“The one lesson for which they are thankfully indebted to men, Mrs. Davis.” “Take care what you’re confessing to, Mrs. Davis!” “Or what calumnies you are making poor Kit responsible for, Mrs. Davis,” said her ladyship, with a little contemptuous laugh. “O, Kit is the devil!” shouted the Earl, his wrath, till then steadily crescendo, exploding in a clap. Moll, with a shriek of laughter, put her little hands to her ears. “Lud!” she cried. “I’ve never confessed to so much before without knowing it! And to think Kit is come to be the devil after all!” She lowered her hands to clap them; and at that moment the doors were flung open and Mr. Hamilton was announced. He came in from attending the Court, a brilliant figure all silk and velvet, with bows to his shoes a foot wide, and deep ruffles of lace falling from his knees over his calves. His teeth showed in a little tentative smile, their whiteness emphasized by the thread of moustache, no thicker than an eyebrow, which adorned his upper lip; while his glance, swift and comprehensive, took in the essentials of the situation on which he had alighted. His young kinswoman sprang to greet him with a cry of gladness. “_Oh, bien rencontré, mon beau cousin!_ You are welcome as health after sickness!” She positively seemed to fawn on him, while Chesterfield, black and splenetic, scowled from his place across the room. Hamilton was hugely gratified; but prudence necessitated his discounting this demonstration in the kindest way possible. He laughed, and very gently putting aside the caressing hands, answered, sufficiently audibly-- “Troth, Kate, if this is your malady, it appears in a more attractive form than most.” And then, lowering his voice, he spoke her aside: “Who is this stranger?” “You should know,” she replied, hardly deigning to respond in kind. “Was it not you that warned me of her coming?” “Ah!” he said, seeming enlightened, and just perceptibly shrugged his shoulders. “Is that so? Well, make us known to one another, child; for there’s no situation possible here without.” “You said you had seen her.” “Never to be remembered by her. I prithee, Kate.” She could not; it stuck in her throat; but she conceded this much--she waved him with her hand towards the other two, where they stood together. Hamilton made the best of it. “Will you, Phil?” says he, skipping up before, with a killing smile for the lady. Chesterfield had no choice but to respond. “Mrs. Davis,” he said, in a voice that seemed to carry an oath behind it; “this is my friend, Mr. George Hamilton.” Moll curtsied, “a wicked little winkle” in her eye; and the gentleman, left hand on chest, right extended, and right toe advanced and pointed, swept a bow the very exaggeration of courtly. “Charmed,” said he. “Sure,” said Moll. “You were speaking,” said he, “when it was my misfortune to interrupt you.” “Was I?” said she. “Now I remember--it was about Kit.” “Was it, faith? And who’s Kit?” “Kit’s the devil.”