“I never did--there, never!” she said aloud, and instantly looked up with a start. A masked lady, with a green bow at her bosom, had come silently, it seemed, from the direction of the bower, and was standing regarding her with stony eyes. This was poor Kate, indeed, whom accident had precipitated upon the same refuge. Moll, after that first little shock, continued her preening unperturbed. “You fair took my breath away,” she said, “coming on me that fashion like a ghost.” Kate’s head was bent forward; her dove-like eyes glared. “Who are you?” she said, scarce audibly. “How dare you thrust yourself upon me like this?” “Highty-tighty!” said Moll, still comfortably busy. “I might ask that of you.” “Of me!” cried Kate desperately. “I think I hardly know myself”--for indeed the other had taken pains to duplicate her in many particulars, both dress and voice. “What are you doing here? But I understand the cunning infamy of it all at last. It was to throw dust in the eyes of scandal by feigning ’twas his own wife he came to meet.” “He? Who?” said Moll, readjusting her breast knot. “Do not you well know, false creature? But you are betrayed through that very token in your bosom you used to further your wicked designs.” “What!” says saucebox: “mayn’t I wear a green bow if it suits my complexion?” “Lies and duplicity,” cries the other, “are your complexion. It suits them very well.” “Green stands for ‘forsaken,’” says the vixen. “Is that why you wear one yourself?” It was a stab that made the poor lady wince. Her face went from pink to white. “Cruel and inhuman!” she gasped. “Come, call fair, my lady,” said Moll, in some heat. “If he’s been and mistaken you for me, _whoever he is_--and I take it that’s the truth--you’ve only got what you asked for. Look through the keyhole, you know, and you’ll get a sore eye.” Her white teeth showed a moment under the hem of her vizard. With a dart, her ladyship was upon her. “I will see it--that face”--she could hardly articulate in her passion--“abandoned wretch that you are--masquerading under a false name. I will know this ‘Kit’ of his for whom she is. Take it off, I say.” But the facile jade easily repulsed and eluded her. “Give over,” she said. “You’re no match for me.” And indeed it was obvious to the poor girl that she was not. So she desisted in a moment, and resolved upon the better part of dignity, which is contempt. “Keep your secret,” she said, panting. “After all, its shame is better hidden out of sight. Do you know who I am?” “I can guess,” said Moll. “Go to him, then. You will find him seeking for you, yonder in the open. Tell him that he is welcome to his goods for me; that I have seen them and understand their attraction to one so sunk in base corruption as himself.” “Come, now,” said Moll. “Keep a civil tongue in your head.”