"But that doesn't explain," Sophia said keenly, "why you guessed that I saw him at Lane's shop?"
"Oh," Lady Betty answered, wincing a little. "To be sure, no, it doesn't. But he's--he's just Lane's son. There, now you know it!"
"Mr. Fanshaw?"
Lady Betty nodded, a little shamefacedly. "'Tis so," she said. "For the name, it's his vanity. He's the vainest creature, he thinks every lady is in love with him. Never was such sport as to lead him on. I am sure I thought I should have died of laughing before you came in and frightened me out of my wits!"
Sophia looked at her gravely. "I am sure of something else," she said.
"Now you are going to preach!" Lady Betty cried; and tried to stop her mouth.
"No, I am not, but you gave me a promise, in my room in Arlington Street, Betty. That you would have nothing more to do with the writer of that note."
Lady Betty sat down on the bed and looked piteously at her companion. "Oh, I didn't, did I?" she said; and at last she seemed to be really troubled. "I didn't, did I? 'Twas only that I would not correspond with him. I protest it was only that. And I have not. I've not, indeed," she protested. "But when I found him under the window, and heard that he was Mohocking about the country in that monstrous cloak and hat, for all the world like the Beggar's Opera on horseback, and all for the love of me, it was not in flesh and blood not to divert oneself with him! He's such a creature! You've no notion what a creature it is!"
"I've this notion," Sophia answered seriously. "If you did not promise, you will promise. What is more, I shall send for him, and I shall tell him, in your presence, that this ridiculous pursuit must cease."
"But if he will not?" Lady Betty asked, with an arch look. "I am supposed--to have charms, you know?"