_Wherein Sir Percy and Sir Robin come face to face, to the unfeigned amazement of each: and where My Lady takes to her heels and a wherry._ When Lady Diana and Percy quitted the box, he, after conducting her to the care of Lady Brookwood, strode off into the Dark Alleys, taking with him, not Kennaston, for the hopeless youth, flouted still by Diana, had gone a-mooning by the river’s bank, but a company of valiant and merry gentlemen all raised a bit by the partaking of the famous Vauxhall punch; and to them he confided sufficient of his reasons and intentions, as made plain their course to them as his friends, to do aught and all in their several powers toward the promoting of a quarrel betwixt him and Sir Robin McTart; whom, he would presently point out to them, as they should stroll, seeming careless, the length of the walk. Thus, arm in arm, Sir Percy, Sir Wyatt Lovell, His Grace of Escombe, and Mr. Jack Chalmers, across the path, swaggering with sticks and tassels hanging, hats at a cock, perfumed with Venus oil, and most jocund of demeanor; with Beau Brummell behind ’em spying, waving his little muff, and chatting with Lord Wootton and one or two more gay sparks, all disporting themselves carelessly, but hilts eased for the drawing. Just as they were nearing the wooden lion of Sir Robin’s tryst, Lady Biddy’s shriek assailed their ears, and Sir Percy, thanking Providence for so opportune an occurrence, which, not to say that it was in any way premeditated, yet continued to ring out louder and louder, even after Sir Robin had ceased to pull at her mask-string and stood, held fast in Her Ladyship’s stout grasp, the very center of a blaze of light from footmen’s flambeaux,—they and the masses pushing every way, screaming and cursing. Into the thick of this mêlée dashed Sir Percy de Bohun, with his friends on either side of him. But a moment sufficed for him to wrest the Lady from her assailant and to deliver her over to the care of Diana and the Duchess, who carried her swooning (whether with laughter or emotion ’twould be difficult to set down), to the Room. In another second, taking his silver-fringed gloves from his pocket he threw them into the masked face of Sir Robin McTart. The little Baronet, who had both temper and vanity, which brace now got the upperhand of his cowardice, and, believing that Lady Peggy’s eyes were upon him, that Sir Percy was at the bottom of the Thames, and with full foreknowledge that he could run away before the meeting could be arranged, caught the gloves as they struck and flung them back into their owner’s covered countenance. “Take that! ’sdeath!” squeaked Sir Robin, now much the more valiant as he beheld the Vicar screwing his way toward him through the excited crowds. [Illustration: I am Sir Robin McTart!...] “Unmask, and show yourself for who you are!” cried Percy, every one of his companions echoing: