“On me?” Her eyes opened, amazed. “And why, please?” “Because I was privily informed you were to wear it.” “Indeed? And for whose benefit?” “Will you ask it”--he stepped aside, flinging out his arm towards his Highness, who stood silent, gnawing his forefinger--“and this Kit, this damning witness to your guilt, to answer for it to your face? Did I not find you with him but now? For shame, madam! But he shall pay for his temerity with his life.” “You are mad,” she said, in a voice of wonder. “I never saw you. I thought him you, and that he had accosted me, taking me for Kit.” “_You_ Kit? Why, in God’s name? Kit’s a man.” “No, a woman.” “A man, I say. He’s here.” “And so is she here.” “She? I tell you, no! What cursed coil is this? And you thought him me, you say? Why--answer that.” “He wore the scarf in his hat the secret letter spoke of.” “The secret letter? What! you have received one too?” “I have received one.” In a sudden thought she whipped round on Hamilton. “And you, also, cousin, judging by your token.” “Cousin!” roared Chesterfield. “What, you too, George!” For, seeing further disguise useless, that gentleman had also discovered himself. “Damme! am I to fight you all?” He stamped with fury. “Who and what is at the bottom of this juggling?” “Why, Kit,” said Hamilton coolly--he guessed pretty well the truth, and was only mad with himself for having walked so tamely into the trap--“whoever Kit may be. I had the letter, sure enough, and acted on it. ’Twas the green bow, nothing else, for which I went. How could I know your wife behind it?” “Why, not at all,” quoth my lady, “by what you said to her. I think, cousin, you were the most mistaken of us all.” He felt the cold, sarcastic sting in her tone, and knew himself revealed and dismissed from that moment. Chesterfield clinched and convulsed his fists in impotent desperation. “But--but----” he shouted, and turned on his wife again. “Kit was to wear a scarf, I tell you.” “No, a bow,” said she. “And nothing else, madam?” he cried. “There would be no disputing Kit’s sex in that case,” said Hamilton pleasantly. And then he laughed. “But there are still two potential Kits in the field--and both unmasked. Why not ask them?” Obviously it was the simple course. Chesterfield pounced on the Duke-- “You hear? Kit or the devil, man--whichever you are, confess yourself.” His Highness hesitated--it was an awkward moment for him--and succumbed, finally, to the tyranny of circumstance. “I could claim my privilege, and refuse, sir,” said he, “were it not that by persisting in this disguise the fair fame of an innocent lady might appear to lack its vindication. I took her, if not for another, at least not for herself,” and he pulled off his vizard in his turn. “The Duke of York!” muttered the Earl, falling back a little, with a stupefied look; while Kate, on her part, her face flushing crimson, bent her eyes on the ground.