“No _guet-apens_, but the grass, sir,” said he, “must explain my soft approach. This lady speaks truth. You are mistaken in her.” Chesterfield’s eyes glared red through his vizard holes. He sneered horribly. “If I were mistaken before, sir,” said he, “judge what I may be now.” Then he turned with a whirl on the other. “Is this the way you hope to convince me against your shameless perfidy? But you are betrayed, madam, as much in your purposed visit here as in the object of your wanton escapade. Will you still pretend you do not know your husband?” “Indeed,” she said, “I know him very well.” He uttered an oath. “Then you know his way with villains”--and, white with passion, he whipped out his sword. They were all standing apart, screened by shrubs from the general view. For the first time the lady showed some trepidation. She moved hurriedly to interpose herself. “For shame! Put it up,” she said. “I tell you again you are mistaken.” “And you may say it a hundred times,” he cried, “and I shall not believe you.” “Sir,” said Hamilton frigidly, “I too wear a sword, though I have not drawn it.” “You shall not lack the need,” cried the other. But he left him for the moment, and, addressing the lady, stamped with fury. “You dare to face me with that lie, and the very witness to it standing here to refute you! But there’s a way to settle it. Take off your vizard.” “I’ll not.” “Ah! Take it off, I say.” “Never, while I live!” “Then, by God, I’ll do it for you!” He actually meant it; she retreated before him. “Kit!” she cried, “will you see me so insulted?” Now, at that, my lord stopped dead, mowing and grinning like an ape. “So convict out of your own mouth,” he cried, “will you dare to deny longer?” And then he turned his fury on the other. “Liar and betrayer, whatever your cursed identity, this point shall penetrate it. Look to yourself!” Hamilton was ready, the swords tinkled, the lady screamed. “There she goes again--the green favour! Look! Is it for her you have mistaken me? Wretch, hold your wicked hand!” As by one consent, the two belligerents lowered their points. The figure, which had once before revealed itself hurrying past, was again come into view, walking this time with a gentleman, about whose hat was wound a scarf of green sarcenet. Hamilton gaped, a surprised grin on his face. Already somewhat confounded by his cousin’s appeal to him, this suggestion of a further entanglement seemed fairly to take his breath away. Was the coincidence accidental or deliberate? And, if the latter, what the mischief was at the bottom of it all? He might have thought “who,” rather, but that was superfluous. There could be only one. Anyhow, being in for it, he would make the best he could of circumstance. For the rest, he was rather tickled with the hussy’s impudent daring, and curious to see how her plot worked out. Where was she herself? he wondered. Somewhere watching the game, no doubt.