.
And now, my lady, you need not doubt, that so polite a gentleman would find an opportunity to return the Nun her handkerchief!—To be sure he would: for what man of honour would rob a lady of any part of her apparel? And should he, that wanted to steal a heart content himself with a handkerchief?—No no, that was not to be expected. So, what does he do, but resolve, the very next day, after dinner, to pursue this affair: accordingly, the poor Quaker little thinking of the matter, away goes her naughty Spaniard, to find out his Nun at her grate, or in her parlour rather.
He asks for the Countess. Is admitted into the outward parlour—her woman comes down; requires his name and business. His name he mentioned not. His business was, to restore into her lady's own hands, something she had dropt the night before.—Was desired to wait.
I should have said, that he was dressed very richly—having no design at all to make conquests; no, not he!—O this wicked love of intrigue!—A kind of olive-coloured velvet, and fine brocaded waistcoat. I said, when he took leave of me, "You're a charming Mr. B.," and saluted him, more pressingly than he returned it; but little did I think, when I plaited so smooth his rich laced ruffles, and bosom, where he was going, or what he had in his plotting heart. He went in his own chariot, that he did: so that he had no design to conceal who he was—But intrigue, a new conquest, vanity, pride!—O these men!—They had need talk of ladies!—But it is half our own fault, indeed it is, to encourage their vanity.
Well, Madam, he waited till his stateliness was moved to send up again, that he would wait on her ladyship some other time. So down she came, dressed most richly, jewels in her breast, and in her hair, and ears—But with a very reserved and stately air. He approached her—Methinks I see him, dear saucy gentleman. You know, Madam, what a noble manner of address he has.
He took the handkerchief from his bosom with an air; and kissing it, presented it to her, saying, "This happy estray, thus restored, begs leave, by me, to acknowledge its lovely owner!"
"What mean you, Sir?—Who are you, Sir?—What mean you?"