"Where's Satin Lodge?" lisped Mr. Fitz-Snooks.
"It is a country-house on the—the Richmond road," said Titmouse, with a little hesitation; and just then the return of Gammon, who had resumed his usual calmness of manner, relieved him from his embarrassment. Mr. Gammon had succeeded in effecting the arrangement suggested by Mr. Quirk and his daughter; and within about a quarter of an hour afterwards, behold the ex-sheriff's resplendent but cast-off carriage filled by Miss Quirk and Titmouse, and Mr. Quirk and Gammon—the groom and valet sitting on the coach-box; while in the other, a plain yellow carriage, covered with luggage, sat Mr. Yahoo, Mr. Fitz-Snooks, and Mr. Snap, all of them with lighted cigars—Snap never having been so happy in all his life as at that moment.
Mr. Titmouse had laid aside his cigar in compliment to Miss Quirk; who wore a long black veil, and an elegant light shawl, and looked uncommonly like a young bride setting off—oh, heavens!—thought she—that it had been so!—on her wedding excursion. Mr. Gammon slouched his hat over his eyes, and inclined his head downwards, almost collapsed with vexation and disgust, as he observed the grins and tittering of the group of spectators gathered round the carriage and doorway; but Titmouse, who was most splendidly dressed, took off his hat on sitting down, and bowed several times to—as he supposed—the admiring crowd.
"Get on, boys!" growled Mr. Gammon; and away they rattled, exciting equal surprise and applause whereever they went. Whoever had met them, must have taken Titmouse and Miss Quirk for a newly-married couple—probably the son or daughter of one of the sheriffs who had lent the state carriage to add éclat to the interesting occasion!
With the exception of the sensation produced at every place where they changed horses, the only incident during their journey worth noticing, occurred at the third stage from London. As they came dashing up to the door of the inn, their advent setting all the bells of the establishment ringing, and waiters and hostlers scampering up to them like mad, they beheld a plain and laden dusty travelling-carriage, waiting for horses—and Gammon quickly perceived it to be the carriage of the unfortunate Aubreys! The travellers had alighted. The graceful figure of Miss Aubrey, her face pale, and wearing an expression of manifest anxiety and fatigue, was standing near the door, talking kindly to a beggar-woman, with a cluster of half-naked children around her; while little Aubrey was romping about with Miss Aubrey's beautiful little spaniel Cato; Agnes looking on and laughing merrily, and trying to escape from the hand of her attendant. Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey were talking together, close beside the carriage-door. Gammon observed all this, and particularly that Mr. Aubrey was scrutinizing their appearance, with a sort of half-smile on his countenance, melancholy as it was.
"Horses on!" said Gammon, leaning back in the carriage.
"That's a monstrous fine woman standing at the inn door, Titmouse—eh?" exclaimed Mr. Yahoo, who had alighted for a moment, and stood beside the door of Titmouse's carriage, his execrable eye settled upon Miss Aubrey. "I wonder who and what she is? By Jove, 'tis the face—the figure of an angel! egad, they're somebody; I'll look at their panels!"
"I know who it is," said Titmouse, rather faintly; "I'll tell you by-and-by."
"Now, now! my dear fellow. Our divinity is vanishing," whispered Mr. Yahoo, eagerly, as Miss Aubrey, having slipped something into the beggar's hand, stepped into the carriage. As soon as her brother had entered, the door was closed, and they drove off.
"Who's that, Mr. Titmouse?" inquired Miss Quirk, with a little eagerness, observing—women are very quick in detecting such matters—that both Gammon and Titmouse looked rather embarrassed.