“Oh, Sir,” Lady Diana’s voice now lowered. “Your countenance is one to inspire confidence. I pray you judge me not harshly if I venture to inquire, since you were of their company, how fares poor Sir Percy de Bohun? The fruits and flowers I fetched were for him, since I am informed he pines, eats nothing, droops, mopes, and no longer is to be enticed among the fair. Can you give me news of him?—or of—Lord Kennaston?” adds Lady Diana wilily and with another magnificent accession of color. Thus did Slyboots pursue inquiry on that lame horse which is named Subterfuge. “Aye, Madam, that can I. ’Tis as you say; but as you yourself, if report speak true, be the cause of his distemper, methinks you should know how to effect the cure. I see Your Ladyship’s man returning; there is no more danger. I take my leave of you, Madam,” hand to heart, bundle sticking out under other arm. “It is to me one of the most fortunate chances of life to have had this encounter,” bending sweet eyes, which Diana returns with a will. “Fear nothing! the cut-throats have long since made off by a rear alley. The shouter is doubtless ere this at his cover. Did you need my further protection, ’twould be yours.” “From my heart, Sir, I thank you,” cries Lady Diana very sweetly. “May we meet again, and soon!” Peggy bowing, walks quickly off, her pretty teeth gritted together. “May we meet again! Never! Fruits and flowers! forsooth! Pines and droops! forsooth! ’Slife! and how the minx reddened at his name. A-seekin’ of him out like that at cock-crow too! Lud! an these be town fashions and morals I’ll be glad to get home! No I won’t! No I won’t!” spake out Lady Peggy’s heart fit to burst bonds. “Percy’s here, and my soul’s here, and ’tain’t no use to talk about having a spirit, and a-stoppin’ lovin’ when you ain’t loved! You can’t do it!” Peggy, recking not of her path, eyes glued to ground, paced on, having forgot the whole world else, in the misery of her discovery of Lady Diana’s passion for Sir Percy. There were few abroad at that early hour. Some market wagons leisuring to the city; an occasional chariot full of gallants getting home after the night’s frolic; and just now, at the cross of two streets, a handsome coach thrown open-windowed, with a gentleman, the very pink and model of all elegance, lolling back amid the cushions. By the lead of his eyes ’twas plainly to be seen he had not slept for forty-eight hours or so, but otherwise his aspect was as if newly out of a perfumed bandbox. Suddenly his gaze caught Peggy at the crossing, fixed itself upon the lace cravat at her throat, and then, with a spring as alert as that of any monkey throwing himself out of tree by his tail, this mirror of fashion thrust his head out at window, jerked his coachman’s arm, said in a voice not loud, but piercing: “Worthing, run down the young gentleman at the crossing; don’t hurt him, but run him down an’ I’ll give you twenty shillings!” He then sank back again amid the pillows.