“Aye, My Lady, Mr. Grigson says never, since Adam and Eve began courtin’ under the fig-tree, has any young nobleman been seen in such a frenzy as Sir Percy about Your Ladyship. Lawk, Lady Peggy! When a young gentleman goes off his feed, ceases swearin’ and cursin’ his man, and stops down in the country nigh three months in the season, a-readin’ loud to his deaf aunt, there ain’t no sort of doubt as to the quality of his passion!” Her Ladyship smiles as she spreads her train and glances at it over her shoulder. “Chock,” says she, “look you, now, while I cross the room; does the paduasoy stand out well over my hoop?” “Like the dish-clout, My Lady, when I spreads it to dry over one of the biggest hen-coops. ’Tis monstrous fine, finer, I should swear, than anything Lady Diana could have!” Chockey sighs, lost in admiration. “Though belike Lord Kennaston wouldn’t think so.” “And, Chock, look again.” Her Ladyship crosses back to the divan. “’Tis thus the town ladies give the true quality sweep to their trains. Give me the trinket Sir Percy sent me last night.” Peggy takes a fan of most beautiful feathers from a mother-of-pearl box and waves it back and forth. “’Tis so, Chock, the London fine ladies flutter the fan, as ’tis called, and every wriggle hath a different meaning!” “Oh!” Chockey is well-nigh speechless as she watches her mistress sidling, bridling, agitating the fan back, forth, hither, and yon. “Madam, ’tis amazin’ grand! A glass of port now, My Lady, as by the orders of the surgeons?” “Nay,” says Peggy, “I ain’t in need of such.” “A mug of ale? cider? milk?” “I’ll none of ’em, Chock,” returns Her Ladyship, seating herself on the divan, and spreading out the paduasoy as ’twere a tail and she the peacock owning it. “Set my _étui_ beside me on the stand; place that large chair far off yonder by the window for Sir Percy, that he may not disturb my furbelows, and—” “Hark, Madam! Hoofs!” “Lud!” cries Her Ladyship, “his new horse’s hoofs! I’ve learned the ring of ’em as well as I once knew that of the poor long roan.” Peggy sighs; she has heard much during her convalescence by way of Mr. Grigson and the Abigail. “Go you down, Chock, and, after a suitable period of waiting,—I mean such decent few minutes,” cries she after the girl, “as may be occupied in dutiful greetings to Dad and Her Ladyship, you may send Sir Percy up to see me.” She hears his voice in the hall greeting her father and mother; she glances over at the mirror, and, snatching her pocket-napkin from her bag, Peggy tips it to the top of the essence-bottle and rubs the red from her cheeks; she flings the fan down, draws in her splendid train to a crumpled heap about her, gives the hoop as smart a thrust as her feeble strength will permit, hears a footstep, and promptly buries her shamed face in the cushions of the divan.